Green Tippex

Pulling up my socks has been every bit as awkward as I expected.

The first time I went off to inspect the bees up at the Association Apiary, I had everybody and his mother hanging over my shoulder, agog.  There was Charles and Tom and Perry and Peter and Allan and Asad, and various others.  It was a circus.

Oh dear.  Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

I have grown to fear the peanut gallery far more than the beestings these days.  The banter pops out like a pinging bee and the stinging comments fly in like squadrons of hornets. 

"What do you mean, you haven't got a dummy board?!"

"Is that deformed wing virus?  There.  And there and there and there and there ...."

"When did you say you last treated your bees?"

"What are you doing with that extra super, then?"

"Why aren't you doing a Shook Swarm, then, hey?!"

I swear, by the time I left the Apiary I was a complete and utter gibbering wreck.  I had a bee in me beesuit, tea down me trousers and a flea in me earhole.  I felt more wobbly than a virgin on a first date.  It was worse in every way than I had ever expected.

But really, what COULD I have expected!?  I had let the colony go their own way for nearly a year; distracted by my own crushing grief in my other life.  And my neglect showed.  The bees were sick, the hive was a mess, and as for strategy - there was none.

The lads will never let me forget it.  I am the butt of every joke at the Apiary now.  Particularly the next week, when Alan walked out of the Hut and looked at me severely over his spectacles and said, accusingly, "there's been a swarm.  A SWARM."

I gibbered.  Of course the swarm was my fault.  Of course they were my bees.  It could only have been my fault.

Except, Dear Reader, it wasn't.  We went in to inspect my hive and there they all were.  None of them had left.  I did a little jig, and everyone laughed.  Oh dear god, having an audience has been the hardest thing that has ever happened to me as a beekeeper. 

But I know it has also been the best.  I have been pulled up short, and reminded of all my bad habits as a beekeeper, and I have been reminded of all the reasons why beekeeping might be a joyful solitary craft, but is also a delightfully social one.

As we've gone along over the weeks, the lads have begun to root for my bees; the interest of the newcomers has been inspiring; my new mentors have begun to bed in and settle with me.  A routine has developed and the worst of my neglect has been corrected.

We've reduced the double brood box to a single brood box.  We've changed most of the frames.  We've medicated the bees for sickness.

And oh gracious Goddessess, we have found my Queen.  And we have marked Her.  HOORAY!  I could have wept for joy when that little daub of green paint landed on Her thorax.  Hooray and Hooray and Hooray.

Although Peter did take the opportunity to look at me irritably and say, "what the hell is that green paint?  Is it nail polish!?  It looks like Tippex!  I don't think I trust that rubbishy looking stuff ..." 

"But, but ..." I replied, stuttering, "I bought at Thorne's so it MUST be good, right?"

They all stopped and looked at me.

And then they carried on.

I think I'm going to be alright, folks.  And what's more, so are the bees.