June 2- 8, 2005

loose canon

Sweet Turns Sour

Inside the mind of an angry beehive. Also, the modern morphing of a candy brand name.

by Bruce Schimmel

When we lifted the lid, the insects boiled up through the handholds and flowed down the sides of the hive like angry black lava. In a flash, scores became hundreds, and were swelling to thousands.

Damn. The little buggers were messing up my story. In my experience as a beekeeper, these insects mind their manners — which is why I had contacted the beekeepers of the Southwark/Queen Village Community Garden. I wanted write about how friendly bees are and how safe urban beekeeping can be.

During spring, each of these three hives holds about 40,000 insects. By summer's apex, their total numbers will top 200,000. And for about 25 years, these hives have peaceably pollinated this community garden and the neighbors' flowers.

But right now, on a cloudy day, these critters were ready to riot. They were looking for trouble, with stingers loaded for bear. And with no smoke to calm them, nearby humans were the most convenient targets for their collective wrath.

To keep a lid on their rage, Lisa Rubens, Barbara Seiple and I had to become invisible. We stepped back and froze, holding our breaths to quell our smell.

By breeding and nature, honeybees are almost domesticated animals. In my experience, they're practically pettable. Really. Unlike yellowjackets — with which they are often confused — you can gently stroke the little fur patch on a honeybee's back while it feeds on a flower.

Still, before you try this at home, first be sure it's a honeybee. That yellow insect slurping your soda, with the black stripes and no fur, is a yellowjacket — a species of wasp. So hold your breath — never blow on any bee — and move away slowly. You, too, can learn to disappear.

So why did these bees erupt today? To understand this angry hive's state of mind, first imagine a very crowded outdoor festival. Then add three days of drenching rain. As the mud and boredom mount, take away the toilets and don't let anyone take a leak.

Bees don't fly in bad weather, and they won't poop in their hive. So at the moment these tens of thousands of mostly females were, well, incredibly constipated. It was time for us to shut up this hive and let the bees be.

When the sun comes out the insects will feel better, but their travails will hardly be over. Honeybees are in big trouble. Poisoned by insecticides and sucked dry by parasitic mites, colonies are crashing across the nation. This year, the Southwark/Queen Village beekeepers — who are newbies in the honey business — had to import a new queen in hopes of reviving one weakened hive.

In Pennsylvania, beekeepers are reporting 50 to 70 percent losses. Wild honeybees are swiftly becoming an endangered species: Populations in the United States are down as much as 80 percent in the last decade.

They need us, and we need them. Without bees, whole sections of agriculture would grind to a halt, and without our care there would be no bees. So even if bees occasionally get pesky, they still need to be protected — even here in the city. Asked if beekeeping was legal in Philadelphia, the answer from City Hall was unequivocal: absolutely. At least there's some sweet news.

What's a Chew-et?

A candy by any name should taste just as sweet. But after I learned that the Goldenberg name would disappear from the front of the new Peanut Chews® package, the classic molasses and peanut confection left a sour taste in my mouth.

The Goldenberg family has sold the Philly-based candy company. The new owners, Just Born, Inc., decided to replace the family name with a made-up one. The candy called Goldenberg's Peanut Chews® since 1917 shall be henceforth be known as Chew-et's Peanut Chews®.

When I met with some Just Born folks at their plant in Northeast Philly, they explained that the Goldenberg name had no meaning outside of the East Coast, where some 80 percent of the 600,000 cases of the candy are consumed yearly. Their hope is to make Peanut Chews an international brand. Since the packaging change last month, I was told that sales have climbed, and they expect to close a big distribution deal in Japan soon.

The company says that when they tested the new packaging against the old, the targeted 18- to 24-year-old consumers preferred the one without the Goldenberg name.

Which, to me, proves nothing.

Why would a name like "Chew-et" pack more marketing punch than a family name? What is a Chew-et anyway? Barbie and Ken's demented spawn? The teething kid sister of movie monster, Chuckie the chomper?

Sure, the old packaging needed to be updated. But that doesn't mean it needed to be rechristened. Classic products that bear the names of real families — whether it's Heinz, Nestle, Hershey or Rothschild — carry an authenticity that a synthetic moniker just can't buy. To my mind, the Just Born company has tossed away a perfectly fine name, and in doing so have trashed a venerable Philadelphia tradition. Feh!