Years ago I wrote an article on honey for the Oregonian based on a recently released book on the topic, A Taste of Honey by Oregon author Marie Simmons. Simmons, who at that time had written more than 20 books on subjects like figs, rice, eggs and muffins, had for years been entranced by honey and the insects that made the intoxicating substance—so much so that she mentioned she had a "library" of more than 100 jars that she kept alphabetized on shelves in her Eugene garage.

From her book I learned about the lives of bees, bee society and bee anatomy, as well as how bees produce honey: The nectar collected from blossoms contains sucrose that is broken down by an enzyme in the bees' saliva and is stored in a special "honey stomach." When the bees get back to the hive they regurgitate the honey into the waxy hexagons of the honeycomb, flapping their wings—which makes the buzzing sound we hear—to evaporate the honey, preventing it from fermenting in the comb.

In the intervening years I've started my own (very limited) library of different honeys, each one surprisingly different from the others because of the various types of nectar available to the bees, as well as the season in which it was collected. This year I'm determined to add to the collection, so I've been scouting out some local beekeepers and farmers I want to try:

Ramage Farms, Canby and Mulino. "We have around 100 hives throughout the property hammering all the spring blooms [with] more coming up like the sunflowers and blackberries," according to owner Ryan Ramage. He's been actively working on restoring his property with habitat and soil health as a priority and will be releasing details on this year's honey soon.

Oso Honey Farm, Corvallis. Beekeeper Henry Storch has been breeding locally adapted honeybees in remote parts of the Oregon Coast Range. Offering a wide array of raw varietal honeys, including Coriander, Meadowfoam, Wild Blackberry and Clary Sage, among many others, Storch has also been hosting bulk honey pours at his farmstand where you can bring a (clean) jar to fill up with the featured varietals. (The last bulk pour of the season is June 15.) Otherwise, his honeys are available at several farmers' markets and retail outlets.

Nehalem River Ranch, Nehalem. Jared Gardner markets two varietals produced on his multi-species, pasture-based farm nestled along the Nehalem River in the western foothills of Oregon's Coast Range. One is a light honey from the clover, blackberries and flowers on the ranch, and the other is a dark "Japanese Bamboo" Honey, a prized late-season honey that comes from the Japanese Knotweed that is prolific on the banks of the Nehalem River.

A good place to find more local honey is at your local farmers' market if you're jonesing, as I am, to add to your own library—or just to have something local and delicious to drizzle on your toast. It's worth keeping in mind that in her book Simmons notes that imported honeys are fine, but it's like the difference between jug wine and a bottle of pinot from the Willamette Valley: Food always tastes better closer to the source.

Top photo and meadowfoam field from Oso Honey Farm. Glowing honey jars from Ramage Farms.

Earlier this summer I was having a bit of a crisis. You see, for the last couple of summers we've had a very active bumblebee nest in our back yard. It's hidden behind a bed of hostas and a bleeding heart growing around the foundation of our garage, its entrance hidden under a scattering of oak leaves (see above).

I was alerted to its presence when I was innocently watering the garden and suddenly heard a vibrant buzzing coming from a corner of the garden bed. Several fairly large bumblebees were circling around the area, looking for the intruder—me—who had apparently come a little too close to the nest.

Now, some people might freak out at the thought of a bees' nest in their back yard and call an exterminator. But knowing as I did that, in general, bumblebees are peaceful insects and will only sting when they feel cornered or when their hive is disturbed, I simply stepped back several feet and waited for them to realize I wasn't a threat. It also gave me a chance to see where they were returning to.

Of course my first act was not to look up the Wikipedia article on bumblebees. It was to call our long-suffering neighbor, who works for the Xerces Society and who puts up with my endless bee questions, along with the occasional accusation along the lines of "one of your friends just stung me!" He informed me that congratulations were in order because there was indeed a bumblebee nest under our garage and they seemed perfectly happy.

I felt like a new parent.

Which is why, when earlier this summer I observed no activity from the nest and very few bumblebees on the flowering shrubs and bushes on the block, I got a little panicky. When I consulted my neighbor (like I said, he puts up with a lot), he said it was possible that they had abandoned the nest, but with the unusually cool spring and early summer, they might just be late in appearing.

So I waited. And waited.

It was just about exactly when our neighbors' prodigious stand of lavender bushes burst into bloom that, joy of joys, I saw the bumbles return, buzzing happily from wand to wand, taking their gathered treasure back to the nest behind the garage. I was ecstatic. And yes, I texted our neighbor with the good news.