Honeygirl Meadery is doing its part to save bees, one bottle at a time
By Amber Nimocks
Correspondent, The News & Observer
My heart felt as heavy as the raindrops as I watched a spring thunderstorm blow across the parking lot. I knew my wildflower seeds were goners. How was I ever going to save the bees at this rate?
Recent news about the plight of our threatened, furry-limbed pollinators had prompted me to forgo vegetables in my front-yard garden patch in favor of wildflowers this spring.
The directions on the pack of seeds call for the gardener to leave them uncovered, tamped gently into the earth, to mist them regularly with the garden hose and let the sun’s transformative rays do their work. But as I watched a strong wind blow the rain sideways, I imagined my seeds swimming toward the storm drain, my plan to help save the bees washing away with them.
Discouraged, I trudged into Bottle Revolution on Lake Boone Trail to distract myself. To my delight, bees awaited me – on the labels of Honeygirl Mead on the shelf.
Durham-based mead-maker Diane Currier is looking to save the bees, too, and she’s doing a bit more about it than I am.
The most basic definition of mead is that it’s a fermented beverage made primarily from honey, and also the oldest alcoholic beverage known to man.
Currier had been a dedicated beer brewer for years until she visited Alaska. One day after a hike, she found herself in a meadery. There, Currier sipped mead brewed from honey that bees had made with nectar from the towering pink fireweed flowers in a nearby meadow. The continuous sunlight of the arctic summer supercharges the natural world there, coaxing trees and flowers to stupendous fullness like nothing seen in the lower 48 states.
“I was just in those flowers, and I’m drinking those flowers now,” she thought. “What a way to connect to nature.”
It proved to be a life-changing experience, and she decided to brew mead instead of beer.
Meadery Profile: Honeygirl Meadery