It’s a honey of a solution to sneezing
I’ve been using myself as the lab rat in an experiment that
seems to be producing desirable results. For nearly all my life,
I’ve wondered what all the fuss was about during hay fever
season.
It’s a honey of a solution to sneezing
I’ve been using myself as the lab rat in an experiment that seems to be producing desirable results. For nearly all my life, I’ve wondered what all the fuss was about during hay fever season.
For those of you who do not sneeze at the mere thought of pollen, it’s important to know that San Benito County is a global hot spot for pollen-borne allergies.
Welcome to the Olympic stadium of sneezing.
I never got the fuss either, until a few years ago. My daily commute took me past a compost operation and fields full of crops from the cabbage family – mustard, broccoli, cauliflower and the like – that when allowed to set seed fueled my misery in a way I had never imagined.
I sneezed. I coughed. Mostly I blew my nose, often and with embarrassing vigor.
But a few days ago, I began infusing my morning cup of coffee with a teaspoon of local honey, the gift of a friend.
This honey is not the stuff of supermarket shelves. Its taste is complex and spicy, with notes of citrus blossoms, sage and all the scents that mingle on a walk in local hills. It comes from hives close to our home.
It is uncooked and unfiltered. Rather than being a clear, pale amber, it is translucent, thick with pollen from local plants.
After just a few days, I can contemplate stepping outside without a handkerchief. The small dose of local allergens seems to be curbing the misery of hay fever.
Hallelujah!
I’ve been thinking about breaking off the “honey therapy” for a few days to see if my symptoms return.
But I don’t think I have the will to do so. First, that dab of honey in my coffee is delicious. And second, relief from the hours of itchy, runny eyes and an abundant flow of mucus is too nice to return to, scientific inquiry be damned.
Bees are my favorite insects. It’s probably best for most of us not to think about how honey is made before breakfast, but the idea of eating something that’s processed in the guts of bugs does not bother me.
Their social structure is complex and organized, a model for much human interaction.
So it was with some great concern that I wrote recently about Colony Collapse Disorder. Across the nation, honeybees are disappearing from their hives, and colonies are imploding in a few days’ time.
A recent report from the London Independent suggests a cause – cellular phone signals. The theory outlined in the Independent is that the signals disrupt bees’ complex navigation systems, rendering them unable to find their hives.
The report goes on to say that the ubiquitous phones have deleterious effects on humans ranging from reduced sperm counts in men to the risk of a generation of today’s teens reaching senility in their 40s.
Our children may be on the fast track to a steady diet of soft foods and wardrobes featuring Depends, but I am skeptical that cell phones are the cause of disappearing bees.
The phones have been ubiquitous for years. When was the last time you sat through a movie without hearing a phone go off at least once?
But Colony Collapse Disorder was first identified only months ago.
Any connection between a crisis among honeybees and cordless phones would seem to have manifested itself years ago.
And, keep the honey coming.
In other news: A friend wrote this week that Park Hill in downtown Hollister was host to six different species of hummingbirds. The park’s eucalyptus and bottlebrush are magnets for migrating birds. Migrants, just arriving from the tropics, tank up on pollen and nectar. Right now, orioles chatter from the treetops, black-headed grosbeaks are everywhere and soon, western tanagers will arrive en masse.
The cost of admission is a few minutes of patience and a pair of binoculars. It’s a show that is not to be missed.
