Goodbye Dr. Ambrose. We'll tell the bees.
It is with great sadness that we report the passing of a great friend to the bees and beekeepers everywhere, Dr. John Ambrose. He served as mentor to so many of us in the world of bees and also to so many students of North Carolina State University. John was truly a shining beacon of kindness and light. He was so very wise, funny, and engaged. He will be greatly missed.Obituaries...NC State Beekeepers Association:http://www.ncbeekeepers.org/a-message-to-ncsba-membership-on-dr-ambrose/NC State University Technician:http://www.technicianonline.com/news/article_6daf9aba-9ae4-11e4-ab9d-cbf19262d488.htmlNews & Observer:http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/newsobserver/obituary.aspx?pid=173829834
Goodbye, John. You left the world in a better state than you entered it. Thank you for all that you did for us. We will "Tell the Bees"
The family will receive visitors from 5-7 p.m. on Thursday, January
Brown-Wynne Funeral Home
1701 E. Millbrook Road
Raleigh, NC 27609
Services and a celebratory wake will held:
3 pm on Friday, January 16th
Carol Johnson Clubhouse on NC State's Centennial Campus
1509 Main Campus Drive
Raleigh, NC 27606
The family requests that memorial contributions be made in his memory to:Alliance of Disability Advocates
P.O. Box 12988, Raleigh, NC 27605
...or made to to a veterans charity of choice;
or the NCSU Apiculture Science Fund: http://www.cals.ncsu.edu/entomology/apiculture/
... ...Telling the BeesBy John Greenleaf Whittier
Here is the place; right over the hill
Runs the path I took;
You can see the gap in the old wall still,
And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook.
There is the house, with the gate red-barred,
And the poplars tall;
And the barn’s brown length, and the cattle-yard,
And the white horns tossing above the wall.
There are the beehives ranged in the sun;
And down by the brink
Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o’errun,
Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink.
A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,
Heavy and slow;
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows,
And the same brook sings of a year ago.
There ’s the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze;
And the June sun warm
Tangles his wings of fire in the trees,
Setting, as then, over Fernside farm.
I mind me how with a lover’s care
From my Sunday coat
I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair,
And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat.
Since we parted, a month had passed,—
To love, a year;
Down through the beeches I looked at last
On the little red gate and the well-sweep near.
I can see it all now,—the slantwise rain
Of light through the leaves,
The sundown’s blaze on her window-pane,
The bloom of her roses under the eaves.
Just the same as a month before,—
The house and the trees,
The barn’s brown gable, the vine by the door,—
Nothing changed but the hives of bees.
Before them, under the garden wall,
Forward and back,
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.
Trembling, I listened: the summer sun
Had the chill of snow;
For I knew she was telling the bees of one
Gone on the journey we all must go!
Then I said to myself, “My Mary weeps
For the dead to-day:
Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps
The fret and the pain of his age away.”
But her dog whined low; on the doorway sill,
With his cane to his chin,
The old man sat; and the chore-girl still
Sung to the bees stealing out and in.
And the song she was singing ever since
In my ear sounds on:—
“Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence!
Mistress Mary is dead and gone!”