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)