S'Wonderful

I can't believe it was minus 6 on Tuesday, and today it hit 9 degrees. Nine whole degrees. Positively tropical, I say!

I pulled on my wellies and squelched through the worm-cast on the lawn, down to check on the bee hive. The "Bee Tent" is holding up fantastically well. As I stood and watched, I realised I've picked the one spot in the garden that still gets sunlight in the dead of winter. With the sun's rays pouring onto the side of the hive, at least twenty bees were out and about and while I stood and watched for the next 10 minutes, they increased to over a hundred bees. They positively boiled out of the small entrance and zoomed around busily - flying the typically summer route past me and out into the air above the lawn space.

They must've been busting for the loo these past 10 days! :-D

Mistrial!

You know your blog is a success when you start to get complaints. Yes, I'm proud to say I have my first whinging email from a friend in Dubai, demanding the next instalment in the story of my bees :)

So here it is folks:

Firstly, the human beekeeper networking continues; we had our Association Christmas Party which was a fabulous evening of games and great food. I think I threw my name away (again) when I leapt up during the game of "Rat" yelling "Mistrial, I declare a mistrial!" which was really inappropriate because how can you have a mistrial when all you have to do is hit a sock with a stick? All I can say in my own defence, Your Honour, is that it was just the first word that sprang to mind. I blame it on the two glasses of red wine and my gigantic slice of Ron's Giant Fruit Cake, I do.

It was at the Christmas Party that the subject of Bee Food was raised. I had realised that bees get candy for Christmas and I had spent a few laconic hours surfing the net in search of Baker's Fondant, without success. Well, let's just say - limited success. When you realise you're going to have to pay a fortune in postage for 12.5kg of the stuff, you tend to have to stop and think about it for a while. Which is where the subject lay untouched until the Party. The Committee has been great, and a plan was hatched with one of them, to buy in 1 amount of fondant, and split it among the Newbees.

And so it came to pass that I ended up in the passenger seat of The Great Blondini, making rude shapes with a great big 4kg block of white gelatinous substance wrapped in clingfilm on my lap, which can take on the warm feeling of - ooh, I dunno - large human appendages, to put it politely :) The fondant, not my lap.

Seeing that I would be required to pop the top off the hive to drop the fondant in place over the central hole in the crownboard, I decided to take the opportunity to fill the empty space around it in the super with insulation. I created insulation "cushions" using reflective thinsulate used to wrap pipes against freezing, and inside them I dropped large rough pieces of polystyrene before sealing them up and dropping them loosely into the super.

I wonder if it will work.

Of course, then came the Arctic Conditions.

It has snowed every day since Thursday. Yesterday morning, it hit -6 degrees in Finchley. Yes, that's a minus six. Conditions are harsh. We've had everything from 2 to 10 inches of snow on all exterior surfaces for the last week. We've had to dig ourselves out of snowbanks, ice sheets and powder every time we leave the house. Rations got low, but we loaded up on Mr Kipling's Mince Pies and lots of tinned custard and we don't intend to stop eating till the first thaw. (Hopefully, the bees are singing from the same song sheet in this regard.)

I nipped down to the hive at the start of the snow week on Thursday evening, and had to brush a thin layer of snow off the top. At the same time, I noticed the small piece of wood that's come loose on the crownboard has - curses of curses - worked free and left a small gap which no doubt is causing a cold draft into the hive. Bugger! I should've fixed it or placed the new crownboard on sooner.

What to do!? I decided I would leave it as is, considering I have a pile of insulation cushions and food on top of it right now. But I thought "let me seal it up with some thinsulate wrapping at least, to stop the draft". This took a bit of work around the perimeter of the hive and at one stage, I must've disturbed the bees. A bee shot out of the front entrance, clearly furious and zoomingly irate, only to hit the cold air with a noticable gasp, bounce off a tree and bowl over onto the ground, where she lay, breathless for a bit, before crawling up back into the hive. It was both tragic and hugely funny - because she so clearly came out furious and dived back in, freezing :)

I do hope she survived. I've discovered that bees can't survive the cold. Once they hit 8 degrees, they slowly become paralysed and if they're not rescued, will simply stay like that until they die.

So I've sealed up a side of the hive until it warms up again. I've also constructed a Bee Tent over the top of the hive. At first it was just a makeshift effort created one dark night after yet another two glasses of red wine, using Guy's army poncho. But on the weekend, I took a large tarpaulin folded over 4 or 5 times,and pegged it on to the Inconvenient Rope Between Two Trees and, at an angle, hammered nails into the bottom ends, thus creating a sort of angled roof to allow runoff of snow and rain. Amateurish, but functional, as I checked it later in the week and it's keeping the snow off and the temperature at least a degree higher underneath.

From now on, I don't think I can really go into the hive at all to check on their condition.

I really do just need to leave them be now.

All we can do now is pray!

Spare a thought for my bees over Christmas, gentle reader, spare a thought for all bees everywhere in the Northern Hemisphere.

Here's hoping they get their fill of candy and make it through their own Very Merry Christmas.

And here's wishing you all - from Dubai to Johannesburg, from Enfield to Aylesbury - A Very Merry Christmas too!

Autumn Bee Magic

It's a glorious autumn afternoon in mid-November. It's 3pm and the sun is about to set. Even after 5 years of life here in England, these early sunsets are still strange to me. Nevertheless, after 5 miserable days of rain and wind, the sun was shining today. I went out to see my bees and they are busy!

I have done everything very late for winter but perhaps the prolonged mild autumn will favour my beginner's luck. I was still feeding them from an empty super two weeks ago. Just a week ago I took off the super and feeder and sealed them up for the winter. Yet here they are, still bringing in pollen, and looking healthy, happy and wise. That's bees for you.

I've bought a polycarb quilt/crownboard, but rather than disturb them or lower the temperature in the hive, I'll just keep that aside till the spring. It irritates me that my current crownboard has a piece falling off it already; after only 6 months. Never mind - it's serving its purpose and I'll mend it in the spring. I've also bought a stand to be assembled - for this I'll want to add a pavement slab underneath as well. Something to scrounge around for in the next few months.

My next project will definitely be the assembly of a second hive - still to be bought. But for now, I'm proper broke - with my nephew coming to the UK and our planned trip to New Zealand in March, funds are tight for a while. Assembly of a flatpacked hive is definitely the cheapest way to go, though. See? Learned something already, Margs!

I've been reading the seminal book on beekeeping, "Guide to Bees and Honey" by Ted Hooper and it's fascinating stuff. What a fund of knowledge he is! He must've sat for years; and years and years, just watching the behaviour of his bees. How can he know what their interactions mean, and when the bees need watery food, and when they need more solids? How many minutes, and hours, and days, and weeks and years of scrutiny has it taken to become so very knowledgeable!? I despair of my own inability to commit so much time ...

But I've joined an online forum now. And everywhere I go, to look and study and learn and find out more, all I ever come up with is more questions:-

• How does one recognise a training flight (ie how d'you distinguish it from any other kind of flight)?
• When to start feeding bakers fondant?
• Is Tesco's roll-out icing the same as bakers fondant? (it appears not, from first inspection)

All these things and more spell out the ongoing magic of the journey towards understanding, while the bees keep flying in the molten gold sunshine of fall.

Virgil's Bees

By Carol Ann Duffy

Bless air's gift of sweetness, honey
from the bees, inspired by clover,
marigold, eucalyptus, thyme,
the hundred perfumes of the wind.
Bless the beekeeper

who chooses for her hives

a site near water, violet beds, no yew,
no echo. Let the light lilt, leak, green
or gold, pigment for queens,
and joy be inexplicable but there
in harmony of willowherb and stream,
of summer heat and breeze,

each bee's body

at its brilliant flower, lover-stunned,
strumming on fragrance, smitten.

For this,

let gardens grow, where beelines end,
sighing in roses, saffron blooms, buddleia;
where bees pray on their knees, sing, praise
in pear trees, plum trees; bees
are the batteries of orchards, gardens, guard them.

Transition

With the season's change comes new concerns. We had our first "Bee Meeting" of the autumn/winter season, and I discovered that there may be some significant mistakes I've made - enough to have to be prepared for the possibility that my bees may not survive the winter.

I should have been growing a "brood and a half" - a brood chamber and a super full of brood. When it was clear, in the summer, that my super was not going to offer me a honey crop, I should've taken out the Queen Excluder and allowed Her Majesty upstairs to continue laying eggs up there. Instead I left it on too long. I have a brood chamber filled with honey, and brood, yes, but are they overcrowded in there? I don't know enough to know for sure, one way or another. Will they have enough bees to survive the winter? I don't know enough to be sure, one way or the other.

I have taken off the super. Should I have? I don't know ...

As I walked home last night, I pondered. Should I perhaps put back the super, which will give me sufficient space to keep feeding (should I still be feeding? I don't know ... blah blah)? If I put the super back, perhaps I could put a couple of empty frames in place, just to add substance and warmth, but leave enough space to keep the contact feeder in place through the winter.

I must buy a quilt. Should it be insulated? Or could I get by with a polycarb see-through one?

I must buy a stand. I want a stand. The hive looks so heavy, it's almost pushing the stand it's on, into the ground. (That's a good sign, surely?)

ARRRRGH!

It's all doing me head in, I tell you!

Cool!

This costs about as much as the ice cream tub I've been using, and it's much more civilized. No bee drowning allowed. All I have to do now is get all that sugar properly dissolved in the water!

Death by Klutz

Well really, I only wanted to feed them! It wasn't my fault - well, not all of it anyway (she whined, in a humiliated, nasal sort of tone). There I was, with me ice cream tub. And me kettle. Poured some refined white sugar in the tub, and then filled it up with lovely hot water, so the sugar would all dissolve nicely. Except I were a bit too keen, weren't I?! Couldn't wait till the water had cooled down proper, could I?!

Popped the lid on; turned it over on the tray, popped on all me beekeeper suit gear and brought the tray down to the bees. Like a butler, I were, buttling away ...

Popped the top off the hive and looked in on the busy, happy scene, where all the bees were zooting around, building up honey for the winter, Apiguard raising a merry stink of medicinal health in the hive.

I leaned over to pick up the filled ice cream tub. I brought it back over into the hive, just as the warmed-up tub began to buckle loosely in my scooped hands. Before I could do anything about it, an entire litre of sugar-water poured all over the inside of the hive. A waterfall of sweet sugary gloop enveloped everything in an instant, while I staggered around trying to hang on to the wibbly-wobbly tub. All I can say is, thank the gods I didn't fall forward into the hive, trying to stop the stupid thing from falling; I simply let it drop right out of my hands onto the frames.

When I looked back into the hive, several thousand rather stunned-looking bees appeared drenched, but ok. As I watched, some rather sticky little lasses tried to unstick legs from bodies, wings from legs, and feelers from eyes. For a moment, I could only stand there gasping in shock and horror.

NOW WHAT!?

I took a deep breath, cleared away the wonky (and empty) tub, made sure the Apiguard was still ok, and carefully put everything back as much as I could, including the lid of the hive. Sugar water poured onto the anti-varroa sticky-back-plastic board underneath, and dripped in torrents onto the ground. I yelled for Guy's help and managed to tape it all up with masking tape so that the sweetness wasn't dripping out of the hive, drawing all the sweetness-lusting robbing wasps and other creatures from all over the place.

I ran to fetch my head torch and crouched in front of the hive to check the status inside. Hordes of bees boiled across the mesh floor, clearly still reeling from sugar-shock, and all completely hyped by the sudden arrival of so much sweetness everywhere. They all seemed alive though, so I left them to it. I wiped as much as I could of the sweetness away from the outside of the hive and crept away, shamefaced and utterly traumatised.

Later the next day I came out to check on them again, and they all seemed fine. I pulled away the now-doubly-sticky sticky board and counted nearly 80 varroa mites - the Apiguard is clearly working well; and another one goes in tomorrow for another two weeks.

I also quietly tried my first "heft" - lifting the hive to feel the weight, to see if there's enough honey to last out the winter. Of course, it's a bit academic really, because I have absolutely nothing to compare it to. But it felt as heavy as hell. And I will feed the poor little lasses again soon; one last feed to get them fattened up for winter.

I really don't know how they've survived me this long. At this rate, the sanctuary of winter away from me is going to be a doddle for them.

*Shakes head* Will I ever, ever become less of a klutz!?

Doubtful!

Half-A-Bee

I went through to the Enfield Town Park Autumn Show this last weekend. It offered all the delights of the Country Show that I saw - and fell in love with - at the Hertfordshire Country Show earlier in the summer. And more, because I was able to participate this time. I was so happy to be able to lend a hand and volunteer, albeit briefly, at my Association's stand in the Horticultural Tent.

On Saturday, riven with awful hangovers from the night before, Guy and I wound our way through the Show, turning from one amazing sight to another - zorb balls holding children bouncing on the surface of the water through the gleaming transparent giant balls; sheep shearing demonstrations, giant bouncing castle jungles, strawberry-and-cream stands, beer bars, horses to stroke, donkey rides, and baby pigs.

Eventually we found The Flower Tent, and inside, among the gigantic zinnia, tomato and cake displays, we found Enfield Beekeepers tucked away in the warmest corner of the tent. It quite gave my heart a pang to see the rows and rows of honey in clear jars, some with prize ribbons on, all with names that I recognise. I took a quick glance at the Novice section, and saw that someone had a Third ribbon; oh how envious I am, and how keen I still am to submit my own honey next year!

Then on to helping to sell honey, and I stood awkwardly by as three of the ladies charmed their way through the honey sales. What was absolutely wonderful, however, was some of the idle chat that was had among the four of us, and other volunteers. I don't mean to sound self-serving, but I was so grateful to glean any bits of knowledge they could offer. And there was lots to be had ...

It appears I should already have treated my bees with Apiguard, regardless of the fact that Varroa mites have not shown up much on my Varroa-Sticky-Backed-Plastic Boards. It appears I should have been feeding my bees already. So much to do! And I haven't been doing any of it.

I rushed home that evening to check on my bees. I was more scared than I have ever been in any other inspection that I've done - why? Because the bees were VERY defensive! Loud humming, lots of buzzing around my head and face, lots and lots of bees everywhere - they really are on guard at the moment. Once again, there was no honey in the super, but they appear to be storing lots of honey in the brood box. Lots of cells appear black and emptied, and they are building up their stores, but I realise now - after chatting to the Beekeepers - not enough yet; never enough.

I've rushed off to buy lots more kilos of sugar, and tonight the bees will have a bumper feast of 2kg sugar to 1 litre of water - a rich mix was advised.

The next day, I spent time showing children how to roll beeswax candles, in between watching a sheep-shearing demo, a falconry display and a brilliant display of medieval chivalry and jousting by The Knights of the Damned. It was lovely also to spend time with Fred and the small nuc of bees in an observation frame where we spotted the Queen, who looked gorgeously fluffy. He and I both admitted to "falling in love with our Queens" which raised smiles all round.

The saddest thing I've seen this summer though came in the afternoon, at home in the garden. As I spoke on the phone with my mother in South Africa I spotted a bee on the lawn, clearly in some distress. My mother listened in some bemusement as I got down on my knees on the grass to check on the bee close up. It turned out to be half-a-bee, sting and abdomen gone, but still alive and clearly dying a horribly slow death. There's no harder thing to have to do than to put a living thing that you respect and admire out of its misery.

But there ... it was done, and the better for it.


Next year, I hope my honey will be here ...

Guy making his own beeswax candle

The amazing Flower Displays

Can you believe - Stripey Tomatoes?!

Almost too cute to be real!

Sheep-Shearing Show - to Guy's absolute delight!

Jousting!

Ooooh-la-la! The Black Knight

I spent some time yesterday reading my "Beekeeping Bible", and got a bit nervous, reading the bit that says bees are at their most tetchy at the end of August and beginning of September, when there are so many of them (around 50,000) and so much of their honey in store, making them aggressively protective as winter comes on.

I popped my head into the Super yesterday afternoon, when the bees were at their busiest. There is no honey in there, so I guess my devious ploy - sweetening the foundation - didn't work. I don't think there will be any honey at all now this year. I'm sad, I guess, but I've known all the way through this summer that this was the most likely scenario.

My mentors at my Beekeeping Association have been inspiring, and clearly hoping I'd have something to show at the Enfield Town Autumn Show - where we will have a Honey Competition. I don't mind; I really don't mind. It will be the first time I see what happens at a Honey Show and I'd much rather observe and learn, than rush in, in my usual bull-in-a-china-shop fashion. I'm also overdue to offer my volunteering services; and really keen to help with "manning the stand" so I can watch all the fun of the fair, see the horticultural tent, and participate in all the delightful pursuits of a local Town & Country Show. I love the thought! I really hope the buddies I've asked to come along will be there too ...

Once I'd seen the empty Super yesterday, I looked down at the hive and slowly processed my thoughts through the alternatives. The book had said it would be best to proceed in the evening, when all the bees are restfully tucked up in the hive. A suggestion was to move the one frame that the bees have ignored so far; mingling it further into the depths of the other frames to stimulate activity on it. Gazing down on the hive, I realised discretion would probably serve as the better part of valour; best to pack up and re-visit the hive in the evening. Of course, after the haze of the Festival, I fell asleep on the couch and missed that particular appointment!

When I go down to the hive this evening, I should consider doing the following things:

• Open up the Brood Box to see if they have enough space and have started using the unused Frame 1.
  
  
• If not, think about putting Frame 1 somewhere else in the Brood Box to encourage the bees to draw out the foundation and start loading it with winter supplies.
  
  
• If the Brood Box appears over-loaded, consider keeping the Super on and removing the Queen Excluder, so that they can go to Brood-and-a-Half. Although I'm wondering if it's already a bit too late in the season for that. Depends on how September looks - if it's warm, it may still not be too late for that.

The one thing I did manage to achieve yesterday, was to "Sticky-Up" another Varroa Inspection Board, and slide it into place under the hive. I am keen to see how resilient the bees are keeping ...

Seduction, intimidation, patience

On Sunday I gave in to temptation. Seduced by thoughts of the Honey Show; of the idea of honey, dreamed-of for so long. Tempted by the "what if" I donned my suit, mixed up a tiny batch of white sugar in warm water and tiptoed down to the hive.

I smoked the hive box and quietly removed the roof and crownboard. I looked in to the super and saw no progress at all, beyond that little bit of foundation built up such a while ago on the middle frame. There were at least a thousand bees in the super yet again, propolising arbitrary corners or sitting quietly on frames without moving. I carefully removed the super and had to work really firmly to gently remove the queen excluder; the ladies have glued everything together very carefully.

Once the brood box was open to view, I found myself intensely intimidated by the sheer weight of bee numbers in there. Thousands upon thousands of bees gathered on the frames; I lifted one or two without shaking bees off and they layered onto every surface, buzzing gently. I managed to glimpse a few cells filled with fat white larvae. I did not even bother looking for 3-day early-stage eggs.

The bees have still not touched Frame 1 at all; it remains completely bare on both sides.

I didn't try to explore further. I simply replaced the queen excluder and carefully went to work on the super. I dabbed my gloved fingers into the sugar water and, holding up Frame 5, swept a thin layer across the empty, untouched side. I swept more layers of sugar water on the four central frames, and then replaced them all. I'm doing this in the hopes that it might tempt the bees to lick the sweet-flavoured surface and, in doing so, stimulate them to start actively working on the foundation surface, drawing out comb and making it ready for honey. I've read somewhere that this is a trick that might work to activate a honey flow ...

Closing up the hive, I spent some time once again just watching the bees' activities at the hive entrance. There are still bees flying in with pollen baskets fully loaded. They have been very, very active these last 10 days. Guy has moved our bird bath closer to the hive, and they seem to appreciate this position more. I've loaded the bird bath with dried grass so that they can land on to drink without the risk of drowning, and I've watched them do it. It works for them.

More than this, I guess I cannot do. There are only 10 days left to our local Association's Honey Show, and if the bees do not offer honey in time for this, I'm resigned to the fact that it wasn't meant to be.

I mustn't forget to keep putting the Sticky-Back Plastic boards down to monitor varroa over the next few weeks.

And I must remember to enjoy the end of the summer; the bees have only a few weeks left before bedding down for winter. And I want them to survive for me, for next year.

I mustn't forget to be patient ...

Mystified ...

.... both me and the bees. I did a very brief check on them on Sunday. I did hop into my suit, but didn't use the smoker.

I popped the lid off and looked into the Super, where about a thousand bees seem to be wandering around, gazing in mystification at the space, or propolising arbitrary corners, while not continuing to draw out the half-drawn out foundation on the central frame.

Meanwhile in the brood box, I only really checked Frame 1, which remains - mystifyingly - untouched.

I must admit to being completely bee-fuzzled.

Come on, loyal readers, do you want to make suggestions or offer advice? You can post comments below ...

Learning from Rhubarbs

I have come late to the joys of the outdoors, of gardening and of keeping bees. I can't presume to be an expert on these topics. But there are some simple lessons I've learned in my few years of tending gardens, which lead me to wonder if these things cannot also be true of beekeeping.

When I first came to this house in Finchley, I walked out into the garden and noticed a very sad, bedraggled rhubarb plant (although I didn't know then that it was a rhubarb). All I saw was a plant, a living thing, in distress. It consisted of only two leaves which lay half-dead on the ground. It was June, and I wondered why - in the height of summer - this plant should be suffering so.

Then I looked carefully at the ground. And I realised it was as dry as a bone. All it needed was some water.

Four years later, our rhubarb is sometimes known as "The Sacred Cow" and sometimes just as "The Monster". None of us who've lived in this house and know its history, and the story of Nigel - so distressed and damaged, but who loved this house and planted that rhubarb and died tragically in a car accident - none of us, even those who never met him, will ever harm that plant. We love that rhubarb. And we know that it doesn't need the life-giving drink of water quite so much now, as it did the day I first encountered it. It survives, it flourishes and this year, its harvest has spread to our neighbours for the first time ever, in a little ritual that has led to bonding, community and - blow me down - an invitation to my first ever Christening (of my neighbour's baby, you twits, not of me!).

Through the years, I've watched the rhubarb grow incrementally. Over the seasons, one deeply foul and irritating predator has swept through our garden and near-demolished that rhubarb. The hated, the disgusting - SLUG. Well do I remember "Basil's Revenge" when Tina, our fierce red-haired Scottish housemate, reacted in fury to the demolition of our favoured little basil plant by a horde of slugs. Fondly, I recall how she researched every means known to man to destroy the slugs. We spoke wistfully of creating Slug Guns, cannon-like weapons in which we'd hurl piles of slugs and shoot off, over the leylandia trees, into the loud, crass hordes of railway men clanking away on the Tube lines at 3am of a weeknight.

For several seasons, Tina threw down the direst chemicals in her search for a Slug-Devastator. Slowly she came round to a more organic mindset, and looked for less cruel, more natural ways to murder en masse. She created little pools of beer traps, and in the mornings we would find squads of drunken drowned slugs squashed into those pools. Yeeuurrrgh, well do I remember that lot! She'd bucket hundreds of 'em and freeze 'em. We never ever really got to the bottom of how to rid the planet of slugs, although - man - did we try!

But eventually, one day, Tina moved away. Since she left, I've not had the time or the inclination (or the heart) I once had to garden. I miss chatting with her out on the lawn, as we wait for the robins to come visit us at the sound of our voices, directing us imperiously to feed them and their progeny. So the garden has been left to grow a little wilder, a little looser and freer and less suburban. This has benefitted the bees, I know.

But I have also noticed something else. I've looked closely at how my pretty little flowers emerge from their green bases, only to have the tenderest prettiest coloured tips munched down by the Inglourious Basterd Sluggards. And then I've watched again, as the pretty little flowers grow back. And this time - remain untouched.

Why is that?! What have the flowers done to adapt sufficiently to become resilient to slugs? Or is the season of slugs gone past?

One reason, I surmise, is that I have done nothing. I've not put a pellet or a beertrap down in - ohhh - at least a year. And my plants seem to be becoming Slug Resistant.

Which leads me to muse on the nature of nature itself. Is this how nature works? Allow it to be attacked; don't intervene to protect, nurture and ultimately tenderise the plant to a point where it can no longer protect itself?

But isn't that the way of all life, methinks.

And so to bees. I've been reading all about varroa. Those dastardly little creatures that have spread so voraciously worldwide, all due to the intervention of man, to such a point that they are in every beehive in Britain, almost, where two human generations ago, beekeepers knew nothing of such a creature.

Says Philip Chandler, in the paper on Sustainable Beekeeping "We artificially maintain strains of bee that are ill-equipped to deal with infections or infestations, despite their ancestors having done so, unaided, for at least 100 million years."

And I believe he's right. He is RIGHT.

And what that means is, we need to let them be. We need to let the bees fight their own fight against varroa. Perhaps we need to take that heart-breakingly tough decision NOT to medicate against varroa, but, if necessary, allow a hive to die. Sacrifice it in the name of generations that can sustain themselves and their own varroa-resistant future. (To do that, we have to limit our own naturally greedy instincts for commerce, sacrifice the size of the honey crop, limit the returns we try to glean from bees).

And limit our intervention only to the most minimal, the least disruptive of ways. From the rhubarb, I learned to water a little, but leave it to fight its own battle against the predators. So when I read about Drone brood excision or Queen-Arrest ways of manipulating hives, or even Powdered Sugar to manipulate new behaviours into bees, my heart wrenches. It just doesn't feel right!

But I cannot profess to be an expert; I can only trust my instinct. At the very beginning of my beekeeping venture I was tempted to go for a Top Bar hive; the more natural way of keeping a beehive, in which the bees must build their own comb, right from scratch. I was tempted to limit my honey harvest to almost nothing, in the interest of simply hosting a bee hive. But I took a strategic decision to learn the classic modern beekeeping style first, because I truly know nothing of the craft as yet. And I'll see that strategy through.

But while I learn, I will keep pondering and musing, and theorising ...

Stationery shopping for bees

On Tuesday evening, Guy and I were out and about in the garden. I'd received a cryptic email from my Beekeeping Association about "keeping to Middlesex guidelines" for the end-of-summer parasite inspections of our bees. Quite frankly, I thought those Middlesex guidelines were all about cricket, but then I don't know much about that particular craft either ...

I had spent a bemusing afternoon in Ryman's Stationers. Now, those of you who have a Stationery Fetish like me (you know who you are) would've loved this expedition, considering what the requirements were. The objective was originally to buy double-sided tape, but you know what it's like - you get into a stationery shop and you're surrounded by great new ideas and creative thoughts inundating you on how much better THIS sticky tape or THAT sticky film stuff would be to achieve what it is we're trying to do here.

Which is essentially to cover my Varroa Board with some or other very sticky substance, then slide the board into the tray underneath the open mesh floor of the hive, and leave it there before retrieving it 24 hours later, to count the varroa mites stuck to the surface. Depending on how many mites are trapped there, you make your decision about whether to treat the hive against varroa, or leave it for now.

So eventually I emerged from Ryman's, laden with double-sided tape, parcel tape (dunno why, but it just looked useful and in the end, it was), clear "Duck" tape (VERY sticky stuff!) and lordy-lordy - school book clear sticky film sheets. The Very Thing!

That night, as me and my usual kak-handedness tried to get this sticky stuff stuck onto the varroa board without taking me with it, Guy had to hold himself back, his frustration at my total lack of practicality steaming at the seams. Eventually he leapt in and said "look here, let me show you!"

"Oi!" yelled I, snatching it all back again "this is MY project! Go and .. oh, go and play in the traffic on your bike, or something!" He flounced off, deeply offended that I didn't want his help. Immediately I felt guilty, knowing that we've had such a great time up to now with this - our joint project.

Really, we're like a pair of 6-year olds, we are.

So when he got back from his bike ride, still a bit huffy, I hugged him and hauled him outside with me. I decided to suit up to slide the sticky board in under the hive; but didn't bother smoking the hive or anything. Temptation got the better of me, as I couldn't help popping the top of the super off. By Jove! There were thousands of bees in there. Do you think; do you possibly think!?!?! Maybe, just maybe, there'll be a honey harvest for me this year? It's been such an On-Again, Off-Again thing; I hardly know what to think anymore.

So I popped the top back on, and carefully slid the Varroa-Catching Sticky Tray into its slot under the hive. Guy's advice to "edge the sides with parcel tape, so the sides are not sticky and can slide in place better" was spot on. Although I did have a bloody good laugh when I tried to bite the end of the parcel tape off, and realised I couldn't because I had my bee suit veil on. It was a bit of a wedge and a push but the bees were marvellous and hardly even noticed my presence.

So much so that afterwards I sat out under the trees, facing the hive entrance and just watched them for a while. After long, long minutes watching lots of activity, it slowly dawned on me that the entrance was particularly crowded. Bees were fighting each other to gain entrance to the hive. Crowds and crowds were pushing and shoving in and out of the little hole slotted in the centre of the mouse guard. And I wondered again, as I have several times this summer, if I should be leaving that in? Or taking it out? Shouldn't they have more access, and isn't the mouseguard only for winter?

After a few minutes of deliberation, I leaned forward and gently slipped the mouseguard out, leaving a wide new access port directly across the bottom of the hive, a bit like a Star Wars ship docking bay. I watched again for a while and marvelled at the precision of the bees' landing right on target for the old entrance, the edges of which have become worn and darker from the effects of thousands of bees' passage in and out of the hive. I watched as the bees explored the new dimensions of the entrance. And finally I slipped away, leaving them to the end of their working day, and some well-earned rest.

Last night I had a rather riotous night out with the girls after an incredibly tough day at work, so it was only this evening that I could wander down, somewhat hungover, to the hive to follow up on things.

Once again I could approach the hive with no aggression from the bees at all. I slid the tray out, and gazed at the board. Of course, I couldn't see a thing without my glasses. Nowadays, not only do I have contact lenses, I have to wear reading glasses over them; sunglasses for constant protection in the light, and my optician keeps hounding me to remove my contacts more often and wear my other specs too. So after some fumbling to find the right pair, I popped on the reading glasses and yelled to Guy for his microscope.

"Microscope!? Microscope!?" he yelled back through the doorway to the bedroom, "I don't have a microscope! I wish I did though! Don't you mean a magnifying glass?" Well, of course I did. He has this dinky magnifying glass with two pincer arms which looks like a cute little Michelin man ...


So. On with the reading glasses, gaze through the magnifying glass, trying not to go cross-eyed or give in to the temptation to be violently ill, bring out the reference books, and let's see what all this stuff is on the Varroa-Catching Sticky Stuff.

Shame, you know, when I'd pulled the board out, there were two very shattered looking bees stuck to it also. I managed to brush them off gently - I wonder if they survived. All the rest on the board is debris - it looks like honey-coloured bits of fluff, traces of comb, honey, drips of dark stuff, such a weird range of stuff. And there, in amongst all the honey-coloured material, there I spotted the varroa.

It's hard to be sure, but I gazed and gazed, cross-checked against the books, picked them up and looked closer, took photos and consulted Guy. Eventually we decided that we'd gathered 5 varroa mites in the course of the last 48 hours - not enough to have to take any Varroa Control measures (ie chemical sweep - well, that's a whole nother story).

I stickily used some duct tape to create another Varroa-Catching Sticky trap - cutting myself with a Stanley knife in the process (don't ask), Guy plastering me up, and me getting myself so stuck in everything it reminded me of the time I was a nanny and mixed up some fun project with the girls involving chocolate, honey and marshmallows and got so goooey I had doubts I'd ever get free of the stuff ...

I went down to the hive in the evening light, and slid the sticky board back in place. I checked the entrance, and the last few bees flew in from the gathering gloom. They look happy. As I am.

I have phoned and offered to volunteer for the Honey Show. I will be away at Creamfields on the August Bank Holiday so, sadly, I will miss the Enfield Country Autumn Show but I will be at the Enfield Honey Show on the first weekend in September, and am looking forward to it more than I expected.

It's a funny thing to say, but these bees have given me a world of joy away from the Pit of the Corporate Piranhas. They balance so many elements of innocence, of hope for Guy, of pleasure in the summer and the outdoors; they offer me a chance to try out my silly impractical hands in a craft that will hopefully help me become more practical, and they still may give me the one thing I promised my father before he died in May - "Jack's Honey".

Here's hoping!

A varroa mite in the centre of honey-coloured debris
(left click on the pic to enlarge it for a close-up look)

Honey is Heavy!

It was such a pleasure to get home from the steambath that is London at the moment; hot, humid, sticky, unbearable London. Sat in the garden with Guy and had a lovely supper with a glass of red wine. I think it was a mistake though, to check on the bees after a glass of wine. I was just a tad squiffy, and the ladies were less than impressed ...

Yeeeouch; two stings through my trousers onto my legs!

I had wondered what sort of progress was happening in the Super; after seeing traces of foundation being drawn out by the bees last time, I had hopes of a little honey harvest. But this time I was disappointed - there has been no change at all. No more drawn-out honeycomb, no honey at all. Aah well!

Onto the brood box, and still - no change on Frame 1. Both sides remain pristine and untouched. They just do not like this frame. I am too new and inexperienced yet to even begin to hazard a guess why. All of the rest of the frames have lots of activity going on; lots and lots of capped brood, lots and lots of fat juicy white larvae waiting for their caps. And some trace of small new rice grain eggs to prove the Queen's presence, alive and well and active, in the hive up to three days ago. But not a lot.

And Frame 10 Side B is simply honey all over; it is the heaviest frame to pick up. Who would've guessed it - honey is heavy!

Some interesting things that I saw during this visit:

• On one frame, the bees had constructed what looked like a cavern; it almost felt like they were hiding something from view. Again - this is not the first time I have felt this way ...
  
  
• On another frame, some capped drone cells; clearly domed shapes protuding higher than the normal female worker bee capped cells
  
  
• The delight of seeing several female worker bees being born - breaking the cap and carefully and slowly emerging from their cells
  
  
• Strange large droplets of liquid - could it be rain? could it be "sweat" from the heat of the carefully maintained temperature of 35 deg C? Or was it merely nectar or honey?
  
  
• Several small supercedure cells in various places; wonder if I'm meant to do anything at all with these ...

The bees were angry at being disturbed. And it was perhaps too late in the day to be visiting, at 7pm. But Guy was wonderful - brave enough to get close and take a picture of each and every single frame, so that I could scrutinise details close up on the computer screen later that evening.

With stings burning on my legs, I closed up the hive again and retreated to the bedroom to have my wounds checked on, accompanied by some gentle teasing and a great deal of ribald laughter.

This beekeeping can be a lot of fun!


A perfect frame - capped female worker brood in the centre surrounded by loads of honey supplies around the rim










Frame 10 Side B - just tons and tons of honey












What are the ladies hiding in that little cave?













See the male drone cells? Just left of centre ...















See the female worker bees being born - two of them breaking out of their cells on the right of this picture?















Here too - a female worker bee emerges from her cell on the left of this picture

Something in the Super!

Although it was late - around 7pm - I thought "let's do it then, old girl" and went off to suit up and battle with That Blasted Smoker. It's been bang on 10 days since my last inspection, and I felt a twinge of trepidation. That made me double up on the gloves and I'm glad I did.

And yet today everything went well. That Blasted Smoker behaved itself immaculately; no trouble at all with lighting it, and it lasted perfectly right through the inspection and died right at the appropriate time. The bees had been busy all day, but seemed quiet as I approached. Smoked the hive, popped the top and crownboard off and peered into the Super.

Awwww, thought I, still empty. I pulled frame 6 out and lo and behold! A little foundation has begun to appear. I had not smeared anything into the frames, like sugar water, to attract the lasses to start working in the super, and I'm glad I didn't now. As I've progressed along through the summer, I'm more and more inclined to be less interfering and simply ease along together with the bees - letting them get on with the job. So the honey harvest from the Super will indeed be a very little, but that's perfectly ok with me. (The only problem now is how to feed the masses - all my mates who've asked for honey! They're just going to have to come and share my one slice of honeyed toast, aren't they!?)

I popped the Super off and went through the Brood Box. Frame 1 is still completely empty and unworked. It's the one closest to the entrance, which surprises me. Frame 2 has some foundation on it, and Frames 3 to 11 are absolutely loaded. I could see tons of honey and pollen. I could see lots and lots of capped brood. I saw lots of fat juicy white larvae. And I saw lots of little white rice grains - brand new eggs. So the Queen is still actively laying; present, safe and busy. I never saw Her, but I know She's there.

All through this brief, smooth, calm inspection the bees buzzed and hummed around me; some stung me (I felt nothing through the double-gloves, although I found at least two stings afterwards. One stung me on my legging - I felt the heat of the sting, but no after effects). But at no stage did they feel as grumpy and peeved as they have seemed the last two visits. The only twinge of nervousness came when my nose brushed against the veil, and I felt a little exposed. This time I walked calmly into the light with each frame and was able to see absolutely clearly, with the evening light shining onto the foundation in front of me - a good idea from Ron and Mary.

The garden is looking chaotic, with the lawn covered in clover flowers, everything wildly overgrown, but the flowers are everywhere. Even my blasted hydrangea has finally flowered - four years of effort on that dang thing.

And our front porch has become a jungly greenhouse, where two of Guy's tomato plants have fruit. As yet, no chilli - Don and Tam are way ahead of us on that one!

Guy's bought a bicycle and has headed off to Tesco. I'm envious! This has been a great summer so far ...

Captain's Log - Star Date 15.07.2009 18:08

I continue to go where no Bekkering has been before. Perhaps not quite so boldly as when I first started, but our journey continues, and it continues to present me with mystifying and wondrous sights.

To summarise today's expedition:

Objective: to ensure the Queen continues to have enough room to keep laying.

Hidden Agenda: I wonder if the ladies have started drawing foundation and storing any honey in the super!?

Having wrestled with That Blasted Smoker again, and pitched 3,000 matches all over the garden for good measure, I bravely ventured down to the bottom of the garden in my bee suit once more. I find myself filled with a mixture of emotions this time, and strangely a reluctance to keep disturbing my little friends in their home. I am also, I ruefully admit to myself, a little scared. I hate myself for my fear, and use this anger to steam up That Blasted Smoker and make sure the hive is smoked thoroughly.

I pop off the roof, crownboard and super. It's empty - my heart drops a bit. I find about a hundred bees sat firmly on the Queen Excluder. They do not take well to me brushing them off as I remove the Excluder. I hear the ominous rising hum with a bit of an inward quiver. Coward, I think to myself, get on with it, you twerp!

I'll describe what I see in the brood box, frame by frame. I call the frame closest to the Entrance - Frame 1, sides A and B.

Frame 1, sides A and B: completely empty. One or two bees, no foundation, no action whatsoever.

Frames 2 - 9, sides A and B: humming and chock-solid with bees. Classic pattern of honey round the top third, capped brood all over the rest of the frame - full to the brimming. Some fat white larvae to be seen, some rice-grain eggs but not as many as I expected. But lots and lots and lots of capped brood. Some of the cells that appear to have rice-grains in them are black, which seems strange to me. Also in one of them, I think I see two rice grains. Sign of a missing Queen; worker bees attempting to lay? But I am loathe to assume the worst this time - I'm aware of the mystery of all the things I am seeing.

I see no sign of the Queen at all, but I do see two or three Queen cells being constructed - am I imagining it or are the ladies crawling all over these in layers thick enough to appear to be hiding these from me!?

Frame 10, Side A: all honey. No brood, nothing but honey from top to bottom, side to side.

Frame 10, Side B: foundation being pulled in the centre, with some honey. No brood yet.

Frame 11, Side A: ditto

Frame 11, Side B: a couple of bees appear to be starting to pull a little foundation.

No honey on the Super frames. I read somewhere that the bees sometimes need a little incentive to start working in the Super; like a smear of honey on one of the frames. I'm aware I haven't been focusing a lot on learning, reading, researching my bee venture, so inwardly I make a commitment to read up on this.

Halfway through my Inspection, That Blasted Smoker dies on me. So too does my phone camera (my other camera is in for repairs; don't tell Guy but I ended up stepping on it by mistake during my last Bee Inspection. Oops! However, he is so lovely, he arranged to send it off for repairs as it's still under warranty - what a honey xx). So I have to stump off down the garden to the Halfway Station and re-light That Blasted Smoker, which proceeds to smoke up the hive, the garden and the laundry for at least the next hour. Foul thing!

During my Inspection, I felt distinct pangs of fear and nerves going through the frames. Those stings have been a bit of a hard lesson, what what. I have been wearing much tougher gloves, but every now and then I felt my face brush the front of my veil and felt completely exposed and scared about being stung. I hate my own fear! The ladies definitely stung my gloves this time; I could feel my little finger feeling warm but not sore, and it was intriguing to go and sit down at the Halfway Station across the garden and look at my gloves, pulling out the stings that had been left in them and inspecting the venom pumping system on the sting up close.

I was relieved to close up the hive; I placed the Queen Excluder on upside-down to how it had previously been placed and could feel where the propolis left on it bumped along, misaligned. I should have flipped it over, but wanted to close up quickly so left it as it was. Super back on, and crownboard and roof back on too. This time I made sure to gently bump any bees off, to try and avoid crushing them.

This time the bees were also not as charming and accommodating as they were in the early days; I just feel so klutzy and interfering; I feel tempted to allow them to manage more by themselves. As bees have done, after all, successfully for thousands of years without some kak-handed StarTrekkie like myself ...

Captain's Log - Out.

Bee Day out

I spent Sunday morning at Woodcroft Wildspace, where the Beekeeper Association that I belong to is involved in developing a new apiary. These are the things I love about Londoners; that they love wild spaces so much, they volunteer their personal time to help turn any small abandoned space in London back into "wild space", and that they love to get out into the green spaces (like me), where you can lie back in meadow grass and look up at the cloud shapes in the sky, or walk through wild paths where tennis courts have been reclaimed by nature, to go blackberry-picking or bird-watching.

It was so lovely to see a wild meadow with children running through waist-high grasses, and to see Fred herding a group of children in a delightfully chaotic version of the bottom-waggling bee-dance ...

In the meantime, back at home, I've kept a careful distance, keeping my well-stung nose out of the Bee Hive busy-ness. I've been dropping in to take a look at their activities every morning and evening and noticed that, after a couple of weeks of no pollen, the bees appear to be stuffing their little baskets full again. So we are all gathering clean, empty glass pots - ever hopeful of a small honey harvest this summer.

I will check the hive again on Wednesday evening - the day before I start my new job. I hope there's honey in the super! M and R have also suggested I keep a jar aside to submit in the Novice section of the Enfield Association's Honey Show.

Those of you who know me well must be loving this; me - the one who never liked the domestic arts - cooking, cleaning, gardening. The one who liked to travel; drift around the world, never settling, new adventures on every horizon, always preferring the life of the unconventional Bohemian.

Welcome to my new Bohemia :)

Possible new winner of A Darwin Award*

I have been forced to tell this story. I really didn't want this to get out. It's so very undignified. Really, it wasn't my fault.

After all, how was I to know that my prolonged inspection of the morning would piss the lasses off quite so badly?! How was I to know that thunder lurking about in the background would make the ladies even more peeved on top of that!? And honestly, how was I to know that sticking my face up so close the mouseguard would precipitate so much disaster and misfortune!?!?

What turned out to be the most swollen, lumpy afternoon of my life got even worse when I realised I was due to get new passport photos the next day.

Who knew that two small stings - one on my forehead, and one on the tip of my nose - would swell to such engorged proportions?! And why couldn't they have stung on my lips instead, so I could have bee-stung lips like Angelina Jolie's?! Or Mick Jagger ...

It's a relief, at least, to know that no one will ever recognise me from my passport photos. The only problem now is - will I ever be allowed to cross a border again, with that passport!?

* Darwin Awards

'Crusher' gets her comeuppance

M and R flew in faster than a MiG fighter jet formation this afternoon; which had me scrabbling into my bee suit, running for my half-prepared smoker, hopping into my squelchy wellies (yes, they sprung a leak in yesterday's flash flood - see here) and tracking mud from the garden all over the carpets, which Guy (in an extravagance of boredom) had vacuumed scrupulously all week. Oh dear!

All the activity, naturally, left me perspiring freely in the humid summer heat. I could feel beads of sweat crawling down to the tip of my nose where it met the mesh of my veiled suit. Not an auspicious start to the proceedings, one must admit.

If my neighbours didn't know before that there was a beekeeper in the vicinity, they sure do now. A veritable army of "Men in White" marched down to the hive through clouds of ominous smoke, coughing ever so slightly as I puffed away in a steam of over-enthusiasm. The hive in question has been looming ever so slightly out at me all week, as I've careened between horrific thoughts of disease, Bee Inspectors with blowtorches, digging 1m trenches, dowsing bees in petrol and gigantic flames destroying all my dreams, and swinging back into fantasies of winning the National Honey Show with my prime-flavoured honey (labels to read "London Garden Honey" of course).













In the Clover




These bees have been the best thing in my garden in four years, and it would absolutely break my heart if there was disease in them, this early in my bee-farming venture. I realise though that I'm new to the whole thing, and have been very carefully prepped about the dangers of disease, and therefore completely likely to over-react. Never mind of course, my completely understated ability to over-state the obvious and embellish every event into Melodrama of the Highest Order. Possibly not the best qualities for a beekeeper ...

We smoked the hive and popped the top off. The crownboard came off, and the hive was absolutely filled to the brim with bees, comb, heat and activity. I cannot believe how much work these bees have done in the 4 short weeks they've been here. But then, so little time and so much still to do!

M and R were great, standing back to let me go through the frames on my own. The instant they spotted the dark grey cells I've been worried about, they reassured me "dark pollen - no worries". The fact that so many different colours can appear in a hive gives me some idea of just how much I still have to learn; how much there is to know. I remember seeing, last week, drops of acid-bright green and purple (purple!?) on the frames, and wondering to myself "what on earth?!" But yes, hives are not a monochromatic multitude of cells; the organic array of colours and shapes really needs a sharp eye, and experience, to understand and interpret what's been happening in the secret lives of bees.

So we worked our way through the frames; the central ones are now becoming incredibly heavy. They are filled, filled, filled to the brim with tiny rice-grain eggs, larvae, capped brood and honey stores. There were tons more bees than before - definitely a whole batch of babies have been born and are already busy working away.

As we worked, the bees got crosser and crosser. Whereas earlier, M mentioned how gentle they seemed, now they started rising high out of the hive and humming rather loudly. And right then, I got my comeuppance for crushing all those little lady bees. They got me, one on my left hand, one on the right - right through the rubber gloves. I rubbed the stings away, but started to get a bit freaked so I walked right away from the hive out to the garden. Man, did those stings burn!

Right now, the backs of my hands look a little lumpy, but the worst is over and a mere ache remains. It seems I will truly be testing the theory this season; to see if it really is true that the beekeeper who is stung by her own bees, and then eats the produce of the bees' efforts, becomes immune to hayfever.

And the best news of all? "Go on," says R, "put on a Queen Excluder and a Super, and let's see if you can get some honey." Yahooooo!

So the plan is to watch the Queen's activities carefully from now on; watch and make sure she has enough space to keep laying in the Brood Box. The super will allow the bees to use space other than the Brood Box to store food supplies; nectar and honey. If we can take some honey from the Super, we'll put the Super back with the same frames (once the honey has been removed) and create the Brood and a Half they will need.

Another lesson today was; shouldn't have destroyed that perfect Queen cell I saw - we need one, uncapped, for Supercedure (must remember to look that bit up again). And more, keep reading on pollens and pollen colours.

It has been such a pleasure knowing that I have friends in such far away places as Dubai, and Johannesburg and as exotic as Wimbledon and Kent, watching and worrying with me about the fate of the bees. The good news is, folks, they're fine, happy, safe and disease-free as far as we can tell. Now all I have to do is make sure I don't trip over my own two feet on the next visit to the hive.

Better than Coronation Street, innit!? :-D

Brood Box with Super on top
- the thin yellow line between the two is the Queen Excluder)