Honey: The Bees Reveal Edogawa City’s Rich Nature and Blossoms

In the middle of a residential neighborhood in Mizue, Edogawa City, stands a metalworking factory. On its rooftop, a row of beehives buzz with life, as honeybees gather nectar from flowers blooming in parks and along tree-lined streets throughout the city.

y&y honey is a honey brand created by Suzuki Yoshiaki, a lifelong Edogawa resident who runs a metalworks and also works as a beekeeper. His honey, made from the perspective that “to know the flowers is to know the city,” captures the unique and abundant flavor of Edogawa City—a place where urban life and nature coexist.

“I was visiting a photographer friend who lived in Nagano, and their family kept bees. I helped out a bit and suddenly realized: you can make honey yourself. They also worked in magazine publishing, and when they saw my interest, they suggested turning it into a serialized feature—something like, ‘let’s follow your journey learning to keep bees.’ That’s how I got started.”

At the time, Japan was still reeling from the post-bubble economic slump. Orders were down at Suzuki’s factory, which mainly produced architectural metal components like stair railings and handrails. The rooftop of his home, his one place of refuge from the grind of daily work, became his sanctuary. He had already built a pergola and was growing vegetables, so the idea of trying beekeeping there seemed appealing. But it turned out to be much more challenging than he expected.

“One example is swarming, when the bees suddenly take off in a large group to relocate with a new queen. The first time that happened, I had no idea how to handle it—I was completely at a loss. Bees aren’t like pets you can just feed; their biology still holds many mysteries. There are guidebooks out there, but they’re pretty vague. You won’t find practical advice for what actually happens on-site. I’ve seen colonies grow too large, shrink too fast—I’ve been through a lot.”

After much trial and error, Suzuki was introduced to an experienced local beekeeper who generously shared his knowledge. What had started as a casual rooftop hobby gradually took on a much deeper meaning in his life.

“In my twenties, I loved going to concerts and museums. But when I started beekeeping in my forties, something shifted: I began to feel drawn to the rhythms of nature. I used to think Edogawa City had nothing special to offer, but through the eyes of the bees, I realized it’s actually a place with rich natural beauty despite being part of Tokyo.”

Edogawa City, it turns out, has enough natural resources to sustain beekeeping as an industry. Inspired by this discovery, Suzuki gradually expanded his rooftop apiary.

Now operating under the y&y honey label, he manages 4–6 hives in Edogawa City and 15 more on leased farmland in Ichihara, Chiba Prefecture—producing about 250 kilograms of honey annually.

Beekeeping follows a long seasonal cycle. The bees become active in spring, collecting nectar from blooming flowers like rapeseed and cherry blossoms. From spring to early summer, Suzuki harvests the honey, then prepares the hives to ensure the colony can survive the coming winter.

One key task is inspecting the hive frames. Suzuki carefully lifts each one, checking for the queen and monitoring the workers to assess the hive’s overall health.

“The glistening spots in the hive are where the honey is stored,” he explains. “The bees flap their wings to evaporate moisture from the nectar, and once the sugar content reaches about 80%, they seal it in with wax. That’s what we harvest.”

In a bee colony, every individual has a role. Most are female worker bees. Males exist solely to mate with the queen. What’s fascinating is that worker bees take on different tasks each week of their lives.

“When a bee is born, its first job is cleaning the hive. In the second week, it transfers nectar into the comb, mouth to mouth. In the third, it ventures outside to forage. And by the fourth week—its last—it becomes a guard at the entrance. Because a bee dies after it stings, its final role is to defend the hive with its life.”

Even though their lives last just about a month, bees work with fierce dedication. And they don’t gather nectar for themselves alone: the honey is stored for future generations. Suzuki finds this deeply moving.

“Worker bees live short lives and are constantly replaced. But they still collect and store honey not just for themselves, but for bees who haven’t even been born yet. Especially in winter when flowers are scarce, that honey becomes the key to the whole colony surviving until spring. Watching them devote their short lives to something beyond themselves really makes you reflect on how we humans live, too.”

Urban beekeeping offers valuable lessons, but also unique challenges. In a densely populated area like Edogawa City, it’s essential to be mindful of the neighbors.

To that end, Suzuki selects and breeds docile bees, and regularly holds rooftop tours and workshops. He teaches participants how to safely interact with bees, such as not blocking their flight paths or shouting loudly, and promotes beekeeping as an accessible and safe activity for everyone.

“Through those walks I made many discoveries. In spring there’s rapeseed, cherry blossoms, and dandelions; in early summer, tulip trees lining the streets; then in late summer to autumn, flowers bloom in parks and along the riverbanks. In Edogawa City, there’s a seamless relay of flowers from spring to early fall. That continuous diversity is what sustains the bees’ activity.”

The flavor of honey naturally varies between lush rural areas and green-planned urban spaces, Suzuki explains.

“In the countryside, large fields of a single flower variety, like rapeseed, can create quite distinctive, floral honey. In contrast, urban honey reflects the landscape: a blend of many flower varieties, influenced by city planning and green space distribution. The result is a complex, layered taste,” says Suzuki, “People might not normally associate Tokyo with honey, but urban honey has a flavor profile you can’t get from rural regions. It’s got depth, nuance: a taste that reflects the diversity of the city.”

Recently, Suzuki launched a community-based project called “share bees.” The idea is simple: even people who can’t keep hives at home can join in and learn. It’s gaining attention as an accessible way for urban residents to experience beekeeping firsthand.

“We meet about once a month to share beekeeping techniques. It’s a relaxed, easy-going system. Perfect for anyone curious about bees who wants to try being involved.”

A new connection has also formed between Suzuki’s Ichihara farm and local families from Edogawa City. Some now make regular visits, bringing their children to experience the natural world. Seeing how urban kids respond has made Suzuki even more determined to provide those opportunities.

“Just walking along a forest path brings huge smiles to the kids’ faces. But unlike my generation, who ran wild on riverbanks, today’s kids don’t always know how to play in nature, even when they’re surrounded by it. That’s why I want to give them more chances to connect with the outdoors.”

In addition to his work with bees, Suzuki continues to create furniture through f926, a brand he started before beekeeping. Drawing on his background in metalwork, he combines steel and wood into pieces that reflect the joy of making things by hand.

Looking ahead, Suzuki dreams of opening a brick-and-mortar y&y honey store in Edogawa City. More than just a sales space, he envisions it as a gathering point for people interested in beekeeping, nature, and sustainable living. He also hopes to raise the profile of Tokyo-made honey more broadly.

“One day I’d love to take part in a market overseas, selling honey directly. Tokyo’s honey isn’t well known yet, but I’d love to share its unique flavor with people—not just in Japan, but all around the world.”

From the rooftops of Mizue to farms in Chiba, the ripple effect of Suzuki’s beekeeping continues to grow—bridging communities, cities, and nature.

Writing: Kiuchi Aki
Photos: Takeshita Akiko