Heart of the Hive, by Hilary Kearney

Reviewed by Lindsay Kazarick

I picked up Heart of the Hive expecting a solid primer on bee biology, but Hilary Kearney surprised me with something far more intimate — a love letter, really, to the buzzing communities just beyond our backyards. As someone who’s spent countless hours marveling at pollinator gardens and swapping stories with Appalachian beekeepers, I immediately connected with Kearney’s voice: warm, curious, and deeply knowledgeable. She opens by reminding us that a hive operates as a single, living organism, a concept that fascinated me from my first chapter onward. I could almost hear the hum of the colony as she described the waggle dance, that extraordinary choreography by which foragers point their sisters toward hidden nectar sources. Right away, I felt like I was crouched next to her at a hive entrance, watching golden workers stream in and out, carrying pollen baskets heavy with purpose.

What I love most about this book is how it balances rigorous science with genuine storytelling. Kearney isn’t shy about digging into the neurobiology of learning and memory — she explains, without a hint of jargon, how foragers use landmark-based navigation and scent cues to find their way home. But she peppers those deep dives with scenes straight from her own apiary adventures: the thrill of her first swarm catch on a misty spring morning, the heart‑stopping moment two virgin queens met in the brood chamber, and the tender bonds she’s formed with hives that started out feral and gradually learned to trust her presence. Those personal snapshots don’t just entertain — they anchor the reader in the reality of working with bees, reminding us that every pheromone signal and temperature-sensitive brood cluster is driven by the lived experience of thousands of tiny individuals. It’s a storytelling approach I strive for in my own communications work: factual rigor made human through relatable moments.

Yet for all its depth, Heart of the Hive never feels heavy. Kearney writes as though she’s chatting with a friend over coffee, complete with wry observations about her own fumbling early days in a beekeeper suit and self‑deprecating asides when a perfectly planned hive inspection went sideways. The gorgeous photographs — sunlit frames of glistening comb, close‑ups of bees’ multifaceted eyes, and the vibrant chaos of a newly arrived swarm — punctuate each chapter and give the text breathing room. I found myself flipping back to study Eric Tourneret’s images as much as re‑reading passages about brood thermoregulation or pollen diversity. And the thoughtful sidebars on lesser‑known behaviors — like how bees use propolis to sterilize their homes, or the subtleties of guard bee posture — felt like surprise gifts, perfect for anyone who already knows a bit about beekeeping and wants to go deeper.

In blending memoir, science, and visual art, Hilary Kearney invites us to reconsider our relationship with the natural world. She builds on the queen‑focused lens of QueenSpotting and widens the scope, showing that a colony’s true power comes from cooperation, communication, and collective intelligence. By the final pages, I was reflecting on my own community‑building efforts—how much we could learn from the hive when it comes to shared purpose and resilience. Whether you’re a veteran apiarist seeking fresh insights or an armchair naturalist captivated by animal societies, Heart of the Hive offers a richly textured journey into the secret life of bees. It’s a testament to Kearney’s gift for making science feel intimate, and it leaves you buzzing with newfound respect for those industrious pollinators who sustain so much of our world.