Why I became a beekeeper

The experiences of my childhood have deeply shaped the way I think. In the early 1960s, agriculture still meant working with what the land itself provided. In the village in Somogy where I grew up, people only sprayed against the Colorado beetle, while fruit trees and vineyards were treated with nothing more than copper sulfate. They cultivated varieties naturally resistant to disease. Preserving the fertility of the soil was vital, and no one used artificial fertilisers or chemicals, as these were simply not available at the time.

I often feel as though I stepped out of the Middle Ages: for 500 years, my ancestors treated the land just as my grandparents did. We lived from what we produced. The surplus we sold, and with the money we bought only essentials like salt, sugar, flour, or kerosene. Everything else we grew or made ourselves. Our vegetables and fruit were rich and healthy, free from chemicals, and our animals provided naturally.

I believe the greatest damage in modern agriculture has come from the use of chemicals, far worse for nature than even climate change. Today, soil is often reduced to a mere carrier: plants no longer grow from what the earth provides, but from the chemical inputs poured onto it. Within a single generation, the damage has been enormous, and in my own lifetime I have seen the living environment shrink to a fraction of what it once was.

In our family beekeeping, we strive to preserve nature’s values. We are certified organic beekeepers, using only natural substances to protect the bees. I believe bees act as biological filters: they cannot carry contaminated nectar into the hive, and if a pesticide remains on the flower, the bee dies. Sadly, this is happening more and more frequently.

Still, large areas of Europe remain untouched by chemical farming: forests, meadows, wetlands. The honey from such places is of exceptional quality, such as Hungarian acacia honey. The further bees are from destructive impacts, the closer they remain to ancient harmony. That is why I have always sold only honey I produced myself or honey from beekeepers I personally trusted, no matter where they lived in the world.

Since childhood, I have felt the urge to seek out the most remote, untouched places, where perfect honey can still be made. After forty years of work, I can finally do so — even if it takes me to the ends of the earth.