The pain knocked her out. But it didn’t knock her down. Mónica Alonso, a 51-year-old entrepreneur from Entre Ríos, lost her husband 19 years ago in a matter of minutes. That morning they were sharing some mate. Half an hour later, he was in intensive care with no chance of recovery. Her world collapsed. But her children, just 7 and 13 years old, pulled her out of the pit with a phrase that still burns: «Mom, what are we going to do? Because we are alive.»
Before them were 40 nearly abandoned beehives and no certainty. But there was also the dream that Mónica had carried since she was 8 years old, when with a little fork she uncapped honeycombs at her uncles’ house. «That made me fall in love forever,» she recalls. And that love led her to bet everything on beekeeping.
The start was very tough. Without resources, Mónica traveled alone from Paraná to Garza, Santiago del Estero, by bus. She left at seven in the evening and arrived at four in the morning. From the terminal she walked several blocks to a borrowed house. Then she got a borrowed or rented truck and spent the whole day in the bush, under a 50-degree sun, taking care of her hives. The nights were the worst: «Many nights I spent crying because my children were left alone.»
But she didn’t give up. Not even when she lost everything three or four times. Not even when her own daughter begged her to stop going north. «I knew the north would give me what I was looking for,» she says. And so it did. The Santiago bush, with its extensive flowering, allowed her to produce premium quality honey. But producing wasn’t enough: 200-kilo drums sold cheap. So she decided to bottle it herself. She transported the honey in 20-kilo containers on the bus, filled jars one by one, and went out to sell them on foot at shops in Paraná. «Until I sold everything, I didn’t go home,» she says.
Ten years ago she renamed her venture Miel Nativa, a tribute to the bush that changed her life. Today she produces between 10,000 and 15,000 kilos of honey per year, with varieties ranging from lemon blossom from Tucumán to mistol, atamisqui, sunflower, and carob. Her apiaries are distributed in Santiago del Estero, Tucumán, Santa Fe, and Entre Ríos. And last year, at the Caminos y Sabores fair, she won the award for best honey. «I remembered all the years of suffering,» she says.
Mónica continues to dream: she wants to produce lavender honey and work with the Yungas of Salta. «I only ask God for good health,» she concludes. A story of resilience that shows that sometimes strength comes from the little ones.
Para mí esta mina es un ejemplo de que la familia y el laburo duro son lo único que importa. Mientras los zurdos lloran por subsidios, ella se puso las pilas y le ganó a todos. La mejor miel del país, bien argentina. Los progres quieren destruir el campo, pero acá tienen la prueba de que el esfuerzo individual da resultados. ¡Viva ella y viva la libertad carajo!
Para mí esta mina es una capa, eh. Mientras los giles del agronegocio se llenan de guita con soja transgénica, ella labura como una bestia para sus pibes y encima gana premios. El capitalismo la dejó viuda y en la lona, pero ella le metió un golazo. Viva la miel de la clase obrera, carajo. Firmado: El Comandante Panza.