He sees the beekeeper as both a naturalist and business manager. "We utilize these animals while also giving them a good environment. A little insect flies out, visits flowers, and brings back a drop of fluid which is passed along from proboscis to proboscis, put into wax cells, and capped. Then a human comes along, bottles this fluid [honey], and makes a comfortable living from it."
Whynott describes the relationship beekeepers have with their bees as a process of "thinking and calculating on their behalf" rather than one of physically tending to their needs, the way a dairy farmer works with cows, for example. "You develop a metaphysical closeness with bees. Looking at them as creatures in a society, a colony with habits, at the structures they build and the way they live--it makes you think about them. You begin to look at the landscape as a beekeeper. Everywhere you go, you look with a discerning eye at flowers and plants and think about what they'll yield." He enjoys the fact that beekeeping, an agricultural advantage, has only a positive impact on the environment.
As for stings, bees haven't frightened him in years. A state bee inspector from 1980 to 1981, he had to break open and inspect hives barehanded to avoid spreading contamination with gloves. "In the process of doing beekeeping you lose your fear ... or quit."
He finds that beekeepers, who often work alone, are verbal and articulate about their work. "They're filled with thinking, and they can talk for twelve hours at a clip. Beekeeping attracts different types who are independent and want to be out in the landscape. They all end up philosophical and full of wacky ideas." Whynott's own ideas sound moderate, though. He plans to get back to keeping hives eventually, and talks of setting up a display of beehives from antiquity and other cultures.