Laguiole knives have long been made in the Aveyron region, and are sold everywhere around us, both in tourist shops and regular knife shops. They are easily identified by the bee (the Laguiole bee) emblem just above the blade, as seen in the image to the left. I have always associated Laguiole with Cordes, where I first saw them, and have given them as gifts to friends in the US in addition to having two basic cutlery sets and a rather gorgeous folding knife with corkscrew (like the one below but a rich yellow). They are most known for their folding knives, which have a lovely smooth action and, according to the website, require 166 separate operations from carving the handles to polishing the blade, all done by hand.
My favorite part of my knife (aside from the bee) is the guilloché, “a traditional technique carried out with a file or a grindstone. Curves, lines, geometric patterns or interlacing: each decoration is shaped by hand and makes each knife unique” (Laguiole.com). You can see from these images (also from the website, my knife is in France and I am not) how different the carving is, and even the bee itself. The high priced knives are works of art, and functional from paper thin tomato slices to harvesting grapes and then sitting down for a glass of wine (opened by the attached corkscrew). When I harvested grapes in Southern France (near Perpignan) when I was in college we used knives and secateurs. I got cut so close to the nerve in my finger that it still makes me shudder to remember (also I have an interesting V-shaped scar), but they were not Laguiole knives. And I still love that quirky little bee on the handle.
Bees seem to be a bit of a theme both here and there. Andrée had, or maybe still has, a huge hive running between the stone walls in her house, too deep in to be removed, I can’t even imagine how many tons of honey there must be in there. There are bees in the ground, too. There was a nest in the field behind her house a few years ago, but those seem to be one and done, not multigenerational nests like those in the walls — or perhaps the lawnmower was too much for them and they relocated to a quieter place.
This year we got our own nest. There’s a corner of wall by the studio that was on our “to-do” list to caulk and paint. But before we got to it a swarm saw the potential and moved in. It is high and they are motivated to get as much pollen as possible so they don’t really bother us physically, but psychologically we worry, especially about friends who might get stung. Walter consulted Jack who keeps his own bees (and makes lovely honey) and he said (in French) “Leave them alone. It is very hard to remove them and the best time to do it is Spring. In winter they get very inactive and if you want to paint and patch, they won’t bother you…..” Darn. We still have to paint and patch.
My office at Drew is on the third floor of an old house that used to be a faculty house back in the day. I love my windows overlooking the trees, and although they are smaller and the ceiling is lower (typical of the servants floor), it is still a lovely space. But we get racoons nesting in the roof space every other year and they can’t be removed until the babies are ready to leave. At a certain point we can stand outside and see them poking their heads out of the hole where they entered; the hole that gets patched once they are gone, only to be replaced by another a few years later and we begin again. But they and the red tailed hawk do make a mess of the fire escape and mansard, which they take to be their personal latrine when they are not just peeing through the ceiling tiles. And of course you need to be careful when opening windows. And there’s a woodpecker outside, who prompted us to look up why woodpeckers don’t get concussion and sparked the then third floor denizens to spend a hilarious rainy afternoon planning a children’s book about the creatures of the third floor (including us). Our students would never guess what faculty get up to when nobody shows up for their office hours . . .
Less entertaining are the bees. We had a nest two years ago that was established enough that, so it is rumored, the people in facilities who removed it got to take home honey. And yesterday there was a swarm above the window on the stairwell. A few have found their way inside, although they would rather not be here. Last count there were twelve in the bathroom, which is a little stressful — for them and me. A work order has been filed. So far I can still do my office hours here, but as I pass up and down the stairs I am reminded of the experience of sitting under the Linden trees in France listening to their amazing work song [see May 23, 2026].
As I was thinking about this post and looking for images I realized how many pictures I have of bees. At one point I was trying to catalogue all the kinds of bees in the front garden where lavender, Russian sage, acanthus, rosemary, red sage (Salvia miltiorrhiza), and roses seem quite a draw, even when the linden is not also in flower. The blue carpenter bee is amazing, and the honey bees from the hive across the road made good use of all of the above.
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We even have a wild orchid that looks like a bee sipping pollen from the flower. I’m not sure how they get pollenated, but they are such a delight when you come across them hidden in the grass. From knives to orchids and lindens buzzing with thousands of bees, I think I will always be transported to our house when I see and hear bees.
Update: Given all this, I was extra sad to be informed the next day that the exterminator had “sprayed the swarm with a strong poison” and they would all be dead within a few days. Most were dead in one day, leaving a carpet of carcasses on the side staircase and within all the light fixtures.