on the first dry morning of april, after the last frost has passed and before any thunder, the hives are opened for the first time since autumn. it is called bee morning. the keeper stands at the entrance of each hive, takes off her hat, and tells the bees, in order, who has died and who has been born since the last opening. this is the rite, and the rite is the whole festival.
the earliest record is a village register from 1666 which notes, in a margin, that the curate's wife had walked out to "tell the bees of the curate, lately gone." the practice may be older; the bees, in any case, are not new. the keeper is whoever has kept hives the longest in the parish. she is not paid. she has, at present, kept hives for forty-seven years.
nobody else is supposed to be near. but children watch from the hedge, and adults arrive afterwards with small loaves of honey-bread, which are eaten standing in the lane. the keeper is offered tea. the bees, told their news, go on with their year.
— field note: the keeper this morning paused before naming the last birth. she said the name twice, as if to be sure they had heard.