Squatting

On Sunday 28 April, I packed the bee hive up and gentled wheeled it out of the garden of The Silver Cloud Lounge.  So much sadness washed over me as the bees left.  I looked up at the flowers in the old apple tree.  I will never see apples there again.  I walked past the patch of raspberry plants - never see those fruit again either.  And I believe we will be the last people to enjoy this garden - I suspect whoever buys the house will just develop it - destroy the garden and build a Granny flat over it.  Gone, all gone.  It makes my heart hurt.

So the bees went in the back of my car again.  This time we travelled halfway round London, up the A10 all the way to Cheshunt.  They will be squatting in Paula's garden for the summer.

They were carefully sited on a concrete slab near the river, by the foxes den.

I came back eight days later on Bank Holiday Monday 6th May to do my first inspection.  It felt strange to not have watched the entrance every evening, watching for activity, anything out of the ordinary, or just normal serene calming behaviour.  It felt strange doing it in someone else's garden.  Paula sat by and watched and took pictures.  I opened up the hive.   None of the signs were very good at all.  She hadn't laid anything outside the top super section of the brood-and-a-half box.  She seemed to have laid in a spotty pattern.  There were no honey stores, and way too much pollen being brought in for the number of eggs. 

The only good things I could say were these: there were signs of 3-day old brood so She was still alive.  There were many, many bees.  And they were wonderfully docile and busy.  For a while I sat with Paula and thought about my options.  I could swop the boxes round, little one at the bottom, big empty one on top, so the bees would be driven up into the higher box to get up to the feeder on top; encouraging activity and use of the big box.

"No," said Paula, "leave them for a while.  It's been a slow cold start to the spring, and they've just had their home hauled halfway across town.  Leave them for a bit."

Wise words, and I took her advice.

On Friday evening, 17 May, two weeks later, I came back to do the next inspection.  It was cold, 12 degrees, and it was late - 5pm - when I finally opened up the hive.  I was determined to be quick so I unhooked the top super and just pulled it off, determined to check the big empty brood box at the bottom first.  In doing so I forgot how the bees simply glued everything together and I ended up pulling two end frames right out of the bottom box, and they ended up on the ground out of the hive.  Damn!  More haste, less speed.  Very ungraceful.

I checked the big brood box frames and was stunned - firstly, there were lots of bees, LOTS of bees.  And secondly there was brood.  Sealed brood on four sides over two frames.  Not a lot, but there.  And in solid patterns - a good laying pattern.  The Queen seems to be coming back on form.  I squished my eyes up and peered and peered but just couldn't see any three-day rice grains anywhere.  Yet everything was looking so much better.  More brood, more honey stores, more bees.  And all still so very good-natured.  Not one sting.

I ended the inspection as ungracefully as I had begun it, by overfilling the feeder with sugar water till I could see a steady stream dribbling down out of the bottom of the hive.  Oh for god's sake, Margo!

Never mind.  Things are looking up.  I am scared to say that we may have turned the corner towards survival because things can be so uncertain.  But things are looking better, and for that I am very grateful.

Paula sent me on my way after a lovely catch-up filled with laughter, gossip and Prosecco.  I am so lucky :)

Postscript: Of course Paula raised the next awkward issue that now needs to be addressed, "so Margo, now that you know you have a solidly functional Queen in the hive, what are you going to do about the one you've ordered to replace her; the one that's coming in the post in about 3 to 4 weeks time?"  Er ... I don't know, is the honest answer!

Post-postscript:  the other interesting issue that is dogging my thoughts - I found yet another frame with mould on it; the outer one, big brood box, side closest to the bushes, the river and the coldness.  I've found more mould on my frames than ever before and the only reason I can think of is that the frames are set up the Cold Way.  I've only ever worked them the Warm Way before, and I never found mould.  Is it just an easy swop-round to convert from Cold to Warm Way, then?

Quick Update

So I checked them again on Sunday.  She has laid only in the smaller upper section of the brood-and-a-half box.  I couldn't see 3 day 'rice grain' eggs, only the slightly older brood.  Oh dear, did I kill Her in my last visit?  Why is that always my worry?

There was no brood at all in the main brood box.  Why?!  Why is She laying so little?

Oh joy, one more thing to worry about!

Grumble.

Post Script:  I really mustn't grumble; the bees have been absolutely lovely on my last two visits.  Generous, calm and non-stingy.  I fed them, and they ate.  How can I possibly complain?

Queen-sign

Last week I had the most awful experience in the hive.  I picked a warm-ish afternoon, and kitted up, Smoker on, and opened the top of the hive.  I found, as always, lots of bees in the top bit of the brood-and-a-half box.  But when I began to lift each frame out and inspect, I was horrified at the emptiness of the frames.

Each frame had been completely stripped of honey stores; there were bees hanging about aimlessly and they were grumpy.  Within minutes I'd been stung three times on my gloves and once in the groin (why, for God's sake, girls, why the groin every time!?).  There was a miniscule amount of honey left in the corners of some of the frames.  But the most disturbing of all was the emptiness of the cells in the middle. No sealed brood, no open brood, and no pollen stores at all.  Signs of a missing Queen.

I went down into the main brood box and there was even less.  And worse, the two outer frames were full of hard ivy or oil seed rape honey and utterly covered in green mould.  It was heart-wrenching.  I read subsequently that other beekeepers experience mouldy outer frames but it was still shocking to see, and I removed them and filled the empty spaces with a frame feeder and a dummy board.

I could see a huge pile of dead bees on the open mesh floor (OMF).  So I broke the entire hive down and used my hive tool to scrape all the dead off the floor.  Of course when I rebuilt the hive again and put the roof on, my heart quailed because I suddenly realised there might still have been a Queen - even though there was no Queen-sign.  And in messing around on the floor and shifting all the bits and pieces of the hive around I could easily have thrown her out by mistake, or killed her, or damaged her.

All that night I lay there, wondering and worrying.  The next day I went out and I was astonished to see a small but steady stream of bees flying, and bringing in pollen - the best sign of all that a Queen is busy laying eggs.

I had sprayed some Hive Clean in the hive and placed a sticky-backed varroa board in the slot below the OMF.  I sat and watched for a long while and thought, "the only way to know for sure is to get a frame of BIAS (brood in all stages) from someone else.  If they're queenless, they'll make a Queen Cell.  If they're Queenright they'll just be getting along with it."

I went along to the Enfield Hut the next day, and got some good advice, "just wait, Margo, just wait.  Everything is late this year, and the Queens might not have started laying yet."  I realised it was a hard ask, at this incredibly lean and vulnerable time of the year, to ask anyone for a valuable frame full of brood.  There would be hardly any out there.  And to ask from as far away as Enfield, with all the worry about disease transferral and chilled brood; it was an impossible ask.  It made me realise, especially now with a new job so far West of London, that my days with my current association are truly numbered.  To be sensible, I need a beekeeping community nearby.  I need to be sensible now, for a change.

So I went home, and I crossed my fingers; I placed an order for a Queen in May.  And - like all the other beekeepers out there in this part of the world, I held my breath, I watched the weather and I prayed.

I think Paula's on to something when she talks about "communing with the Goddesses" because, while nothing's gone right with the re-housing efforts for us, something went right for the bees this week.

The weather warmed up today, and they were flying, and foraging, and bringing in pollen.  And when I opened the roof to replace the sweet winter fondant food with a tub of warm 2:1 sugar water, I opened the roof and checked one frame and instantly saw 3-days eggs.

Do you know, this time my heart didn't leap and I didn't whoop for joy.  I found myself checking and re-checking what I saw, because I really couldn't quite believe my eyes.  3-day eggs?  Yes really, a tiny rice grain - the Queen was definitely alive and laying AFTER my vigorous clean up last week.  One egg per cell, then? Not a desperate worker female?  No.  Definitely one egg per cell.  There they were, so clear in the light, I couldn't even question my own poor vision.  A laying Queen.  I have a laying Queen!

I didn't go down to check any further, I just quietly put everything back together and closed up the hive.  Then I sat there and put my veiled head in my hands and breathed a very quiet, grateful prayer.

Thank you, God, oh thank you.

Of course I sit and ponder now whether She might only be a drone-layer.  The honeycomb in a Super is larger - so Queens tend to lay drones up there.  Perhaps I should've checked all the way through.  But d'you know what?  I'd rather leave them be for now.  They desperately need a break; a break in the weather, a break from thumping, interfering beekeepers, a break to just get on with the work.  If She's a drone layer, there are still ways to fix things.  But at least I know this generation is not doomed, and they've brought the colony safely through the winter for now.

And d'you know what else?  They were lovely today.  They stayed down.  They didn't sting.  They buzzed quietly on their way; they didn't fly up to my face defensively.  They were just so well-behaved.

My bees are back.

Spring Mystery

The last time I opened the roof - it must've been in February - when it was really cold and wet, I put some food in for the bees.  They were still there, although very quiet.  More disturbing was the state of the ceiling.  The crown board was wet, soaking wet in parts.  I closed it down and pondered why, but chose not to do anything about it because the bees had looked just fine.  Up to yesterday, the weather had been poor.  I never want to disturb bees too much in the cold weather so they have remained untouched.

The spring mystery is always, "have they survived, or haven't they?  What condition will they be in?"  And I fretted all the way through January and February, wondering how they were.  There has been a lot to distract me; a three-week holiday in Africa, followed by eye surgery and two weeks' sick leave.  The Uni course has been thoroughly enjoyable and a complete distraction.  Work has been dire and I suspect I am going to be made redundant, which is a worry.

So yesterday we went for a hike and afterwards the group came back to our house for dinner.  Guy and I haven't had friends around in over a year.  Yes, we have been hermits.  It has just been a hard year.  But yesterday we got home from the hike, and it was warm.  So warm that I simply abandoned the cooking, abandoned our guests, abandoned everything else, and hot-footed it down to the hive with that sense of urgency that comes when you never know if it's going to rain again  - in the next minute, the next hour or the next week.

My friends are good to me - they understood.

I spent about 20 minutes trying to light That Blasted Smoker before giving up.  200 matches later, one lighter and a whole lot of extremely cold and damp paper and wood; what a mess!

I covered myself up, picked up a spare crownboard, and just went in unaided.

The upper side of the crownboard looked a real mess.  Lots of little creatures running about.  Damp.  Mouldy.  Bit of food all over.  One bee.

Oh dear.

I removed all the food and lifted the lid timidly.

And my heart just leapt with joy.  Thousands of bees.  Thousands upon thousands of bees.  In fact, I'm now terrified - in the opposite direction, if you see what I mean.  They look too full - already - in a brood and a half box!

Now I'm worried they're bursting out, run out of space and ready to swarm.

Oh dear. :)

So I exchanged rooves - now I have the poly one on, so I can see down into the hive.  Removed the gunky old one, which kind of reminded me of the interior of our house after a long winterbound sojourn.  Tidied up the old bits of food and sorted out the new.  And just gently put the lid back.  I didn't want to keep things open too long as it's still not that warm, and I have seen the sadness that is Chilled Brood.

Then I noticed under the hive that a whole lot of honeycomb cappings had drifted down onto the ground in a shower of shavings.  So the bees are there; they've uncapped and eaten their honey and the cells are free for Her new brood.  They are there; they have survived, and - gods willing - I will have bees for the summer.

Now I need to start planning a Split.  One hive into two.  Soon as possible, methinks.

Bees make me happy.  Looking at bees, checking on bees, hammering boxes for bees, pondering on bees, wondering about bee secrets.  Bee mysteries.  They just make me happy.

Hooray for bees!

Winter Bees

A visit to the bee hive on a warm winter's day in December

My bees belong in a Skiffle Band

I caught them washboarding last night!  This is a mysterious activity they indulge in, and the best part is: no-one knows what it means, what it's for, or why they do it.  

Check out my video - at about 5min 20 seconds in, you'll see a whole lot of the girls doing it together.  

Margo's Bees Doing the Washboard Dance

Syncopated rhythm in Bee Minor!

Honey to Market

I cannot speak for anyone else; I can only speak from my own experience.  These are the things I have learned about marketing honey:

1.

Be wary of giving away free honey for the response may overwhelm you.  It will include everything from surprise to effusive thanks but above all, the assumption that what you are offering is merely a "sweetener" in expectation of future sales. 

Now, this may indeed be your strategy and I say, be prepared for a wave of orders to follow.   When you are giving out those gifts, even as a gentle form of bribery to colleagues, ask yourself "do I have enough stock for the business that is bound to follow?"

2.

Think outside the box.  Do not just do what everyone else has done before you - selling 1 lb jars of honey for a straight £4.  I do not believe this is a successful strategy any more and, what's more, I will tell you why.

- People, consumers, your customers have too much choice these days.  In earlier times, honey was the only sweet thing you could spread on your toast, or dip in your tea, or add to your chicken or salads.  Nowadays there is so much more to choose from - maple syrup, sweet chillis, jams, conserves, preserves, jellies and syrups.   Also, there are so many different kinds of other "toastie" toppings - peanut butters (crunchy, not-crunchy), Marmite (love it or loathe it), Vegemite and more. 

- No-one gets through an entire pound jar of honey anymore without it crystallising (which a lot of people, myself included in days of yore, incorrectly think means it's time to chuck it in the bin).  So, what people like to have on their shelf is a little taste of everything.

- Sell small.  Go 120 oz, or even 8 oz.  Firstly, you can sell these at a premium, instead of a pro-rated portion of £4 for a pound.  People love the novelty of little jars to keep.  And they will come back for more.  Particularly if they can proudly say, "look! I finished your honey".  In an age where people are learning the thrift of the post-throw-away age, it pleases them to actually finish something all up.

3.

While Chunk Honey is exotic and lovely and interesting and artisan, it confuses people.  It is not advisable over the product they all know, love and recognise: clear or set honey in a glass jar. 

It is also difficult to price (how can I justify £1 for an 8oz chunk of honey in the comb compared to blasted Sainsbury's selling a 1 lb jar at an excrutiatingly low £1.95.  How on earth can they justify that? It's outrageous!)

This has been my first season experimenting with the sale of honey in the comb, as Chunk Honey, and I am bemused by the number of friends, family and customers who proudly show me how they have decanted the honey from the comb into a jar.  Or chewed the honeycomb and made strange shapes out of the remaining wax.  Or asked me how to eat it.

4.

Labels, and names, are important.  Make your own, I urge you.  It's a gloriously creative process.  Easy to do.  Costs less, no matter what they tell you, than buying bog-standard ones in. 

I loved winding my way through the maze of Food Standards Regulations about labels.  You have to make sure no single flower can be identified in the pictures, unless of course your bees have foraged over a certain percentage on one single flower, like Lavender Honey from the fields of Grasse, in France. 

Your name and address has to be on there - which unnerves all Europeans, who freak out about the Data Protection Act and intrusions on their privacy.  Not I.  I carry my name and place proudly on that label.  Except of course, it's not Slough, it's "Upper Windsor", darling!  (Always confuses the postman, poor dear.) 

The size and weight must be in minimum 10-point print.  You could spend hours with a ruler and a magnifying glass, working that one out. 

Try now to think of an Expiry Date, when you consider that 5,000 year old honey was found in the tombs of the Ancient Egyptians - and considered to be still edible.  I have resisted the temptation, so far, of putting "Best Before: 7012 AD" on my labels. Haha!

 And people remember your honey, if it has a name.  And you sell your brand with more heart, because it has an identity.

First, I called my honey "Jack's Honey".  It saddened me beyond words that my dad, that irascible old codger, died just before he could have a taste from my first-ever honey harvest.  But nowadays, I will not market a sad thing.  This is a happy thing, my honey, and it will carry my name.  

"Margo's Honey" it is then.