Sixteen days ago, there were four of us at the hives. We killed the Queen in Itchy Knee, and now I'm waiting, and hoping against hope that it's not too late in the season, for a new Queen to be nursed and hatched and mated before the end of summer.
The honey harvest is done; the last super is on San-Shi being cleaned out for the bees in readiness for winter storage.
It's time for the anti-varroa treatment.
This afternoon I kitted up for the first time in what felt like ages. Squelching hotly and sweatily in my busted-up old marshmallow-pink festival wellies, I made up the smoker, picked up assorted equipment and headed on down to the hives, heart in mouth, hoping for a miracle.
I came to San-Shi first and as I went through the list of things in my head, I realised I'd left an additional Honey Super on top, so I would need to clear that first. That's another 24 hours to wait then, before San-Shi can have their first two-week Apiguard-vapour treatment done inside the hive to eradicate the ever-present varroa threat.
Varroa that's left to flourish towards the beginning of winter will weaken them, and reduce their chances of surviving through the cold season. So Apiguard takes off the mite, and we'll do a second run of Apiguard again after this one, in two weeks' time. That's when it gets left in for four weeks. Our visits to the hive are starting to reduce.
Today I popped off the lid of San-Shi and quivered in my boots when I heard the volume of the humming erupt. Ooo-er! The ladies were not too impressed; they bounced out of the hive and hung ominously in the air around my veil. I've grown quite nervous, and I do hate that.
But I proceed doggedly on; taking off the crownboard, the top empty honey super, the Queen Excluder. On goes the clearer board with the two Portis escapes - this will ensure that bees in the top honey super can go down into the main body of the hive without being able to come back up again - it's like a little one-way trap route for bees. In 24 - 48 hours I'll return and that top super will be safely empty of bees. I'll remove and store it and then I'm free to pop the Apiguard into the top of the hive.
Lid goes on and I vanish like the mist; they sure were unimpressed with me.
Down to Itchy Knee I go, a little unnerved but dying to know what sort of mood I'll encounter in this poor hive that's seen so much turbulent interference this summer. I pop the top off and look down. What I see is a large number of very quiet, rather still and subdued-looking bees. Funnily enough, I find that I'm torn between deeply-felt relief and a pang of sadness and worry. Has the Regicide ripped the heart right out of this hive? I do hope not!
The Apiguard application goes in smoothly and it's only when I've tramped all the way back to the shed that I realise I should've put sticky-backed plastic on the yellow varroa boards underneath the hives. Curses! Back I tramp, extract the plastic boards, stump into the house and stick on the sticky stuff, stamp on back to the hives and replace the boards. Honestly, Margo, not a linear logical thought in this bliksemse blonde brain, is there!?
* * *
I woke at 4am this morning, worrying about the Secret Garden. Have I taken too much on? I keep seeing that wide sweeping arc, the empty spaces, the jungle, the mud. Work, work, work and more work, and money, money, money.
I really do put a wee bit too much pressure on myself. Calm down, old girl, it's going to be magic.
Guy and I visited the Garden this weekend, to drop off some tools and a large storage container. We manage to erect it and get it all safely stored away, only minutes before a huge downpour of rain.
When I worked on my hives today, and mowed the lawn afterwards, I took a few minutes at dusk to lie on the grass underneath the bees' flight path. I lay back, head in hands and gazed up at the feather-light clouds, and watched them whizzing busily to and fro directly above me.
We will miss them, when they go.
We all will, even my Fellow Flatties and the children next door.
The garden is going to feel decidedly emptied of a certain kind of Feminine Ferocity :)
We will miss them!
The honey harvest is done; the last super is on San-Shi being cleaned out for the bees in readiness for winter storage.
It's time for the anti-varroa treatment.
This afternoon I kitted up for the first time in what felt like ages. Squelching hotly and sweatily in my busted-up old marshmallow-pink festival wellies, I made up the smoker, picked up assorted equipment and headed on down to the hives, heart in mouth, hoping for a miracle.
I came to San-Shi first and as I went through the list of things in my head, I realised I'd left an additional Honey Super on top, so I would need to clear that first. That's another 24 hours to wait then, before San-Shi can have their first two-week Apiguard-vapour treatment done inside the hive to eradicate the ever-present varroa threat.
Varroa that's left to flourish towards the beginning of winter will weaken them, and reduce their chances of surviving through the cold season. So Apiguard takes off the mite, and we'll do a second run of Apiguard again after this one, in two weeks' time. That's when it gets left in for four weeks. Our visits to the hive are starting to reduce.
Today I popped off the lid of San-Shi and quivered in my boots when I heard the volume of the humming erupt. Ooo-er! The ladies were not too impressed; they bounced out of the hive and hung ominously in the air around my veil. I've grown quite nervous, and I do hate that.
But I proceed doggedly on; taking off the crownboard, the top empty honey super, the Queen Excluder. On goes the clearer board with the two Portis escapes - this will ensure that bees in the top honey super can go down into the main body of the hive without being able to come back up again - it's like a little one-way trap route for bees. In 24 - 48 hours I'll return and that top super will be safely empty of bees. I'll remove and store it and then I'm free to pop the Apiguard into the top of the hive.
Lid goes on and I vanish like the mist; they sure were unimpressed with me.
Down to Itchy Knee I go, a little unnerved but dying to know what sort of mood I'll encounter in this poor hive that's seen so much turbulent interference this summer. I pop the top off and look down. What I see is a large number of very quiet, rather still and subdued-looking bees. Funnily enough, I find that I'm torn between deeply-felt relief and a pang of sadness and worry. Has the Regicide ripped the heart right out of this hive? I do hope not!
The Apiguard application goes in smoothly and it's only when I've tramped all the way back to the shed that I realise I should've put sticky-backed plastic on the yellow varroa boards underneath the hives. Curses! Back I tramp, extract the plastic boards, stump into the house and stick on the sticky stuff, stamp on back to the hives and replace the boards. Honestly, Margo, not a linear logical thought in this bliksemse blonde brain, is there!?
* * *
I woke at 4am this morning, worrying about the Secret Garden. Have I taken too much on? I keep seeing that wide sweeping arc, the empty spaces, the jungle, the mud. Work, work, work and more work, and money, money, money.
I really do put a wee bit too much pressure on myself. Calm down, old girl, it's going to be magic.
Guy and I visited the Garden this weekend, to drop off some tools and a large storage container. We manage to erect it and get it all safely stored away, only minutes before a huge downpour of rain.
When I worked on my hives today, and mowed the lawn afterwards, I took a few minutes at dusk to lie on the grass underneath the bees' flight path. I lay back, head in hands and gazed up at the feather-light clouds, and watched them whizzing busily to and fro directly above me.
We will miss them, when they go.
We all will, even my Fellow Flatties and the children next door.
The garden is going to feel decidedly emptied of a certain kind of Feminine Ferocity :)
We will miss them!
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