Photography by Landon Speers.
When I arrive at Falconwood Farms apiary, Kaat Kaye is already deep into checking hive boxes, unaware of my presence. I overhear her nattering at the bees, their soft hum filling the air between words of encouragement and negotiation. Her role is part-caretaker, part-coworker, monitoring the colony’s health, harvesting surplus honey, and ensuring the hive’s survival.
It's the first of six visits I’d make following the 29-year-old beekeeper behind Rootflux Bee Co, her beekeeping operation in New York's Hudson Valley. Kaye was born with profound deafness, so she doesn’t rely on the aural cues people in the hearing community often take for granted.
While Kaye is able to hear with the assistance of hearing aids, she usually removes them when she’s working. “Sounds aren’t natural to me,” she explains. “I just love the peace and quiet. When I’m with the bees, I don’t need to hear. I can focus better when I’m not constantly distracted."
Equipped with only her hood, hive tool, and smoker, Kaye moves at a steady and calculated pace. I'm overdressed, having borrowed a full protective suit for the occasion. She instructs me to ditch the gloves I brought and tells me where to stand so as to avoid stressing out the colony. Kaye’s gentle, deliberate style makes me feel at ease around her insect counterparts. The more time we spend together, the more I come to appreciate Kaye’s passion for bee stewardship, as well as the ways that being hard of hearing have influenced her unique approach to the craft.
Kaye’s interest in bees began at the age of 12, when she first observed a working hive at a county fair. She started her company in 2018 after years spent traveling to work with different beekeepers at apiaries from New Mexico to Jamaica. Now she helps manage 75 hives with 10 clients—a mix of farms, private residences, and businesses throughout the Hudson Valley. In her practice, she emphasizes natural beekeeping techniques that employ minimal chemical interventions. And she’s able to get all the information she needs to tend to the hives by relying on her other senses.
After all, sound is just one way that bees communicate. For example, when a hive is deciding to relocate, scout bees are sent out to search for potential homes. When they return they perform a “waggle dance” to show enthusiasm for a new spot they’ve found. This choreography allows the bees to narrow down their options and then have their form of a final vote.
Scent is another important mode of correspondence for the bees. They emit a pheromone with a banana-like aroma to signal alarm, and another that smells like lemongrass, which acts as a homing beacon. Paying attention to such subtle nuances requires a kind of patience that wouldn’t be possible if Kaye were operating within a larger factory model, where efficiency and success are measured against honey production volume rather than hive resiliency.
Perhaps above all else, what makes Kaye an exceptional beekeeper is almost philosophical. Excelling at her job has everything to do with adaptation, managing the countless variables that arise on any given day. Is there too much rain? Too little? When will the flowers bloom? Will they produce enough nectar? She responds accordingly, making sure not to disrupt the bees’ rhythm and balance. Accepting these uncertainties is essential. “There is a spiritual side to beekeeping,” she said. “You can’t fully control them, like with anything in nature, really. Some years you get a great honey season. Some years are horrible and you lose 50 percent of your hive. There’s a lot of heartbreak but a lot of joy in it, too, just working outside with these creatures—a living superorganism.”