Iran and its Elections

About fifteen years ago - maybe longer - I was commuting between Northern California and Southern California every week. It was during this commute that I was first reminded of the dilemma of Iran. Today the current protests over the election there brought this memory back to me.

I was taking a shuttle to a rental car company, and I got into a conversation with the driver, who was from Tehran. He had left Iran during the Iranian Revolution. He wasn't a supporter of the Shah, but found himself under suspicion. He had been a professor in Iran, teaching Physics. Now, here in the U.S., he was driving a rental car shuttle. "They are thugs," he said to me then. "They took power using the pretense of religion, but they are thugs."

What do I know about Iran today? Little or nothing! The revolution happened so long ago. What one reads in the paper about Iran has little to do with the people of that country. Over the years those Iranian friends and colleagues that I have met have said little about their homeland. It seems impolite to ask, which makes the fate of Iran seem as distant as the fate of another planet, in a separate galaxy. And yet that distance didn't always seem so large to me.

When my oldest son, Dagan, was born we were living in Washington, DC. Iran was still under the dictatorship of the Shah, but there was a lively exchange of commerce between our countries. Not just oil, but all sorts of goods. The stores of Washington were inundated with the beautiful arts and crafts that were arriving from Tehran. I bought Judith a beautifully hand embroidered coat in celebration of our first child's birth. She still wears it on special occasions, though after so many years it's starting to show its age.

So many terrible things have happened to Iran since I bought that coat: The U.S. Embargo; The 8 year Iran-Iraq war that killed thousands; the 1990 Manjil-Rudbar earthquake in which 40 thousand died; the 2003 Bam earthquake in which 23 thousand died.

During all these events and tragedies, the U.S. has been disengaged, and has treated Iran as an enemy. And likewise, Iran has treated the U.S. as one too.
Now the election in Iran has caused us to hope, and then -- as the drama continues -- to remain silent in expectation and fear.

I for one would like to see Judith wear her brilliantly embroidered coat once again. I would like our two countries freely exchanging thoughts and views, without this veil of threats. I would like to see that country surface from its sadness.

But maybe it's going to take another 30 years. I sincerely hope not.

I don't think Judith's beautiful coat will last that long.

Removing Bees from an Interior Wall.... A Recollection of What We Did.

Thirty years ago Judith became a bee widow. That is, she lost her husband(me)to the escapades of an Indiana Agricultural Inspector named Bruce who adopted me as a cohort in his beekeeping adventures. Bruce was a wonderful friend, but to Judith -- who was struggling with a newborn baby -- he was a kidnapper who spirited me away on different adventures with wild bee hives colonies.

One of these adventures was the removal of a well-established colony of wild bees that had built a nest in the walls of a rural house. Over a period of about 1 month, Bruce showed me how remove the bees and extract the honey without removing a single nail or board.

I'm remembering this adventure now only because a neighbor has complained of a similar malady of bees. I'm writing down what we did so that, perhaps, I won't be called upon to help. It wasn't that hard, but removing bees from houses is one of those skills that one does not want to publicize. Experience shows that, once known, calls from potential customers come all too frequently, usually just as one is sitting down to dinner.

Here's a description of the house where the bees inhabited:

It was a small single-story cape -- something we used to call a "National Home" -- situated out in the countryside, close to the Michigan/Indiana border. We knocked on the door and were met by a huge man -- well over 300 pounds -- who was gripping a shotgun in his mitt. He didn't seem particularly grateful to see us until Bruce told him that we were there to try to remove the bees. Suddenly he looked at us with a new garrulousness, relaxing his grip on the shotgun and happily asking us to follow him.

The house seemed to have two bedrooms, a kitchen area, and a tiny living room, but the exact configuration was a bit hard to discern because the entire house was filled from floor to waist-height with junked ham radio equipment from the 1950s and 60s. In fact, the only pathway through the house was so cramped that we had to walk sideways through the equipment where we came to the kitchen area. The wall between the kitchen and the living room had been torn down and a huge plywood platform was erected upon which lay functioning ham radio equipment and a disgustingly dirty mattress where the owner must have slept. This was the combined work/home environment of this man. I imagined he ate, slept, and lived on this platform, listening long into the night to other ham radio operators who were strategically stationed around the world. I imagined they too were exchanging news of our arrival as we spoke to the man.

I've got to hand it to Bruce, however, who took in this sight without the slightest expression of perplexity. Bruce was there for the bees, and what ham radio was for this poor benighted radio operator, bees were to Bruce.

"So, where are they getting in?" he asked.

"In?" I wondered to myself. "Is this the place Bruce has brought me? To a crazy den of junk radio equipment, to extract bees from radio tubes and circuit wires?"

"Outside where the electrical service comes in," was the reply. "I wasn't too worried about them last year, although they were kind of noisy. But now they're moving into my receivers, and the other day I got stung."

We wandered outside to where the power line from the Northern Indiana Public Service Company trailed off a pole and arrived at the corner of the house. Sure enough, there was a hole in the wall near the cable through which a steady stream of bees could be seen coming and going. It was clear that this was not a new colony, but one that had built up over years and years of casual neglect. The noise of their coming and going was very loud.

We returned inside and, stepping over the mounds of equipment, made our way to a small closet adjacent to the power service entry. A few bees were confusedly coming out of a couple of small holes in the wall. Bruce knocked on the wall tentatively, and we heard a loud increase in the level of buzzing through the wall. I thought to myself that, had he knocked much harder, the particleboard walls would collapse and there we would be, facing a very large, very angry colony of wild bees, our exit path hindered by the bulk of this huge man and the tons of radio receivers in our way.

Fortunately, the wall held.

"Okay," Bruce smiled. "We'll have these out of here in no time at all!"

"Are you gonna have to tear down the walls? Cause I don't have no place else to go."

"You'll be fine! But it will just take a little time."

Later, on our way back that evening, I asked him what he intended to do to get them out.

"We'll rob them out," Bruce said. "And I think we'll get about 200 pounds of honey at the same time."

The next evening found us back at the house with section of wire screen deftly rolled into a funnel, and an empty hive body with a couple frames of newly capped bee brood. We also had a few nails and some wood. We searched for all the holes in the side of the house where the bees were coming and going, and carefully stuffed them all with rags, except the main entrance.

Here we fitted the screen cone, wide-side in, over the entrance, tacking it up with just enough nails to make it solid. Since it was twilight, the majority of bees were already back in the walls. Bruce and I then jury rigged and attached the empty hive body against the house itself, using a two-by-four and a couple of ropes. We slipped the brood frames into the hive body, closed it up, and headed for home.

The following evening we returned to the scene. The bees had become confused by the reconfiguration of their entrance. The worker bees had found their way out of the colony through the wire cone, but now could not figure out how to get back in. They were amassing on the outside of the screen, and eventually found their way into the empty hive with the brood frames. We had brought a new queen with us, in a queen cage, and now placed it atop the brood frames. This was to attract the bees who could not get back into their own colony.

Over the next week the homeless bees migrated into the new hive body. They released the queen from her cage and took care of the brood that was beginning to emerge. In about two weeks, only a few new bees -- bees emerging from the brood inside the walls of the house -- were exiting the cone. The rest of the colony was now successfully relocated to the new hive body.

Finally, Bruce returned to the house, removed the new colony, with the new queen, and smoked the old colony with a heavy dose of sulfur smoke. This killed the old queen and all the brood that still resided in the house. After a day or two, when he was certain that no bees were coming out, he removed the cone from the side of the house. But there was a problem.

Inside the walls of the house were still the honey and the beeswax comb.

So he returned the colony that had origianlly come from the walls and set it outside the house. The bees found the honey, robbed it completely out over three days, and moved it entirely to the new colony. Then Bruce carefully patched up the side of the house, and took the new colony home.

When I asked him about the old brood and the remaining wax in the walls he said that, over time, wax moths would set up a colony in the walls and consume the wax very rapidly. He didn't think it would be a problem for the radio operator at all.

So that's how we -- actually mostly Bruce -- removed the bees. It was a neat trick. You should try it. Just don't call this bee man. Judith doesn't want to be a bee widow again.

Tobias Meets the Dalai Lama

I'm not exactly certain how the world has skipped and jittered in such a way that these events happened. Sunday, our son Tobias was one of 49 individuals honored by his holiness, the Dalai Lama in San Francisco at a ceremony entitled "Unsung Heroes of Compassion." He was being recognized for his work in the organization that he started, called "Human Translation."

The last two days have seemed like one of those euphoria-induced highs from a previous decade: A massive positive flow of energy that seemed to wash down the hills of San Francisco into the bay. It was not merely the excitement, but an actual sense of positive energy that seemed to lift our spirits and perhaps affirm what it means to be human. So I will, as best I can, report from my perspective the event and the feelings that it inspired.

I met Tobias the evening before at the Ritz-Carlton, which is way up near the top of San Francisco. They had invited the honorees to arrive the day before the event to get to know one another. There were 49 honorees altogether, from all over the world: India, Alabama, Israel, Washington State, Zimbabwe, New Jersey, etc. It was truly a gathering of people from all over the world. And each honoree had been permitted to bring a guest, and Tobias permitted me to be that guest that night of orientation. We ate a buffet dinner and then mixed about. I met Jack Kornfeld from Spirit Rock, and lots of others, and Tobias had a look like the cat that had eaten the canary: He was clearly in his networking element. There were nuns from India, Tibetans, Chinese, English, Aussies, Americans, Canadians: All people that Dick Grace had encountered in his many travels. Tobias and I split up at about 8 and I drove home, while he stayed at the hotel in a kind of reverie of networking frenzy.

Judith and I came in the next morning for the ceremony itself while the event was still getting organized, and had a chance to revisit some old acquaintances who I did not expect to see there: Tim Mondavi and his daughters, and many others. All told, there were about a thousand people who had ponied up $500 to attend this event – something way beyond our means, but which we managed nonetheless.

The event was a sit-down luncheon in a humongous banquet hall. Peter Coyote was master of ceremonies (I kept asking Judith if we were in the middle of a NPR TV show about brain health), along with Isabelle Allende. Jack Kornfeld gave a wonderful talk about the nature of compassion, as understood by Buddhists, with some lovely anecdotes and stories, all told with humor and masterful nuances.

Tobias sat at our banquet table – one of the two tables seating his supporters from Human Translation – and once again he looked like the cat who had eaten the canary. Judith was all smiles, chatting and laughing. Food was okay, and I had a nice chat with the couple beside me. It seemed like we were in a sea of crazy people, all smiling and happy, and yakking away.

Then the Dalai Lama came in, walked through the room in that rambling gait that makes him look like a wise old Orangutan, greeting various people before arriving at the dais. He sat and talked a bit in response to two questions from the audience, and then there were three wonderful performances, one of which was by Justin, who had sung at the Human Translation fundraisers in the past. I had spoken with Justin before the event in the waiting room. He was so happy to be there, he just glowed. But he was very nervous. When his time for his singing began, the energy was ecstatic. His Holiness sat at the dais, and at one point seemed to be rocking to the music itself, as Justin sang "Old Man River". Then Justin was greeted by the Dalai Lama, after his wonderful performance and later he was still so nervous that he was shaking when I caught up with him. His singing was incredible: Indescribable. The energy was contagious. He had received a standing ovation.


Finally, each honoree was introduced to the Dalai Lama by Isabel Allende and Peter Coyote. A description of their projects was read as they came forward. Tobias, towering over His Holiness, bent low to receive a silk Khata (scarf). All of us at the HT table were beaming in incomprehensible joy for the recognition that he received.

That was pretty much describes the ceremony.

However, though this describes the event, it does not describe the level of energy that permeated that room. I think it was akin to a drug-induced euphoria, like psilocybin or something. Quite potent. The cynical nature of my general outlook had led me to anticipate a sense of vertigo. But, after speaking to many of the honorees the night before – hearing about their projects and their efforts – by the morning of the event it was clear that I had already checked my cynicism with my coat at the door.

These were honest-to-goodness bodhisattvas: People who were doing good deeds because their nature made them that way.

One little woman, from India, had opened an orphanage in Darsana where she takes in street urchins. She is, I swear, shorter than five feet tall, and her desire is to take all the pain of the world and exchange it for the happiness that she feels. That’s her desire. She exudes happiness – crazy happiness – while she takes care these 80 orphans. She and her husband, whom I also met, are child-like and sweet, managing as best they can – sort of like coming across Hansel and Gretel in the deep dark woods, before they meet the witch. They were just bubbling with happiness, and had just come off the plane after 30 hours of travel. “This is our first time” she kept saying, like a person who was on a first mescaline trip. Their energy was contagious.

Now imagine a room of fifty people like that, surrounded by a thousand supporters. All of them had this sort of contagious energy. A sort gathering of spiritual batteries, all getting recharged by the Dalai Lama, who sat at the dais and switched all our switches off and on, little verbal switches, and changed all the negative polarity to positive polarity like a master spiritual electrician: His high little voice rising and falling, then deepening, then suddenly laughing and making us all laugh. Then, quite suddenly, he said “That’s all! Good bye!” and up he got to leave, again wandering like an old Orangutan through the hall.

It was no wonder that Tobias looked so happy, to be among such a group of truly outrageous crazies. He fit right in.

Tearing him away from this festival of compassion was incredibly difficult. A couple of the members of his board of trustees, Linda Scheibal and Susan Shay and husbands and donors, wanted to have some personal time with him. So eventually I extracted him and we climbed even further up Knob Hill to the St. Francis Hotel where we opened a couple bottles of wine and sat around and talked.

Finally, it was about 6 and we wandered back to our cars – some people wanting to party on – and Judith and I came home. It was a wonderful event, far in excess of energy than I anticipated.

Does a cure for Bee Colony Collapse end the threat?

A recent article in ScienceDaily (Apr. 14, 2009) reported that scientists have isolated the parasite Nosema ceranae from professional apiaries suffering from honey bee colony collapse syndrome. The article also said that the scientists had successfully treated infected colonies with Fumagillin, a fungal metabolite that suppresses the formation of new blood vessels.

What's all this mean?

There are a couple of different takes:

First of all, western beekeepers have been battling a different nosema parasite quite a while: Nosema apis. This critter used to be thought of as a protozoan that got into a bee's gut and weakened it to the point of death. But more recent studies have now classified it as a microsporidian: A single-celled fungal-like creature that reproduces with spores. Beekeepers really fear Nosema apis because it severely reduces the viability of a colony, and because its spores are really long-lasting and resistant to freezing -- meaning that successfully over-wintering a colony won't bring relief. Scientists now believe that the bees become infected by eating honey that contains the Nosema apis spores.

Fumagillin had been previously shown to be an effective means of controlling and/or curing Nosema apis. But it's a powerful antibiotic agent that interrupts the cycle by preventing by blocking blood vessel formation. It does this by binding to an enzyme called methionine aminopeptidase. Sort of like deep magical poison. Fumagillin is also used as an experimental anti-cancer drug.

What's curious is that Nosema ceranae -- the completely different microsporidian -- has now been finally identified as the parasite that has been behind colony collapse disorder.

Nosema ceranae is a much more recently discovered pest. Some say that it has existed in the Eastern honey bee Apis cerana for some time, but it was only first discovered in Western honey bee populations in Spain in 1996.

This would suggest that it made a species jump relatively recently -- as little as ten years ago -- and that could be why it's been so virulent: The Western honey bee Apis mellifera has not yet developed any immunity or resistence. If Fumagillin does, in fact, work, it's great news in the short run. But it's not the best news one could hope for.

Why?

The world's dependency on the Western honey bee Apis mellifera for pollination has really gotten out of hand.

Agriculturalists will always tell you that crop monoculture is dangerous to the ecology because it concentrates an environment that permit pests to evolve to specialize and take advantage of the niche'. We saw this in the wine industry with Phylloxera.

Today U.S. crops are now heavily dependent upon a different sort of monoculture: The pollinating capacity of the Western honey bee Apis mellifera.

How is this being manifested?

Thirty years ago, when I first became involved with beekeeping, the number of bee pests were significantly fewer. The Tracheal mite Acarapis woodi was not known in the U.S., though it had appeared on the Isle of Wight. It arrived here in the early 1980s. Varroa mites Varroa destructor were not in the U.S. until 1987. All that beekeepers had to deal with back then were American Foul Brood, European Foul Brood, Chalk Brood and wax moths.

Most of the diseases that beekeepers of Apis melliara are seeing seem to be as the result of contact with Apis cerana: The Asiatic honey bee or also known as the Eastern honey bee or the Indian honey bee. This Eastern honey bee isn't as productive as the Western honey bee, but it's been quasi-domesticated for just as long, kept on farms in wooden logs, or more recently in hive bodies. This bee co-evolved with Tracheal mites and Varroa mites, and consequently has managed to build up evolutionary grooming behaviors that help keep the colonies healthy.

So it appears that the more recent problems associated with bee diseases is really a genetic problem that has resulted from the contact of different bees species beyond their naturally occurring ranges.

The downside of this is that the use of pesticides or fungicides may halt a particular disease in a particular colony, but it's not helping the species develop resistance or behavioral modifications that can prevent future problems.

There has been significant work done, however, in creating hybrid bees: Bees that are crossed to create genetically resistant strains.

For instance, the bees that we will be getting are a Carniolan/Yugoslavian cross that is said to be more inherently resistant to Varroa mites. The queen of one variety was artificially inseminated with sperm from a different variety: In this case, Carniolan queen with a Yugoslavian drone. This process is done over at Honey Bee Genetics nearby.

However, another interesting thing that has been documented is that the vitality of queen bees themselves has been seriously diminished -- though it's unclear what the cause might be.

Thirty years ago, it was expected that a queen would be viable in a colony for an average of two years. I'm learning, through reading, that today the viability of a queen is often less than one year, and that re-queening mid year is not uncommon at all.

When you stop to realize that our entire food supply is dependent upon the pollinating capabilities of Apis mellifera, it's a sobering thought about how quickly this dependency could unravel our entire food chain.

Spring and Bees

Judith has prompted me to get into beekeeping once again. This could be, literally, a sore subject because I have a slight allergy to bee stings. But we'll see.

When we lived in Indiana 30 years ago I had several colonies of bees. I got into beekeeping by accident: I bid $5 at a neighbor's auction and ended up with several hundred dollars of beekeeping equipment. No sooner did people hear that I had bee equipment than they began calling me with news of swarms that they wanted me to remove. This, in turn, led a local Ag Inspector -- who was also an avid beekeeper -- to start calling me to go on "bee adventures" with him. Each Saturday he had a new adventure involving bees, and they generally consumed the entire weekend. On one such adventure, we captured a colony that was living in an old tree. In another adventure, bees had taken over a house, and we were asked to remove them. After a single summer of such adventures, I had more bee colonies than I knew what to do with. Judith started calling herself a "Bee Widow".

Eventually we left the farm and moved -- without the bees -- down to Indianapolis. I didn't bother to tell the bees where we were moving. I figured they could take care of themselves. And they did okay for a number of years, finally dieing out about four years later.

So now we're going to start beekeeping again. I'm wondering what kind of mischief I'll be in before the summer is out. Will Judith once again don the striped headscarf of the Bee Widow?

Obama In!

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