The Honey-Sweet Saint: Bernard of Clairvaux and His Garden Wisdom
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
August 20th every year...
Oh, my darling petal-fanciers!
On this most auspicious day, we celebrate none other than Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, that most splendid patron saint of beekeepers, bees, and candlemakers alike. What a delicious connection to our garden pursuits!
This French Abbot, my dear she-shed besties, was quite the phenomenon in his day. A doctor of the church with a silver tongue that could charm the most reluctant of souls. They called him the "honey-sweet" doctor, and not without reason! His language flowed with such golden eloquence that one couldn't help but be drawn in, much like our beloved bees to a freshly opened clematis.
Can you imagine the scene, my fellow flower-lovers?
When young Bernard decided to commit himself to monastic life, he stood before an assembly to give his testimony.
And oh! What a testimony it must have been!
So utterly compelling that thirty of his family members and friends—THIRTY!—were moved to join the monastery alongside him. That's not merely persuasion; that's enchantment of the highest order!
It was this extraordinary gift for sweet talk that forged his association with bees.
After all, what creature better represents the perfect marriage of industry and sweetness than our humming garden companions?
The parallel is simply divine.
"Believe me, for I know, you will find something far greater in the woods than in books.
Stones and trees will teach you that which you cannot learn from the masters."
These words, uttered by our Saint Bernard, resonate particularly with us gardeners, do they not?
While I adore a good horticultural tome as much as the next dirt-under-the-nails enthusiast, there's a wisdom that comes only from communion with the living earth.
As I wander through my own humble plots, watching the industrious bees moving from bloom to bloom, I'm reminded of Bernard's philosophy. The lessons taught by unfurling leaves, by persistent roots pushing through resistant soil, by the patient transformation of bud to flower to fruit—these are teachings more profound than any lecture hall could provide.
On this day dedicated to the honey-sweet doctor, perhaps we might pause in our garden labors to observe our buzzing friends at work. Consider how they, like Bernard, transform the ordinary into something extraordinary, something sweet, something that brings light—be it honey or beeswax candles—into our world.
And if you're feeling particularly inspired, my treasured gardening companions, why not plant something specifically to attract these blessed creatures?
A patch of lavender, perhaps, or some cheerful sunflowers? What better way to honor the saint who understood that nature herself is the greatest of teachers?
Until our next garden chat, may your secateurs stay sharp and your soil remain friable!
