Recent Arrival

"How long has the hive been there?"

Whenever I am answering a request to do a honeybee hive removal for someone, I have a series of questions I ask.  Did you spray them?  How high are they?  Are they aggressive?  Are they getting inside?

I just added the question above to my list, because the answer can change the expectation of what I have awaiting me when I open the wall.

This week was a simple removal.  Bees in the Eaves. An easy cut out of decaying soffit, a quick reach in to cut out the comb, and then it is just a matter to separate the comb with honey (almost a certainty, at this time of year), box up the brood comb with rubber bands to hold it in place, and vacuum up remaining bees.

In this instance, it was even easier than that.

Ty Wamsley had been my office neighbor for a couple of years.  He was the director of the Science and Technology section of Mississippi Valley Division, and so I was delighted when I got his call.  Even more so when he wanted to talk about bees.

After looking over the site, I was convinced that there was very little space for the bees to have expanded to, and so started the cutout carefully.  I tore off the plywood to get at the cavity, and found quite a bit of clean, bright comb. The space appeared very small, consistent with what he had described. After removing the first couple of pieces of empty, new comb, I cut out first one piece of brood comb, and then another.  And then the third.

Video recorded with a potato

But no honeycomb.

In all, I cut off a dozen pieces of comb, total.  Only four of the pieces had been used for brood, and those were still light enough to be pretty.

This was a recent arrival.

Apparently, some time in the past month, some seriously docile bees (hooray for docile!) had swarmed into his house and made their home.  They made a conscious decision to swarm, and then agreed on where the new home was going to be.  Ty's house was the winner.

This is where I get to geek out a little.  Honeybee decisionmaking process is so much cooler than anything we use to make decisions.  One day, I am going to run an experiment where we replicate bee decisionmaking in one of our Corps projects, and see if we get different results.

Bee process starts with population pressure.  Once the bees have filled all of the available space in their current digs with comb, and they have filled that comb space with a combination of honey, pollen, and brood, they get to feeling the population pressure.  When they do, the queen picks a whole bunch of recently emerged bees, and takes off in a swarm. When the queen leave, she is accompanied by about 60% of the bees in the hive. (That is a HUGE hit for a beekeeper, who mostly just wants those girls for their sweet, sweet products)

As soon as they leave, and sometimes a little before, scout bees head out to do recon.  They find a place, and come back to report.  And they report with the famous "waggle dance", first decoded by von Frisch in 1949.  The figure eight dance (swing yer pardner, round ye go....) gives direction and distance, and communicates GPS coordinates to the bees that are 'listening'.  Those bees go and check it out.  If they like it, they come and give the same dance.

If they don't, they find another, and come back and give different coordinates.

The cool thing is this: THEY VOTE.

As more and more scouts return to the group, they dance their vote, and at some point, the group gets enough votes to make the move.  And they decide, en masse, to make the move.  And they swarm.

The queen can only make it a little ways.  She's fat and not used to exercising (like me), and after a little flight she takes a rest.

Eventually, she arrives and they immediately start building clean, white comb for her to lay eggs in.  At around 1500 eggs a day, eventually she fills up the space with lots of bees.  And those bees fill up the space with comb. And honey and pollen.

If you don't have lots of honey and pollen, it means that the bees are either a) struggling from a lack of resources, or b) they are just starting out.  Beginning of spring, no flowers, I'd choose a).

But late spring, I am guessing b).

The numbers of bees in Ty's hive were impressive.  And I expect that by the end of the day, the foraging bees will be coming home.  When they do, I can close up their entrance and transport them to the house. 

But I would have had a different expectation when I opened the wall, if I had just asked the right question.  Ty responded, "You know, I don't know.  I think we first noticed them about a month ago.  But it might have been longer."

A month seems about right.  Enough time to have bumped up the numbers of bees, built enough comb to get busy, and not enough time to actually fill the comb with honey.  (Well, maybe not...)

So, next time, I will ask.

The bees were boxed, and were set aside to allow all the foragers to return.  The next day, they will find themselves in a new home.  One that I hope they will learn to love.


***********************UPDATE*****************************************

It is pretty much guaranteed, that when I read about bees, and then use my knowledge and logic to make a decision, that:
A) The bees have not read the same books, and
B) The bees do not use the same logic.

I set the box aside so that the bees in the box would care for the brood, and that the queen (whom I had hoped was in the box, as well....) would keep everybody in the box.

I grabbed the box the following morning - while it was still dark out - and one bee walked out.  I figured that was a good sign, and hustled them to their new home.

I opened the box later in the day, and that was the ONLY bee that had remained behind.  The rest had followed the queen somewhere else.  Somewhere near Ty's house is a new hive of bees that are struggling to build comb and survive.

It turns out that they heard about the fact that I charged rent for staying on my property.  And they figured it was better to be a squatter in a tree than a tenant in a box.

Ah, well.

Taking the Job

"Mr. Lawton?"

"No, ma'am.  That was my dad.  I am just Crorey."

"Oh."

Not an unusual start to a conversation - it usually starts this way.  After introductions, get down to the business of signing contracts, and walk out with a contract for $200 per hive removal.  Discounted because the city is letting you use their ladder.  The height is a little intimidating, but is OK, because you just signed with the city to do work.

One side of the building has a hive - and the hive is next to a tree.  The other side of the building has another hive, and there is nothing there to hang on to - but also nothing to get in your way.  Both of them need to be removed, and need to be removed safely.  For neither of them can you actually tear open the wall.

Your first decision is which side of the building to address first.  Since you are new at this, you pick the one where there is something to grab onto.  It means that there is a little bit of wiggling that you have to do to get to the top, but once you are there, there are sturdy branches to brace yourself against.

The second decision is more important.  How do you coax the bees out?

Your equipment is limited.  You have a vacuum that has been modified to pull bees out, and a bucket that the bees get drawn into (a better design by Dr. Scott Johnson is detailed here).  And you have the traditional smoker and suit.  And finally, you have sealer - a can of expanding foam that will allow you to seal the other entrances, and ensure that you catch the whole hive.  The final ingredient that you have is:

...a fair amount of chutspah.

....and urgency.  There are a number of events planned for the auditorium, and the city wants the participants of each to have a bee-free event.

Two ways to proceed:  Do you:

a) Set up the ladder and the vacuum and get started?  Click here.

or

b) Go back to the house and read more about trapping out bees.  Click here.

Bungees

So you decide to attach the box to the rope ladder with bungee cords.  Good idea.  Because you will have limited options when you are on top of the ladder, you wrap the bungee cords twice around the box, and then connect them to a carabiner, one on each side.

You start up the ladder, and realize that you have the box backwards.  The entrance is facing away from the hive entrance.  So you head back down the ladder, swap it end for end, and secure it tightly before beginning to climb again.

You haul the box up to the top of the ladder, and attach everything - very carefully - to the far side of the rope ladder, and then the near side of the rope ladder.  A few minor adjustments to get the box to hang vertically, and you are all set.

As you descend, you keep your fingers crossed, that the eggs and brood you left in the box will be attractive enough for the bees to come in, make a home, and start raising a queen.


....


A week later, and a few adjustments later, you are finally getting some bees in the box, but you are pretty sure that your eggs did not make it.  Eggs and young larvae need nurse bees to care for them, so they are not likely to have survived the heat without any care.

But when you check them, you are surprised to see that the brood has emerged.  They did not make any new queens, but there are new bees in the box that came from the brood cells.  And they are happily making honey in the box.

So you add two new frames of eggs and brood, and wait.  And hope.

And then....  click here.

Nylon Screen

Congratulations.  You just wasted 15 dollars more (you are only getting $200 for this, by the way).  The nylon does not hold up, flopping closed before you ever even apply the glue to it.  Worse, because you cut it to try it out, you can't even return it to Home Depot.  Would you like to try a different one?

Try aluminum screen.

Try 1/8" hardware cloth.

Or....

Give up and take the vacuum to them.

Don't Look - Long Way Down

I extended my 20' ladder to its full length, and placed it against the front wall of Mr. Stephen Edmonson's house.  I clambered up, I stood on the top available rung, and still fell about four feet short of being able to peer into the hive.

This beehive removal was going to be tricky.

Stephen has a lovely house over in Ridgeland, about a 45 minute drive from my house, and he has bees that have infested the corner of the house. As he explained it,

Last year, we had a huge swarm of bees out in the tree right there in the front yard last year, and they just stayed there for a long time - it was just amazing.  Eventually, they moved into that spot right there. Then a couple of months ago, the AC guy got stung a couple of times in my attic, and there are a lot of dead bees up there.  So I contacted another beekeeper, who just got too busy.... and then I called you.

From the top of the ladder, I was at a better vantage point, but it was also very clear that my ladder was not going to cut it.  It was also clear that there was NOTHING to hang onto. But the bees were industriously running in and out of the hive, bringing in their groceries and doing their bit to pollinate the world.

I came back and told Stephen, "I will need to get a better ladder, but I can do it.  I will need somebody to help with this one, just because it is high, though.  But we should be able to get it out of there with little problem.  I'll send you an estimate, and we'll schedule the work."

Armed with a sturdy rental ladder from Home Depot, I returned this past Saturday to take on the job, with a friend and beekeeper Shannen Blackledge.  Even with the taller ladder, though, the drop from the top was formidable.  My auditorium job (blog post still pending) was probably higher, but at least there were some branches to hang onto while I worked. Not so here...

Every removal job I have done has been an exercise in problem solving.  How do I get to the bees, how do I open the hole enough to get them out; how do I remove them safely (both safety for me and safety for them) and how do I keep them from returning?

Finally started, I removed the molding on the face of the hive, and pried up the roofing just enough to see the extent of the comb.  And it was beautiful.  Layer after layer of beautiful, amber-colored comb. And curious bees looking back at me, without aggression or anger, just checking me out, then going back to clean up the mess I had already started to make.

That mess was about to get a whole lot worse.

Peeking inside.

I removed the shingles from the overhang (overbalancing once for a frightening moment).  And then tried to pry loose the waferboard (OSB) underneath.  The OSB extended under and through, and was tied into place from multiple directions.  After a half hour of trying to untie the Gordian knot, I got out the Sawzall, and cut through the OSB that capped the area. The comb was attached to the waferboard; removing it broke the very top of the comb off, and the delicious smell of honey permeated everything.  And the honey started to drip.

Honeycomb attached to waferboard

It dripped onto the ladder.  It dripped onto the light fixture.  I dripped onto the tarp (placed on the patio in an odd moment of foresight on my part) and onto me.  I invited Shannen to take a look from my perch on top of the ladder.  After a brief glance, her nice, clean suit was no longer either.

Then I started removing comb.  The first piece is almost always the toughest, as you have to try and remove the comb from the top, bottom, and sides, all without destroying the comb or spilling a drop of honey or pinching a bee or overbalancing.

...revealed more beneath.

This time, I successfully used a combination of bbq tongs and a long, thin jabsaw that let me cut the pieces free by sliding between the pieces of comb. What surprised me was how far back I could feel the comb.  The open space between combs extended more than 3 feet back... well beyond where I should have encountered the brick of the wall.  Oh, man, I thought.  This is going to be a MUCH bigger job than I thought.

A few more pieces of comb removed, and it was clear what had happened.  Instead of brick, there was foil-backed styrofoam board, covering an opening in the wall.  The bees had chewed through the styrofoam, and the ladies had built two combs and filled one with honey.

This was how the girls were getting into the attic. This was how the AC guy got stung.

Meanwhile, I am frantically looking for the queen.  My previous removals have not resulted in complete success, because I did not find the queen, and separate her out.  In one removal, she escaped and hid, only to return to the scene and instruct her followers to build more comb.  In another, I feel sure she got smushed by the vacuum (I have since lowered the amount of suction I use).  None has resulted in a queen that is viable.

So this time, I am on the lookout.  I extract a bee with an enormous abdomen, and am thrilled.  I have found the queen! Then I find another.  And another.

Apparently, this whole race of bees has huge distended abdomens.  And because they are coated in honey, it is hard to tell.  (Eventually, I captured her.  I think).

Finally, after dozens of trips up and down the ladder, each time carrying more brood and honey and comb down from the perch, and each time smearing more honey onto each rung of the ladder, I had hit the end of what I could reach.

There were still eight pieces of comb that needed to be removed.  And I had no real way to get to them.  The remainder were bracketed by multiple 2x4s, and closed in - completely inaccessible.  I reached in to cut the next one free, but every time I would reach to retrieve it, I would only manage to push it further away.

By this time, I had worked the site from 9:30 to mid afternoon, and I was getting tired and a little more accident prone.  I had managed to stave off a couple of slips (note to self: buy shoes with better traction) and a sickening slide of the ladder against the now-slick brick of the building (note to self: buy a ladder stabilizer) and a scary moment with the Sawzall (note to self:....um.)

Honeycomb's big, yeah, yeah, yeah...

I worked out the only solution I could come up with.  One more board was removed from the front - a small section of 2x4 that ran along the face of the opening.  Once I removed that piece, I had access to the remainder of the comb, which was very fresh, bright, new comb with pure honey inside.

All of the family - Stephen, his wife, and his four beautiful kids - all got in on the action at different points in the day.  For them, and for the passersby that stopped to ask us questions, we carved out and shared honey.

Then took the rest back with us.  (Where it now sits, in mason jars, ready for consumption....).  And finally, the removal of the comb was complete.

All (all!) that remained at this point was removal of the bees, cleaning the empty space, and relocating the bees to a new home.

It had already been a long day at this point, and it was not getting any shorter.  Shannen put another bottle of water in my hand - she had been carefully monitoring me for dehydration all day long, and fed me bottle after bottle of water.  A true life saver.

I attached my beevac to the shorter ladder and climbed up three more times to remove as many bees as I could reach.  Many would come back from the field later that evening and next day, but I managed to fill three buckets with bees, each getting set aside for placement once we got the comb moved to a new location.

I doused the entire opening with ammonia, which got the bees excited, but did not induce them to leave.  Finally, once the majority of the sticky mess had been turned into an ammonia-y mess, And most of the bees were gone, I added the poison to keep them from coming back and reoccupying the DMZ.


The final step was to get the bees installed in a new home.  I considered all my options.  The ones I favored all involved 3Bs - beer, benadryl, and bed, and leaving the bees for the next day.  But to give them the best chance at survival, I needed to get them into a new home as soon as possible.

I finally decided that I would drop them into a top-bar hive on Eddie Brook's property.  Two different removals have ended up on Eddie's doorstep, and one of the hives had completely absconded, so there was space.

I cut comb, wrapped rubber bands around the comb, and strapped the pieces on a top bar, fitting them into the box.  Then I suited up, and dumped all three buckets of bees into their new home, wishing them luck and leaving them behind. So that I could head to a place where three different Bs awaited my attention.

Reports from the field:

From Mr. Edmonson, following the removal:  On Sunday there was a huge swarm of them all around our house. Hundreds where you removed the hive. We almost couldn't go outside, they were attacking us in the front and back yard. We left after lunch on Sunday and just got back this afternoon. I looked up at the hive area, and I could see no more than 3 bees buzzing around and a lot of dead ones on the ground. So you must have gotten the queen.

And from Eddie Brooks:  There are LOTS of bees buzzing and happy around the new hive.  They look good.

Some Lessons Learned:

• Ladder stabilizers are a must for high jobs.
• Bring the top bar hive with you so you can tie off comb as you remove it.
• More tupperware will always be needed.
• Benadryl tablets might not be a bad thing to bring along. 
• Hornet spray splatters back on you (and burns!) at close range.
• Granola bars are a requirement.  A full meal in the middle of the day would be bad, but hunger at the end of the day is bad, too.

End result, I think this will be a success.  The bees are now no longer in the house, and a carpenter can come and do the repair work without fear of being stung.  And the bees have a new home that they can live in, with attention and care being paid to their well being.

Can't wait to see them building more comb.

Swarms

"We have a swarm of bees over here at the Harbor.  Can anyone come and help us?"

The message was sent by social media late in the afternoon, and I had guests in town, so I missed it.  I woke up the next morning and saw the message, and immediately called to find out.

"No, it appears that they have moved on.  But I will keep your information on hand if you would like, so that we can call you next time we have something."

Dang.  So close.

I went about my day, and my college roommates, my goddaughter and I ran the streets together, looking at Vicksburg and checking out all the sights.  After wandering through the Military Park, we went to lunch at Main Street Market Cafe, and were enjoying a lovely meal, when my phone rang.

Ceiling bees

"Crorey?"

"Yes."

"The bees are back."

"I'll be right there."

I paid the tab and ran out, my guests in tow, as I grabbed truck and gear and headed to the harbor.  I had my buckets and smoker and fuel and suits and boxes and even my bee-vac (a nice little contraption made from a shop vac and a bucket and extra vacuum cleaner hose).  I suited up and got in place to make the magic happen.

The bees were sad.

The swarm had broken into two smaller swarms, and they were cold and wet and miserable.  A bunch of them looked dead.  A storm had come through the previous evening and the temperature had dropped.

Ground bees

It was not clear whether the swarm had moved into the area between the roof and the ceiling, and so I pulled out the beevac, and vacuumed them up, and dropped them into the box, placed out in the sun so they could dry out.

A small handful of sad, wet bees also dropped onto the pavement next to the box.  After a few minutes, they showed a little bit of life, moving around as they dried out, and I spotted the queen.

As I tried to pick her up and drop her in the box, she took flight. The five of us searched all over, but never found her.  By the time the afternoon was over, the few bees that had originally stuck around were completely gone, following the Houdina queen.

It was a good wet run, trying out the equipment (the beevac makes a horrible noise, something I have to deal with before I use it again), but had not netted me any bees.  And it was a little disappointing.  But either way, I got to talk bees with Ben, Amanda, Owen and Allie.  It was a great way to spend a beautiful afternoon in Vicksburg.

Jujubees.  No relation.

It was a couple of weeks later before I got another nibble.

I was in our weekly staff meeting, reporting out on the status of projects and efforts and pieces of paper that are of intent interest to burrocrats.  And I received a text from Paul Ingram, a friend of mine.  "Facebook post of a swarm on Drummond."

About fifteen seconds later, a message from another friend, Jamie Triplett, echoing the same information.

For the next fifteen minutes I sat on my hands, shifting in my seat, soooo anxious to leave the meeting and get out there and see what was there.  The post described a swarm, and included a picture that was intended to lure us beekeepers out of the woodwork.  The post said,

Jill n Tony Bishop: Free to a good home!!! 🐝 I seriously need a bee keeper to come get some bees!!! Please refer me to a bee keeper!!!

Da-da-daaaa!

I finally removed myself from the beartrap meeting, and ran to my car, and drove down the road, trying to figure out which house had bees in the front yard.  I got vectored in by Paul, and eventually knocked on the door of the most likely house.

"Yes?"

I looked down at my appearance, and sighed a little inside.  I was wearing a white shirt with a tie, and had just knocked on a stranger's door.  Repressing the urge to ask if the guy knew the true name of YHWH, I explained who I was, and asked if the Bishops lived near, that they had mentioned a swarm.  The man's expression went from suspicious to delight.

"Yes!  They are right there, in the tree between our houses!  Let me show you!"

Mr. Moore called Jill Bishop, and then called his wife, Launo, to come out.  She then called Tony, and then called all of the neighbors on the block.  Within ten minutes, the entire neighborhood had gathered around to watch me shake bees into a bucket.

I answered questions as best I could, made sure that those who were nervous were more comfortable, and then climbed the ladder and shook the tree to get the bees to drop into the bucket.

Still wearing my tie from work....

After an hour of coaxing the remaining bees to the bucket, and making friends with everyone in a three-block radius, I wrapped the bucket in cloth and carried the bees to the house.  (On the way, I ran every stop sign and red light, hoping to get stopped by the police, just so I could offer to show the bees to the officer....)

...where I dropped the bees into the top bar hive, and went back to work.  At the end of the day, I went back to Drummond, captured the stragglers who had gone back to the branch, and went home.  At no time did I see the queen, so I was a little concerned, but not too much.  

For the next few days, Kathe and I watched the hive, making sure that the bees were doing ok; feeding them sugar water wherever we could, but mostly just trying to make sure that they felt comfortable in their new home.

Then on Saturday was the big reveal: we opened up the hive to see whether there was any sign that they had taken to their new condo.  I suited up, popped smoke, and opened the top....

And a thousand eyes looked up at me, like I had just opened an occupied stall at a public restroom.  I had expected to see a few bees, but their numbers startled me, and I apologized and dropped the frame back into place.  Not sure what I had expected, but they certainly seemed to be doing well.

I opened it back up a few moments later, and found that they had been renovating the interior of the condo, building comb like there is no tomorrow.

Five frames - so far - of newly drawn comb, waiting to be filled with eggs and larvae and nectar and pollen and honey.  

Bees are known for their waggle dance, a communication device where they explain to other bees where on the landscape resources are.  But the waggle dance I did at that moment was much more joyful - more like a Snoopy-style happy-feet dance.  Absolute ecstasy, delighted that my bees are happy, healthy, and liking their new home.

I expanded their space, gave them more bars to draw more comb on, and let them get back to work.  

And went back inside with a huge grin pasted on my face.