When Ivette Smith speaks about bees, she does so with the reverence of someone discussing family. Her voice softens, her tempo changes, and there’s a glimmer in her tone that makes it clear: this isn’t just a topic she writes about. It’s a part of her. Long before she became the author of Buzzing with Purpose: The Art and Science of Beekeeping, Smith was just a curious little girl with long hair and big questions, following her grandfather and uncle through the citrus-scented fields of the Dominican Republic. Those early memories, watching honey drip from combs, learning how the flavor of honey shifted with the blossoms of orange or lemon trees, planted something that would bloom much later in life.
What began as a childhood fascination matured into a lifelong mission. Her new book isn’t simply about beekeeping. It’s about balance, purpose, and community, values she believes bees embody better than most humans. And it’s also about resilience, a theme that mirrors her own life. At 57 years old, while still pursuing her master’s degree, Smith has managed to write multiple books, all while facing personal challenges, including physical surgeries and living with bipolar disorder. That determination, quiet but fierce, buzzes through every line she writes.
Buzzing with Purpose is part memoir, part practical guide, and completely compelling. It blends storytelling with science, delivering content that both educates and captivates. From the anatomy of a hive to urban rooftop setups, Smith covers the whole spectrum. There are diagrams, seasonal checklists, and tips for preventing swarms or dealing with mites, but there’s also heart. She reflects on the emotional impact of watching drones die after mating, of having to remove a second queen from a hive, and the bittersweet poetry that seems to guide every action inside the colony.
One of the most unique aspects of the book is how it connects the hive to human life. Smith draws clear parallels between the rigid yet harmonious world of bees and the disjointed systems of modern society. Every bee has a role, she explains. The worker, the drone, the queen, each knows their purpose. They work not for personal gain, but for the collective good. Even in death, their lives are part of a larger pattern. She uses this comparison not to scold but to inspire. Her underlying message is clear: imagine what we could accomplish if we understood our place in the bigger picture.
The book also efficiently tackles urban beekeeping. Smith is adamant that you don’t need farmland or a science background to care for bees. Whether you’re setting up a hive on a city balcony or maintaining one in your backyard, she provides a roadmap that feels doable. She even breaks down how to build your own hive on a budget, how to check with local zoning regulations, and how to explain the process to concerned neighbors. She demystifies the process in a tone that’s neither preachy nor oversimplified.
What truly sets Smith apart as an author is her willingness to blend vulnerability with knowledge. She openly shares that she’s battled through several hand surgeries that temporarily prevented her from gardening or even writing comfortably. She jokes about being “a mess with a mission,” but behind that humor is a clear sense of purpose. Bees gave her a focus outside herself. In nurturing them, she found healing. In their order, she found peace. In their instinct to build, protect, and renew, she saw a model for how she wanted to live.
She’s also unafraid to challenge mainstream myths. Organic honey? “It doesn’t exist,” she says flatly. “You can’t leash a bee. You can’t tell it which flowers to visit. What matters is the environment you create for them.” It’s this kind of directness, paired with her storytelling, that gives the book its edge. She’s not trying to sound like an expert; she just happens to be one.
Smith has also written on mental health, including her second book, The Bipolar Journey, which explores her experiences living with the disorder. Beekeeping, she says, gave her structure. Something to care for. Something that needed her to show up. That same spirit pulses through Buzzing with Purpose. The book is more than a manual. It’s a philosophy wrapped in pages. A call to action that doesn’t shout, but hums gently in your ear.
Today, she dreams of creating a large pollinator sanctuary on her 13-acre property. Despite physical limitations, she still sketches plans for gardens full of wildflowers, trees, and, of course, bees. “They remember where they’ve been,” she says. “Even if you move the hive, they find their way back.” It’s hard not to see that as a metaphor for her own life. No matter what detours or delays have come, she’s always found her way back to her purpose.
Buzzing with Purpose isn’t just a book for beekeepers. It’s a book for educators, gardeners, environmentalists, and anyone searching for a way to reconnect with nature, with purpose, with themselves. It’s for the quietly curious, the skeptically hopeful, and the deeply tired. Because, as Smith reminds us, even the smallest bee has a role. Even the smallest life can build something sweet.
