There is something magical that happens to me when I open the hive.
One day, it will become a chore. Some day, at some point, the mystery of the work will become commonplace; it will be nothing more than background noise in my life. But for now, I will revel in the magic of the moment.
Tuesday evening, I came home with the expressed intent (I had expressed it to Kathe, who manages most of the time to not roll her eyes) of working with my bees. I had seen some hive beetles, and had gotten some information on how to keep them from being a problem. I also wanted to make sure that they were not showing any signs of swarming. I also wanted to make sure the queen looked OK. I also wanted to see whether they were using the new frames, and adapting to the new home. I wanted to see if the queen was still laying.
I wanted to make sure my ladies were happy.
Newbies like myself have a tendency to over-involve themselves in the process of hive building. We suit up and open the hive, just to check. And then suit up the next day, just to check. Doing that just aggravates the bees, and sometimes makes them decide that the new home is not suitable. And they will leave. So in addition to all of the things that we are supposed to guard against (foulbrood, heavy varroa infestation, hive beetles, wax moths, swarm cells, etc) we also have to guard against being overeager. Tiger mothers don't raise happy bees.
So I got all of my stuff ready and went out to open the hive, with my express purposes in mind. I lit my smoker with pine straw and pecan chips, got a good smoke started, donned my veil and started. Small puff of smoke at the entrance to settle everyone down, and lifted the lid.
I pulled out the frames closest to the edge - new frames added to the original five - to see if they had filled the frames with wax, pollen, and honey (mind you, it had only been 11 days since they arrived.) I inspected each frame, brushing off bees to expose any beetles (each of whom met their maker in rapid succession.) Happily, there was not a huge quantity of beetles; the infestation was minor - not at all what I had worried it might be.
But there was also no new wax on the outermost of the frames. No new brood, no new pollen stores, no new honey. I started to get concerned.
Then three frames in, I saw newly drawn comb! My ladies are busy and productive, and are building new working space, and making the new hive their home.
I was trying to get pictures, and kill beetles, and keep the smoke coming, and find the queen, and check for comb andlookformitesandseeifshewaslayingandmakesureIdidn'thurtbeesandandand.....
And then I put down the camera. Took a deep breath (coughing from the smoke).
I started again.
The result was so very different. Because I was calm, I got to enjoy the moment, and just focus on what I saw, without trying to document it. And as I did so, everything slowed way down. Much like the video I had taken a few moments earlier:
I found the queen, and she seemed healthy. I did not notice any newly laid comb, but I had not noted where the brood was beforehand, so I didn't have notes to compare to. I got to watch as bees were emerging from the broodcomb, watching as they broke loose of the capped sacs.
That's right. I got to watch my baby bees be born. The sense of wonder was amazing. Magical. Almost mystical.
I worked my way through the whole ten frames, checking, reviewing, inspecting, and just spending some time being amazed. The ladies aren't ready for a honey super yet, but they are doing great.
For a little while, I was able to simply be in the moment, working for the benefit of the lovely girls, quieting my worries, and just being present. And I left behind the concerns and worries, focusing instead on the task at hand. I didn't have to think about what I was doing, I was able to simply do it. And it didn't matter - they were all very resilient and responded well. As long as I didn't smush the queen when I put it all back together again.
OK. So maybe the worry isn't all gone.
But I walked away from the experience happy, exultant, maybe even joyful. It was a simple task, but it grounded me in ways I did not expect.
It has now been a week since I opened my box, and I am itching to see what they have built, and what she has laid, and what else has emerged from the broodcomb (is the queen laying in the now-empty comb?is there more honey?) I am supposed to check no more often than once every two weeks, so for now I am limited to just going out after work and sitting and watching them go and come.
And reveling in the joy that they are doing what they are supposed to do. And so am I.
Sting count: 0
One day, it will become a chore. Some day, at some point, the mystery of the work will become commonplace; it will be nothing more than background noise in my life. But for now, I will revel in the magic of the moment.
Tuesday evening, I came home with the expressed intent (I had expressed it to Kathe, who manages most of the time to not roll her eyes) of working with my bees. I had seen some hive beetles, and had gotten some information on how to keep them from being a problem. I also wanted to make sure that they were not showing any signs of swarming. I also wanted to make sure the queen looked OK. I also wanted to see whether they were using the new frames, and adapting to the new home. I wanted to see if the queen was still laying.
I wanted to make sure my ladies were happy.
Newbies like myself have a tendency to over-involve themselves in the process of hive building. We suit up and open the hive, just to check. And then suit up the next day, just to check. Doing that just aggravates the bees, and sometimes makes them decide that the new home is not suitable. And they will leave. So in addition to all of the things that we are supposed to guard against (foulbrood, heavy varroa infestation, hive beetles, wax moths, swarm cells, etc) we also have to guard against being overeager. Tiger mothers don't raise happy bees.
So I got all of my stuff ready and went out to open the hive, with my express purposes in mind. I lit my smoker with pine straw and pecan chips, got a good smoke started, donned my veil and started. Small puff of smoke at the entrance to settle everyone down, and lifted the lid.
I pulled out the frames closest to the edge - new frames added to the original five - to see if they had filled the frames with wax, pollen, and honey (mind you, it had only been 11 days since they arrived.) I inspected each frame, brushing off bees to expose any beetles (each of whom met their maker in rapid succession.) Happily, there was not a huge quantity of beetles; the infestation was minor - not at all what I had worried it might be. But there was also no new wax on the outermost of the frames. No new brood, no new pollen stores, no new honey. I started to get concerned.
Then three frames in, I saw newly drawn comb! My ladies are busy and productive, and are building new working space, and making the new hive their home.
I was trying to get pictures, and kill beetles, and keep the smoke coming, and find the queen, and check for comb andlookformitesandseeifshewaslayingandmakesureIdidn'thurtbeesandandand.....
And then I put down the camera. Took a deep breath (coughing from the smoke).
I started again.
The result was so very different. Because I was calm, I got to enjoy the moment, and just focus on what I saw, without trying to document it. And as I did so, everything slowed way down. Much like the video I had taken a few moments earlier:
I found the queen, and she seemed healthy. I did not notice any newly laid comb, but I had not noted where the brood was beforehand, so I didn't have notes to compare to. I got to watch as bees were emerging from the broodcomb, watching as they broke loose of the capped sacs.
That's right. I got to watch my baby bees be born. The sense of wonder was amazing. Magical. Almost mystical.
I worked my way through the whole ten frames, checking, reviewing, inspecting, and just spending some time being amazed. The ladies aren't ready for a honey super yet, but they are doing great.
For a little while, I was able to simply be in the moment, working for the benefit of the lovely girls, quieting my worries, and just being present. And I left behind the concerns and worries, focusing instead on the task at hand. I didn't have to think about what I was doing, I was able to simply do it. And it didn't matter - they were all very resilient and responded well. As long as I didn't smush the queen when I put it all back together again.
OK. So maybe the worry isn't all gone.
But I walked away from the experience happy, exultant, maybe even joyful. It was a simple task, but it grounded me in ways I did not expect.
It has now been a week since I opened my box, and I am itching to see what they have built, and what she has laid, and what else has emerged from the broodcomb (is the queen laying in the now-empty comb?is there more honey?) I am supposed to check no more often than once every two weeks, so for now I am limited to just going out after work and sitting and watching them go and come.
And reveling in the joy that they are doing what they are supposed to do. And so am I.
Sting count: 0
No comments:
Post a Comment