David Bradshaw is seventy years old and still working. Not because he wants to. Because bees don't give a f*ck about his legacy.
The man runs a family honey farm. Has for decades. Could sell it. Could retire. Could let someone else deal with the hives. But no. He feels responsible. For what? For ensuring his grandchildren also get to work until they're seventy harvesting bee vomit for ungrateful consumers who complain when a jar costs more than three dollars?
Being a beekeeper is harder than ever, apparently. Colony collapse disorder. Pesticides. Climate change. Varroa mites. The entire ecosystem is working against him. Meanwhile David's out there in a full-body mesh suit getting stung in the face because he's worried about disappointing his dead father.
Here's what nobody tells you about legacy businesses. They're called legacy businesses because you inherit the obligation to keep working a job that stopped making economic sense in 1987. Your grandfather started it. Your father couldn't bear to quit. Now you're the a*shole standing between three generations of sunk costs and admitting this whole thing was a mistake.
The honey industry has a profit margin narrower than a bee's a*shole. David knows this. He's seventy. He's done the math. He stays anyway. Because legacy.
Retail traders do this too. They buy a stock at forty-two dollars. It drops to eleven. They hold for six years because selling would mean admitting they were wrong. They call it conviction. David calls it responsibility. Same delusion. Different outfit.
The bees don't care about legacy. They'll work for whoever brings the hive. David's just the current guy holding the smoker, pretending this means something.
Photo by Bee Naturalles on Unsplash
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