In 2013, my husband bought me a starter hive for my birthday because I'd been complaining about not having a hobby. He thought I'd quit by August. I didn't.
One hive turned into two, then four, then a problem. By 2015 we had more honey than we could give away. The neighbors took some. My mother took a lot. We still had ten gallons in the garage.
So I made labels on the computer, jarred everything, and set up a folding table at the end of the driveway with a hand-painted sign that said HONEY $8. It sold out in a weekend.
That was eleven years ago. We're still small. We still jar every batch ourselves. The difference is now we have forty-two hives across three pastures, a real kitchen, a tagline that makes my kids roll their eyes, and a customer in Vermont who orders six jars at Christmas every year without fail.
We do one thing. We sell only what we keep. If a season is short, the shop goes empty until next year. We've never bought wholesale honey, blended in cheaper varietals, or heat-treated a jar to make it pretty on the shelf. We won't.
That's the whole business. Hi, I'm Bri. Welcome.