My "Not Bees" Contract

"I have a large cone of bees on the window of my house, and I need someone to remove them. Can you come?"

I don't know how Ms. Eloise found me.  It doesn't matter.  I love getting out and finding out where bees have showed up and invaded people's personal space.  She sounded concerned. A little scared.  I told her I could come by after work and look at the situation and see what I could do.  She gave me the address, and thanked me.

As I mentioned before, I don't usually see bees on my own.  I have to have them pointed out to me. Yet again, this was the case.  "Do you see them?" I was looking at a corner where some wasps were buzzing around.  Ms. Eloise redirected my attention to the top of her picture window.

Oh.

That was not what I was looking for.

It was not a huge hornets' nest, but it was unquestionably a hornets' nest.  Not a honeybee hive.  This simple fact took the entire operation well out of my area of expertise.  I don't bring any specialized knowledge of hornets to the table, and I really can't help any more than I would be able to do at home.

"Ma'am, I deal with honeybees.  And my price point starts at $300.  But this situation doesn't fit with what I know.  I mean, I can use hornet spray, but I wouldn't be able to do anything you couldn't do.  If you want me to do it, I can come by after work tomorrow and do it for $50, but...."

"Please do it."

We continued to talk, and I suggested the local pest control guy, who is a friend of mine.  Suggested that she could get him to remove the nest, and treat her house, for essentially what she was offering to pay me.  "I want you to do it.  I am allergic, and I just want them gone."

OK.

I have a can of hornet spray at the house.  I use it after removing hives from houses, because after removing a hive, I need to discourage returning bees from re-occupying.  I bring the can to work with me, and after work, I drive over and suit up.

The hornets are not terribly active, but there was a guard hornet at the entrance.  While I was gearing up, I tested the spray out on a few other red wasp nests that dotted the eaves of the house.  When I felt that my aim was pretty good, I sprayed the nest.

I was ready to run.

The first hornet hit the ground under the windowsill.  I sprayed some more.  Nothing further.

As anti-climaxes go, this one was really racking up some anti-climax points.

Because the nest was just beyond the reach of my knife, I walked around the house to find a board, stick, or something to tie the cutter on.  By the time I returned with a pole, there were more dead hornets on the ground and on the sill.  Not huge numbers.  Mean looking, but few in number.  And dead.

I cut the nest free of the house, and dosed the space with more of the poison.  No stings, no chase scenes, nothing but a few dead hornets.  My A-CP rating for this job was off the charts.

Ms. Eloise had already paid me (and she left quickly, headed back to work), and so all I had to do was clean up a little, shed the suit (98 degrees and high humidity - I had sweat through my work clothes by the time I was done), and leave.  I left the mostly-unused can of hornet spray on her doorstep.  And took a few more pictures as I was leaving.

My specialty is honeybee removal.  The point of the removal is to save as many bees as you can, and provide the hive a new place. Extermination is something different.

But the truth is, some of the same principles are involved, in a way.  In either case, the natural world comes too close to the man-made environment, and we look to beat it back.  Particularly those elements of the natural world that come with pointy bits (honeybees, scorpions, snakes, hornets, spiders, wolverines), we want them at a distance.

As I stated before, I don't know anything about hornets.  I am not aware of a world-wide hornet shortage, or who, exactly, that would inconvenience.  I don't know all of the good qualities of hornets, and I am less fascinated by their social structure than my bees or even ants.  So when I get asked to help out by removing some, I don't mind, but I am not doing anything with any understanding or specialized knowledge.  But sometimes....

Sometimes you just have to help out a neighbor.

And yeah, maybe make 50 bucks in the process....

Vacuuming the Bees

You meet with the person in charge of the auditorium, and are immediately put at ease by his easygoing demeanor and easy smile.  After showing you how to find the ladder, Mr. Artiss opens the door to let you hook up the vacuum.  You have coordinated with a co-worker to meet you and hold the ladder - Lee Robinson is fearless, and ends up being a perfect choice.

Hook up the vacuum to the bucket, with the mesh bag inside the bucket to catch the bees, hook up the other hose to the lid, and cinch the shopvac tight against the 7' ladder, and you are ready to go. You started at dusk, when most of the bees would be returning from the field.

I don't know if you know this, but you are VERY much afraid of heights.  And the 30' ladder provided by the City of Vicksburg is pretty rickety. But in the face of such predicaments, you forge ahead.  Because you have chutzpah.

Lee holds onto the ladder, which is wedged between the tree and the building.  And you begin the climb, squeezing between limbs and the brick wall, up three stories.  After tying off the bucket to the ladder, as high as it will reach, you grasp the hose, and give the signal to Lee, who turns on the vacuum.

And the bees begin to disappear down the gullet of the bee vac, making a satisfying sound as each gets sucked backwards.  (Your hose, however, creates a harmonic, resulting in a band-saw like scream that is painful on the ears.  Note to self: the next time you do this, you should probably bring some headphones).

After five satisfying minutes of watching bees get sucked into the machine, you realize you are leaning further and further in towards the entrance to the hive.

Oh, no.  Your vacuum doesn't suck.  Or, depending on your perspective, it does.

So you descend the ladder, carrying the bucket of bees to the ground.  And you transfer them to the spare bucket, an act that makes Lee hightail it away from your spot, as the bees emerge QUITE unhappy with you as a result of their journey.

Now that the bucket is cleared of bees, you ascend, and discover that the vacuum still sucks.  Or, rather, that it does not suck.

Darkness is coming.  You do not have illumination.  What do you do?

Keep working.  The hole won't change its location, so you can easily use your now-failing vacuum to not suck up angry bees in the dark while on top of a 30' ladder.  Click here.

Seal up all holes except for the one you are drawing from, and plan to try again tomorrow. 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.

A New Day

It is a bright, new day, and you have it all figured out.

Overnight, you worried the idea over and over.  And finally decided on a course of action.  You are going to swap out your ShopVac for the one your wife has.  Hers is more powerful, and won't lose suction so easily.  You have installed the bees from last night's efforts into a new box.  There is a bit of unhappiness with the bees there, and a lot of casualties involved in the effort, but without a nearby hive to migrate into, they are mostly staying in the box.

After sealing all except the entrance you want
to vacuum, the bees begin to congregate

And, again at dusk,  you return to the scene of the crime.

7' ladder, up.  New, more powerful ShopVac plugged in, and secured.  Clean mesh bag in the retrieval bucket, connected to the vac with a hose, and secured on the tall ladder.  Hose connected to the top of the bucket.

You climb the ladder, and give Lee a wave.  He fires up the vacuum.

And, suddenly remembering the importance of the headphones, you give him the signal and descend.

Removing the gear, you put the headphones on, and put the veil and the jacket back on, and climb the ladder again.  Vacuum on, the bees start to get sucked into the bucket.  It is working.  Powerful vac FTW!

And five minutes later, with the sun dropping further on the horizon, you begin to noticing decreased suction.  Again.  Testing the hose on the back of your glove you confirm that your new vacuum sucks, as well.

Aw, crapola.

As before, you descend with the bucket-o-bees, transfer them to the spare bucket, re-climb the ladder and start it up again, and the vacuum declines to pick up any more bees.  At this point you are:

• High up an unstable ladder, with
• Angry bees all around, with
• A useless tool in your hand.

You are at a crossroads.  You are expected to complete the task in short order.  You want to get paid, but more than that, you want to complete the job. Which means, get the bees away from the people.  Into a new home is preferable, but if not, you are paid to remove the bees.

You have a choice.  You can:

Seal the hive up, resulting in killing them, or

Step back and try a trap-out.

Aluminum Screen

OK, you have decided to go with an aluminum screen cone.  Good call.  Aluminum screen is hardy, weather resistant, and a little bit pokey - so you can keep the bees from reentering.  So now you are off to the local hardware store to buy an $8 roll - the smallest available - of aluminum screen wire.  Pretty easy, and lots of replacement for when the first cone doesn't work.

You roll the cone as tight as possible, so that the bees can only get out one at a time from the tip of the cone.  You fray the edge, so that all the pokey edges are pointing outward, making it harder for bees to return. And you seal up all of the other holes with expanding foam sealer, so that the bees have to go through the cone to emerge.  The expanding foam sealer is goopy and sloppy, but after about ten minutes on the ladder (surrounded by very anxious bees), you can let go of the cone and it stays where it is.  A little bit extra foam around the base to ensure that all of the holes are sealed up, and you are good to go.

Now it is time to place your trap box.

Your concept: Take a small box, of a shape and size that will be attractive to a swarm of newly homeless bees, and give them a place to live.  Put frames in there, so that they can build comb, store nectar and pollen, and arrange living space.  And perhaps most importantly, steal a frame of brood with eggs and ready-to-emerge bees, from another hive, and put it in.

The bees will take one of the eggs, perhaps more, and turn them into queens.  At least, that is the theory.  And then you hang your box.

This is not a simple task.  You can't drill into the side of the building - it is historic brick.  Besides being hard to do, it is also a structure of cultural significance, and randomly drilling holes is frowned upon.

So you come up with two solutions: a) you can tie the box off to an anchor of some sort (you decide on a window weight from an old fashioned window - $5 at the antique store) or b) you can buy an escape ladder ($35 from your hardware store), and attach the box to it. (You decided on the escape ladder.)

You are using the cardboard box you got when you bought your bees, and there are three of them, so you are good on that front.  Now it is just a matter of anchoring it to the hanging ladder.  Do you:

Attach it using tie-down straps?  Click here,

or,

Attach it using bungee cords? Click here.

Keep Working - Night-Time Edition

You really aren't too bright, are you?

Bees stung you through the suit, you flailed in response, dropping the vacuum and falling off the ladder.  As you fell, you dislodged the bucket with the bees, which fell on top of you.

Your screams could be heard for miles.

Lee Robinson, who advised you not to continue, tried to catch you, but missed.  And once the bees broke loose, he ran for his life.  And then called 9-1-1 for you from a safe distance.

The emergency personnel tried to help you, but could not get past the bees.  They called a beekeeper from a nearby town to help, but by the time he arrived, you were already past saving.  Better luck next time....

Maybe the most awesome image ever. 
I need Windi Sebren to make me one. Stolen from this page.

Fortunately, Dead Beekeepers is a great name for a garage band....


(This is the only one of the blog entries in this series that does not reflect reality.  After all, Lee didn't really run away....)

Wanna try again?  Click here.

Back to the Drawing Board

Sometimes, it is best to just take a beat, and read, and think, and plan a little more.  Sure, there is a time for action, but sometimes, you gain insight by putting the chutzpah on hold and plotting things through a little better.

The books talk a lot about trap-outs, and how they work.  Essentially, you take a length of screen wire and make a cone out of it, creating a one-way door for the bees.  The bees come out of the wall, but they can't get back in. To help encourage them to find their place in a new home, you place a box right next to the cone, and they magically adopt that box as their home.

That is what the books say.  The details of how you do it are a little indistinct.  So you go to the internet, the source of all knowledge. Magically, like Rule 37, if it exists, you can buy it.  A site called Brushy Mountain Bees sells a cone for you.  Already made.  And they are cheap, selling for $2 each.

And then you add in the 14 dollars for shipping.

Never mind.  You decide to make it yourself.

A few more hours of clickbait internet surfing later, (Kylie Minogue meets with a Belgium prince, and you'll never believe what happens next!) you have done all the damage you can do.  The cone, you discover, has to be set over the entrance, and has to be the size of a bee at the end.  You can also make a double cone, if your bees find the way back in to your first cone. (With an escape hatch at the bottom so that the bees will enter, climb down, and exit, never finding the interior cone.

Do you (click one):

Make a cone out of fiberglass screen,

or,

Make a cone out of aluminum screen,

or,

Make a cone out of 1/8" hardware cloth

or,

Bite the shipping bullet and buy the cone from Brushy Mountain Bee

Removals (x2)

"I am reading through this contract, and the way I read it, you will not replace the work that you tear out.  Am I reading that right?"

It is a fair question.  A fair thing to ask.  Mr. Victor Robinson has a tenant who was looking to have bees removed from his back porch, and I had gone over for an inspection and had discovered two separate hives - one on each level of the condo.  I had modified the contract accordingly and emailed it to him.

"Sir, I am a bee removal specialist," I explained.  "I am not a specialist in construction.  To be perfectly honest, as much as I don't want to be your carpenter, the truth is, you do not want me to be your construction specialist.  Jack-leg does not even begin to cover it."

"When Mr. Ervin did it last year, he replaced the boards and closed it up."

Sid Ervin is a legend hereabouts, and with good reason.  He did amazing work all across the state, opening up buildings with an absolute minimum of fuss, removed the bees that he could, poisoning the bees that remained, sealing up the hole, and leaving.  He earned his money; he was good at the work, and there was quite a demand.

But I had just finished a job where I drilled into plaster, and was (am) still working on a job that involved brick.  Recent experience has already shown me my limitations in a painful way.  It was a critical moment for a critical question. "If it is as simple as tacking a board back in place, I will do that.  But anything beyond that is beyond my carpentry skills."

We agreed, and I received the contract by email later that day.  And Monday, I gathered all of the items that I thought I would need and drove an hour over to Brandon Mississippi, to remove bees.

According to Charles Smith (I had a moment of panic when I was told that his name was Charles Smith, since that was also the name of my LAST job - I worried that I had gotten the name wrong on my first ever invoice....), the bees had appeared a little over a week earlier, and just completely covered the porch.  It was a very large swarm, and within a day, they had disappeared.  Into the column.

With a week's growth, I figured it was a good time to do the removal.  The bees would have had little time to build the comb, and it would not be terribly messy with only limited brood and comb.

I was wrong.  Very wrong.  Holy honeypot, the amount of work bees can do in a week when they are motivated is astounding.

Pure uncapped honey from the first step of opening the hive.

The only time I had watched bees begin to build a hive was at my house from the swarm collected from Drummond St., between the house of Launo Moore and Jill and Tony Bishop.  So I though I knew how fast the girls would build comb.

These girls swarmed just as the flowers were blooming, and there were resources.  It was also a much larger swarm, and they got busy.

I opened the top of the column, and immediately had honey to collect.  I went inside and snagged a small tupperware piece from the kitchen counter, salvaged some of the honey, and covered it for sharing.  With people, not with bees.  They can fend for themselves.

Opening the column.

Kathe had sent me on my previous removal mission with a set of barbecue tongs, and I found them enormously helpful in holding the comb in place with a minimum of damage.  My previous experience at the house in Vicksburg left me a little scarred on how much damage I had done to the brood comb, and I did not want to repeat the mistakes.  I was pleased with how they worked.  I might even use the tongs/spatula combo I have in the drawer for future removals.

The comb came out cleanly, with a minimum of fuss.  The latex gloves I wore kept tearing, and were discarded quickly, but all in all they served well.  Stings were lifted off the skin, and swelling fingers kept to a minimum (my ring mentioned in a previous entry still has not been repaired.)

Ollie, ollie, oxen free!

But I got the comb.  And the bees.  They were not happy about the situation, but that is not an expected outcome anyway.  Once I had removed the majority of the bees, I opened the side of the (square) column, and removed the rest, while providing remaining bees a chance to congregate at the central location.  I did not find the queen, but played an intense game of hide-and-seek for several hours, trying to figure out which section of the hive she was under, which board she was hiding behind, or what disguise she was wearing (I'm just a normal bee, nothing but a worker bee.....).  She also (quite cleverly) dressed up 8,000 of her closest relatives to look just like her.

Come out, come out, wherever you are...

And, yes, I am still tinkering with the vacuum.  The draw is too strong, and many of the bees are damaged in the process, so I am trying to use the beevac as infrequently as possible.

But the job is to remove the bees, so when I have removed as many as I can by other methods (singing to them, playing the fife, etc), I am pretty much left to remove them by sucking them into the vortex.  By far my greatest draw is to put comb into the bucket, and let them move to protect the comb.

Light, delicious honeycomb.

The comb was almost preternaturally bright.  This was not old comb - Charles was right that they were newly occupying the space - the comb was less than two weeks old.  And already they were drawing honey - light, sweet honey.

Once I had cleared the space up top, I moved to the lower level, where I removed the fascia board to reveal....

...more wood.

A bit anticlimactic.  I had hoped to hear the roar of unhappy bees, preparing to do battle.  Instead, I heard the thrum of bees going about their business: dehydrating nectar, stashing pollen, caring for brood.  From behind another layer of 2x6 #2 spruce.

After poking and prodding for a bit to see what could be removed, I finally succeeded in removing a horizontal piece, revealing bees back and to the side.  A very defensible position, the scout bees explained to me, as they offered to demonstrate the ways in which they were willing to make my life more difficult.

Piece by piece, standing 13' off the ground on an aluminum ladder, I removed pieces of the hive until all the new comb was gone.  Much like the other hive, these bees were a recent arrival.  Lots of new, fresh comb with both larvae and light honey ready to be capped with a wax cover, eggs, and bright pollen filling cell after cell.

After I had safely removed the comb (and, honestly, feeling a little proud about how well I was doing) I dropped back down to re-evaluate.

Not much of an opening.

Truthfully, being on a ladder, the phrase 'pride goeth before a fall' occurred to me more than once.  But everything up until this point had been pretty solid.

I grabbed the flashlight and looked into the hole.  To my surprise, an awful lot of bees looked back at me.  From very far back in the cavity.  I started reaching further back into the hole, making a bunch of bees very worried in the process, and I kept cutting comb.  But this was not bright, white, or even yellow comb.  This was old, dark comb.  There were no eggs, pollen or honey in any of these pieces.  These pieces of comb were left from last year's removal.  And maybe before that.

I was reaching to the maximum extent my arm could reach, deep into the hole.  And as much as I was extracting, there was more.  This hive had extended deep into the area between the ceiling and the floor.  And with every new patch of dark comb, more bees emerged.

I vacuumed again, and pulled out everything I could.  Finishing up with a wipe down of the entire surface with ammonia (and the burst of escapee-bees in hiding that always seems to accompany that action), I then went to finish the job.

And be a carpenter.  How hard can it be?  I am not terribly handy, but surely I can put things back into the place I took them out of, and tack them back into place.

Of course, nothing fit back into the original space.  I used a crowbar to force the column pieces back into place.  I tacked, and caulked, and sprayed with a vile insecticide expanding foam sealer that I am still finding attached to my skin and my clothes in the most inexplicable places.

And after an hour of work, I had the column put back together.

A quick vacuum of the stray bees, and I went to work on the fascia for the lower hive.

Again, nothing fit.  Nothing.  Finally managed to cinch the horizontal piece back in place, together with the replacement duct tape and screen wire to secure the holes.  And again, I caulked and sprayed foam to seal holes.  As the foam would dry, I would run the vacuum again, to get more of the stray bees away.

Finally, after about ten hours of work on the ladder, I gave it up.  I could not put the fascia board back in place, but I swept up the debris and explained the next steps to the tenant (and later in an email to the owner).  After a week:

• Trim the foam.  
• Replace the fascia board.  
• Caulk and paint to reduce the risk of return.

I shared the honey, and left.

All in all, not bad.  I took the bees and comb by a friend who keeps bees, and set him up with two potential hives, all ready for him to raise.  And made it home in time for a laaate dinner that Kathe had prepared.

About a dozen stings, including a surprise one on the belly at the end of the day.  But being able to complete the job, and share both bees and honey....

It feels good.

On to the next job.