From The Innkeepers

On Being Busy

We are about a month into our busy season, and so far, it’s been the bee’s knees. Since Labor Day, we’ve welcomed back three longtime quilting groups and had the great fun of introducing a new yoga group to the inn. We also survived our first two-day turnaround, meaning we said goodbye to one group and hello to the next 48 hours later, leaving us only one full day in between groups to reset the inn. We divided and conquered, with one of us doing laundry, pressing sheets, and composing a 1593 word blog post, one of us cleaning rooms and completing a couple of small repairs, and one of us doing all the shopping and prepping food for this week’s menu.

So far, we’ve been fueled by Honeycrisp apples, September sunshine, and fear of failure. This is our home stretch–the busiest part of the year that will make or break our first-year success. Last fall between Labor Day and Thanksgiving, we hosted 5 retreats. This fall, there are 10 on the books, which puts us on pace to meet the goals we set for increasing business this year. This is what we wanted, and I feel so thankful that so many people want to be here. 

Still, I have to admit that I sometimes fall into the reflexive habit of wishing I wasn’t so busy. I mentioned something to Aaron about it the other day, and he pointed out the alternative. If we weren’t busy, then that would mean we had no business. And we came here to run a business. (Did you ever notice that the only difference between business and busyness is a single letter? It turns out these words are closely related beyond their spellings. This has been confirmed by our accountant.) 

Aaron is right, of course. I’m just used to resisting busyness after having no choice in the matter for 25 years of teaching and having my daily responsibilities accelerate over that period to the pace of drinking from a firehose. I’m still adjusting to the fact that this is a drastically different kind of busy. We do ultimately have control of the pace we choose, and there is something energizing about being busy so other people can rest. 

Plus, running an inn in West Michigan in the fall feels exciting, joyful, and full of purpose. Yes, being a teacher is one of the most important and meaningful jobs there is. But I am surprised at the sense of satisfaction I get from hearing guests explain how they can feel their shoulders relax when they pass through the gates, or reading a guest book entry about how meaningful a visit was. We now get to offer an escape hatch for others’ busyness, and that’s worth working for.

Before our first group in September, I was looking for an escape hatch of my own. We had wrapped up a fairly busy August and had a few days off before our fall marathon began, so I decided to surprise Aaron with a day date to celebrate the one-year anniversary of our move to Big Rapids. I had heard about a new offering in the area at Mum-Bees Honey Farm, about 25 minutes south of the inn, in the small town of Morley. The owners, Laurie and Bob Mumby, recently opened The Wellness Hive there, which is a very special little wooden cabin that sits in a field of flowers on their farm. 

Inside this cabin are two built-in benches made of cedar slats. Beneath the slats of each bench is a screened-in box with 4 active beehives inside. The purpose of these “bee beds” is to allow you to lie down and let your nervous system relax as you listen to and feel the low hum of 250,000 bees doing their work beneath you. The day we went was hot, so it was sauna-like in the cabin. We lay back onto the warm wood and relaxed into the vibrations of the bees which reminded me of the sound inside a seashell. I found out later that a honeybee flaps its wings over 200 times per second. Inside the hives, their beating wings move air to cool the hive, evaporating the water out of the nectar they’ve brought in, turning it into honey. Their constant activity also circulates tiny particles of beeswax, honey, and propolis, filling the cabin with a lovely scent. Through the windows we could watch the bees buzzing back and forth from the nearby flowers. It was a blissful experience. 

Afterward, we chatted with Laurie and Bob in their cute little shop where they sell honey and beeswax products. The Wellness Hive and their entire honey farm is clearly a labor of love. Bob has been raising honeybees for over 25 years, and he teaches classes on beekeeping. His knowledge was impressive and his love for what he does is unmistakable. I couldn’t help but see parallels between their lives and ours. Bob and Laurie, along with 250,000 of their bees, had worked hard to create an experience so that other people could rest. 

Here at the inn, we’ve got our own busy bees. Out in my cut flower garden, I now have a new appreciation for the pollinators I see hard at work in their own busy season. The sunflowers are coming to an end now, but in mid-September, they were the place to be if you were a bee. The zinnias and dahlias are now regularly buzzing with bumblebees and the occasional honeybee when I go out to cut. And every evening when it cools down there are sleepy bumble bees clinging to the flowers. Some are hosting bee slumber parties, with 5 or 6 bees snuggled into a single dahlia. 

I find bumblebees adorable because they’re so fuzzy and chubby, and I’ve always thought of them as the gentle giants of the bee world. I had always heard that bumblebees don’t sting. A couple weeks ago, I found out the hard way that I was wrong. I was out cutting flowers at dusk, rushing to fill my bucket before dark.  Walking through a crowded row of zinnias, I felt a sharp pinch on my thigh. I looked down to find a bumblebee clinging to my yoga pants. “It bit me!” I exclaimed. I knew why, and I immediately felt sorry. It had been snuggled into a zinnia that was growing sideways into the row, and as my leg pushed past, the poor little bee was crushed between us. She was still half asleep as I gently lifted her from my pants with my flower snips. She put a front leg up in the air, almost as if to say, “Don’t shoot!” I apologized to her and helped her onto a new flower, choosing one with a center that was full of pollen. 

When I later consulted the internet, I found out that female bumblebees can indeed sting, but only do so in self-defense. I was also relieved to find out that, in contrast to honeybees, bumblebees don’t die after they sting because their stingers are smooth, and not barbed. I resolved to slow down and be more aware in the garden. Here I was letting my busyness interrupt someone else’s rest. I was working against our intended mission. 

I learned some more bee facts in my research. It turns out that honeybees born in fall are more resilient than summer bees. They have more fat reserves to be able to survive the winter, while summer bee babies only live about six weeks. Fall-born bees aren’t just busy; they’re building up strength for their survival, because honeybees don’t hibernate in the winter. Instead, they form a cluster around the queen and shiver their muscles to make heat. They stay in perpetual motion and work as a team, rotating between the cold outer edge and the warm center, so no bee stays out in the cold for good.

It kind of reminds me how we cover for each other around here to keep our own hive running smoothly.  For example, Tuesday, we had a new group arriving. Since we don’t usually have guests on Tuesdays, that’s the day I volunteer as a reading tutor and go to my weekly yoga class, so the guys told me they could cover my dining room and dish duties. Likewise, if Aaron or Ryan is under the weather or has an obligation, the other one will take on the cooking duties that day. 

And just like fall-born bees who work hard to fortify the hive before winter, we are all doing double duty this season so that we can ride out the slow winter months. While the guys are prepping and cooking for the current group, they are also brainstorming menus and testing recipes for the next. For me, in between setup and clean up of meals with the current group, I’m collaborating with a friend to plan and market a new screen-free digital detox retreat we’re offering in November. 

At times the pace has felt overwhelming this fall, but being busy is surely better than the alternative, and the rewards are real. Anytime I start to feel sorry for myself, all I need to do for a metaphorical slap in the face is to go out to the garden and take a look at the bees working without complaint. They are driven by purpose, staying busy for the good of the hive, and in the case of honeybees, in service of creating something sweet.