What Honey Season is Teaching Me About Leadership, Risk, and Letting Go

Trisha Swed
May 9
6 min read

What do bees know about leadership that most people don’t?

One year. That’s how long I waited for this moment—the first honey harvest from my bees. After months of tending, learning, watching, and waiting, I pulled 11 pounds of golden honey from the hive. I had been told the first harvest was special. They were right. But I didn’t expect it to be this meaningful, not just personally, but professionally. As someone who has spent years thinking about leadership, youth development, and systems change, I didn’t realize that one of my most valued lessons in leadership would come from a bee sting.

Let me back up.

Stewardship Before Reward

When I first decided to get into beekeeping, it wasn’t out of a desire to harvest honey. I wasn’t seeking some tangible end goal. I was drawn to the process itself—the learning, the connection to nature, and the stewardship of an intricate ecosystem. There’s something inherently fascinating about a beehive. Bees are complex, collective creatures, with a well-ordered, cooperative way of life. Their behaviors make them an exemplary model for leadership, especially in a world where collaboration is often undervalued.

I learned quickly that successful beekeeping doesn’t revolve around rushing to the harvest. It’s about tending to the bees, understanding their rhythms, and making thoughtful decisions. I joined my local bee guild, scoured books and articles, and watched tutorials online, all in an effort to understand the delicate balance of managing a hive. But I also did what any cautious novice might do: I bought an epipen.

Not because I’m allergic (I didn’t know if I was), but because risk, even hypothetical, needs to be respected. I was willing to take the chance to be part of this ecosystem, but I also took steps to protect myself. This felt like a crucial leadership principle: in any venture, especially one involving risk. You don’t simply jump in without preparing for both the best and the worst.

When you think about leadership, particularly in nonprofit work or youth development, it often mirrors the process of beekeeping. We focus on the outputs—results, deliverables, milestones. But if you’re not paying attention to the process and nurturing the ecosystem, you may end up sacrificing long-term growth for short-term gains. A commitment to stewardship—taking the time to prepare, protect, and nurture the people and systems in your care—ensures sustainable success.

The first harvest was never about me, at least not entirely. It was about creating the space for the bees to thrive, to work together and do what they were naturally designed to do. I resisted the urge to take too much, trusting the process. I didn’t rush the bees; I let them do their thing, and in turn, they gave me the gift of honey.

It’s not about forcing outcomes. It’s about building relationships, managing expectations, and allowing space for growth. If we treat those in our care as commodities or quick fixes, we risk eroding the very trust and relationships that allow our organizations to thrive.

The Sting I Feared Most

Oddly enough, I didn’t get stung pulling the honey. Or carrying the frames inside. I got stung when I took off my suit too excitedly... too fast... and didn’t realize a bee had come along for the ride. It was the moment I let my guard down.

I’ve spent the past few years teaching leaders, especially those in nonprofits and youth development organizations, that risk is inevitable. Whether it’s fear of failure, fear of criticism, or the fear of losing control, the truth is that risk will always be a part of the journey. The key is to manage it, not avoid it. The bee sting wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t something I anticipated. But it taught me something crucial about risk: the thing we fear the most is often survivable. It might even be the thing that frees us.

It hurt, but not as badly as I thought it would. No anaphylaxis. Just swelling, itching, and a hand that looked a bit like it belonged to someone else for a few days. It passed. And with it passed the fear I had carried with me all year. Leadership is about acknowledging and confronting fear, not avoiding it.

In the organizations I work with, I often see leaders who are afraid of taking risks. Leaders who want to build inclusive systems, but are afraid to make mistakes. Staff who want to be bold but are afraid of getting it “wrong.” The fear of making the wrong decision often paralyzes organizations, preventing them from growing or innovating.

The lesson here is that growth, both personal and organizational, requires us to face discomfort, take calculated risks, and move through fear. In my case, the bee sting wasn’t a catastrophe. It wasn’t a failure. It was a reminder that the sting was a natural part of the process. Leadership isn’t the absence of fear. It’s what happens when we move forward anyway.

Leadership as an Ecosystem

The most profound lesson I’ve learned from beekeeping is how deeply it mirrors the idea of leadership as an ecosystem. Bees are not individualists. They are part of a complex system where every action contributes to the whole. They work in collective harmony—each with their role, each in service of the hive. There’s no hierarchy or competition for resources. Every bee knows its duty, and through that shared understanding, they build something far greater than the sum of their parts.

When I talk about ecosystems of leadership development, this is part of what I mean. A healthy ecosystem is built on interdependence, transparency, boundaries, and purpose. It’s about working toward a collective goal, knowing that each participant’s role is integral to the success of the whole. But it’s also about the capacity to adapt when necessary. Just like bees, our roles can shift. People move in and out of leadership positions, and systems are constantly evolving. What makes an ecosystem resilient is its ability to adapt, to change without losing sight of the collective purpose.

Leadership, then, isn’t simply about maintaining structure. It’s about knowing when to step in, when to step back, and when to let the system function as it was designed. Beekeeping taught me that leadership requires trust—in your people, in the process, and in the system itself. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is step aside and let others flourish.

Leaving More Than You Take

Harvesting honey is about knowing your limits. There’s a temptation to take more. I could have taken more than 11 pounds. The bees had enough. But I didn’t. I wanted to be sure the bees were okay—that they had what they needed for themselves, not just for me.

In our organizations, we often face a similar temptation. We push our staff to do more, give more, and work harder. We ask more from our communities than we’re willing to give. We seek quick wins and immediate results, without considering the long-term impact of our actions. The result is often burnout, disillusionment, and a system that’s no longer sustainable.

Leadership requires us to practice restraint. It’s about making sure the people in our ecosystem are supported, nourished, and cared for; before we ask them to produce. It’s about giving more than you take, ensuring that the people, communities, and systems around you are resilient and thriving, not just surviving.

In every organization I’ve worked with, the most sustainable ones are those that understand this principle. They don’t push their resources to the brink. They leave more than they take. They invest in the long-term health of their people and programs.

Transitioning to Winter Mode

The season will shift soon. Maybe I’ll get another harvest (or even two) before winter sets in. But that’s not a guarantee. What I can do is prepare. Monitor the hive. Offer support. Protect the ecosystem through transition.

Wintering is an essential part of leadership, too. It’s a time of rest, protection, and reflection. But often, our organizational calendars don’t make room for that. We push forward with constant motion, always thinking about the next project, the next deadline, the next deliverable. But bees remind us: the hive cannot thrive without cycles of pause and protection.

As leaders, we need to honor these rhythms, in ourselves, in our teams, and in our strategies. Just as the bees rest and huddle together in the winter, we, too, must create time for rest and reflection. Without this, we risk burning out, both as individuals and as organizations. If we’re constantly in motion, we miss the opportunity to reflect, recharge, and prepare for the future.