Late Developer

It's 10 degrees in the shade, and 20 degrees in the sun; I've taken to curling up in a chair at the end of the garden, right next to the beehive, and soaking up the sunshine when it deigns to appear. For a long while now, I've noticed a large number of dead bees lying on the ground in front of the hive. I also noticed several bees had died in the progress of very messy, very yellow cleansing flights - could this possibly indicate diarrhea? I hope not. How awfully sad :(

This weekend Guy and I went on a long round-the-houses shopping expedition to Park Beekeeping in Greenwich, who never appeared to be off the phone long enough for me to get a call in. We arrived at a tiny, closed-looking industrial unit and met Gordon, who mournfully told us it would be a minimum two-week wait for a new National hive. "Never," he said "never have I known such an upsurge in interest in beekeeping. I just can't keep up with the demand."

Good for bees, bad for me. My planning has been abysmal. While the other NewBees in our first-season beekeepers' circle were sorted enough to order their new hives at Christmas, I've been floating about like the proverbial short-visioned grasshopper. Ah, well! I'll catch up, I always do. After all, I've always been a late developer.

Guy has been wonderful in terms of making a new, rather fancy-looking base for the existing beehive, and he found the perfect piece of pavement to support it on the level underneath. So I bought him a beesuit, and yesterday he had the first opportunity to try it out. It was such a joy to go down to the hive with him; beekeepers together.

We squabbled amiably about exactly how we were going to do it, then gently and ever-so-carefully just got on with it. We moved the hive about two feet away, and laid down the pavement tile, then positioned the base carefully on top of it and slid the hive back in position. It looks very posh now. Complete.

While we were doing this, the weather started to clear and warm up. I had thought it would be too cold to check inside the hive, but I looked at the suddenly-blue sky and decided to take my chance. That Blasted Smoker is no longer That Blasted Smoker; it was lovely to calmly and quietly be able to manage it; and it lasted just long enough to do what had to be done. How pleasant to have conquered that minor challenge :)

I've taken to spending whatever patches of free time I can find to think strategically through exactly what it is I'm going to do when I open the hive. If you ever find me quietly sitting in a corner muttering what sounds like a meditation chant, it's only me, practising in my head, "smoker, top off, crown board off, first frame out, check next frame, check for brood, check brood pattern, replace frame correctly, next frame, search for queen , etc ....".

What usually happens goes something like "smoke, top off, crown board off, where's my hive tool, oh right there it is, now first frame, don't forget to shake the bees off, check for brood, remember to count, look for queen, ouch bugger, one frame aside, next frame, remember which end is in which way, hold on lugs, turn over vertically, check for brood, ooh look queen cell, ouch bugger, oops what's that dropping off the frame, ouch BUGGER!"

This time the bees were very present; loud, defensive, everywhere. There were thousands of them; in the last few weeks, I've had the sense of them literally boiling out of every crevice of the hive and, on looking inside, so it is. At least 5 of the frames have brood in them although the smallest I could really spot were larvae; so the Queen had been present between 3 and 9 days ago. I spotted at least 3 Queen cells being built, as well as isolated drone cells. I could not find the Queen.

Frame 1 still had nothing on it, minimal work being done on Frame 2. Frames 3 - 6 were loaded with a mixture of brood and honey; parts of the foundation had disappeared though and all of them were blackened with use. Frames 7 and 8 were heavy and dripping with honey; frames 9 and 10 less so. The candy fondant feed had only been nibbled at.

I had to step away from the hive several times, as the bees were very defensive and stung me at least three times through my trouser leg and many times on my gloves. I was a little unnerved, to say the least, but I was determined to persevere and complete a full check of all the frames. Halfway through, I finally resorted to using my new pristine-white manipulation cloth and it definitely helped to calm and control the bees.

Finished with the frame inspection, I placed my newly purchased dummy board into the brood box, to fill the space up properly, and to hopefully block cold air getting in and thus encourage the bees to use that first Frame they've never liked to draw out. Then I stepped away to fill a super with frames of new foundation, and came back to slide it very carefully, slowly and gently into place on top of the main brood chamber. This will evolve the colony into a brood-and-a-half size. On top of that I placed my polycarb crownboard and the baker's fondant halfway over the hole in the middle. Then I closed up the hive and left them to it.

For a long while after, I sat quietly in the sun and watched the ladies getting used to the wide new porch in front of their entrance. I watched bees licking sap off the bark of the tree next to me, and licking each other for whatever reasons they have - greeting, bonding, communicating. I even had a bee with loaded pollen baskets land on my leg, and I managed to get a photo. I've had tremendous fun learning to use the Macro functions on my camera while working with the bees.

It has been such a cold Easter, some reckon that the bees are three weeks behind their normal schedule of activities. Perhaps, once again, I'll get lucky in timing the advent of a second brood box with nature's late-developing spring.

After all, in spite of every prediction to the contrary, my bees have actually managed to survive the winter. Who knows what could happen next!

The Beautiful Bee

... and an amazing new finding in the world of honeybee research

The African Bee Hive Pot

I went to Africa and what did I find? Bee stories, of course! :)

I stayed in a beautiful guest lodge in Northcliff. A few days before I arrived the manager discovered an old pot, left forgotten in a dark corner of a secluded courtyard. She tried opening the lid but it felt sealed; when she managed to ease a crack open she discovered a thriving colony of African bees had taken up residence.

The story came to me third-hand; that she had tried to find a swarm collector to take the colony away but couldn't, so the bees were all destroyed. The story disturbed me so much, that night I dreamed about bees. I came home to find that someone had drowned all my bees in boiling hot water and I was distraught. It was with relief that I woke up with a start to realise that it was only a dream. But I was still sad about the bees at the lodge, until I found the manager and she was only too happy to tell me that the bees had in fact been rescued by a swarm collector, who had successfully relocated them in his own apiary.

You can see the pot in the bottom left hand corner of this picture. When I leaned into it I could still smell the lovely pungent scent of honey. The lid of the pot, which had obviously been sealed closed with "bee glue" - propolis - is still visible on the rickety little table. The complex lines and patterns of the wild comb are still visible on the inside surface of the lid, a beautifully poignant reminder of the legacy of bees ...

There was another story about bees that I heard at an African reunion party on Saturday but it was much more savage, and very funny. Best saved for when I see you again at the pub, over a beer or two.

When I got home to Finchley yesterday the temperature was 13 degrees. My bulbs have started to flower and I rushed down to the bottom of the garden to find hundreds of my bees flying, out and about and - best of all - already bringing back baskets full of pollen.

Spring has truly arrived!

Budding

In all the years I have meandered towards becoming a gardener, I have never yet had the courage to plant bulbs.

"Courage" may be a strange word to use, but it's the right one. Because bulbs require commitment. Planting bulbs means that you expect to remain in one place from autumn to spring, so that you will be there, next year, to see the flowers emerge from your efforts. Planting bulbs means you have to prepare the earth properly, and buy and plant strategically. My oddball life has never yet granted me that level of stability - until now.

Today I stepped out into my garden and the first shoots are there; green groups sprouting - how have I not noticed them until now!? They made my heart leap; a first sign of spring. No matter how cold it's predicted to get next week, this means that spring is truly on the way.

And what of my bees, I hear you ask? Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. It's not the bees you see, it's me. This weekend heralds "The Return of Crusher" in all her gory glory. Most unfortunately, it's still a case of the bees surviving in spite of me, not because of me.

Yesterday was the first day I really had at home in full daylight, to go and see how things were progressing at the hive. So off I went, squelching once more through the worm-cast. My intention was only to quickly pop off the top and check to see how much of the Baker's Fondant the lasses have eaten. Good, aren't I? Yes, well ....

I carefully peeled away all the outer thinsulate from around the hive. I took off the Hive Lid. Oh! I'd forgotten that I'd made a quilt for inside the hive - the two big "cushions" of polystyrene pieces inside folded-up thinsulate. I removed them gently. And what did I find underneath; why, a whole big block of untouched Baker's Fondant.

There was nothing guaranteed to unnerve me more than this particular sight. You can hear my thoughts out loud, can't you - "why haven't they touched it? Did I not open a big enough hole? Are they all dead?"

I stretched my hand out and carefully raised the 4 kilogram-weight of fondant. Out boiled about a hundred infuriated bees, wafted upward on a wave of pungent wildflower honey scent. So shocked was I - what did I do? Why, dropped it of course. Right on top of the bees. Crushed about two dozen of the poor girls.

Oh Margo! Will I NEVER learn to think first, act later?!

I rushed off to put on my bee suit, and hared down to the hive again with a Bee Brush. I raised the fondant again and tried to brush all the bees away. A hundred infuriated bees roared up around me; I carefully replaced the fondant and sliced a few more holes in the clingfilm surrounding it.

Then I replaced the quilts, and closed up the Lid.

I'd noticed some dead bees lying on the crownboard inside. There were dead bees, too, just outside the entrance. Presumably these are the inevitable casualties of winter and longevity. I also saw a beautiful black cat later that day, slinking quietly up to the hive entrance to satisfy her curiousity. I "whisht" her away; out of concern for both her and the poor, bothered bees.

I feel devastated about crushing so many bees, but also heartened with joy that they are so resilient a colony that they have survived winter so far, so long, and so well. They must have huge stores of honey saved up, to be surviving this well this far without Fondant. It fills me with joy, and hope. And trepidation of course, for what is clearly going to be a busy honey-filled summer.

Today we had our first gathering of New Beekeepers. We all crammed into my living room for tea and biscuits (my cheesecake was a disaster - never to be mentioned in polite company again). There were 10 of us, literally burning for knowledge, help, support, information, guidance, mentorship and a lifetime of experience (Right Now; Right This Minute, If You Please!). We had 4 mentors with us; thank heavens for their patience, forbearance and gently teasing practicality.

Out of the 10, 4 of us have hives. Each one has a wealth of stories to tell, adventures shared, mysteries unravelled. All of us are nervous for the remainder of the journey through the unfinished cycle of the first 12 months. And the others; ready to begin the journey, sharing our hives if need be.

Now, at least, we have each other.

A new generation of beekeepers; new buddies; new buds of knowledge.

I can hardly wait to get started ...

The Bee Tent

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!