Beautiful Day

Everybody loves some henbit nectar.

I tried to come up with a nice pun for the title of this blog entry.  I really did.  But the day was too nice to try and be clever about it.  As I write this, the smoky smell of burned pine straw and the sweet smell of dripped honey still clings to me.  And I am as happy as I can be.

Today, the Central Mississippi Beekeeper Association held their annual short course for beginning beekeepers.  About sixty of us novices showed up at 7:30 in the morning, some carrying their own veil and jacket and assorted paraphernalia, and others came just with a notebook.  A vast majority of us do not currently have bees.  Some, like me and the lovely couple sitting next to me, had lost the hives we had.  Others had never even opened a box, and were here to do so for the first time.

Kip, showing off uncapped brood.

And then there were the old salts.  The novices clustered around the seasoned vets, well, like bees around a flower.  Jim Pennington, Kip Isonhood, Martha Brackin, the amazing Jeff Harris - all had experiences to share.  And we couldn't get enough of it.

In some groups I have been a part of, knowledge is hoarded, and only shared with novices once they have gone through the initiation process.  Full-scale rite of passage.

Not so with beekeepers.  Everyone, from the experienced hobbiest who has kept between four and ten hives for years, to the commercial guys who have hundreds of hives over miles of territory, is willing, anxious, even, to share their information. 

They are also, for the most part, a humble group.  I suspect that beekeeping does that for you - the bees themselves keep you from feeling that you are in control.  In the four hours of lectures, I must have heard thirty different times, "well, this is a personal preference thing," even when describing something that could potentially save a hive.

Because everyone has a different set of experiences, and a different way that works for them.  There are natural beekeepers who don't use chemicals in their hives. There are others who are looking to maximize output.  Some love tall hives, while others swear by keeping to three small boxes, and splitting hives.  Debates - long-standing debates - were discussed.

• Eight frame boxes, or ten 
•  Langstroth or top bar (or Warre!)  
• Queen excluders  
• Sunny placement, or shady placement of the hives
• Optimal distance from the next hive
• Medium supers, deep broodhives, medium everything....

Some are just interested in having the pollinators, and so they want the healthiest bees.  And nobody was willing to claim that their way was right.  Kip even started his talk with us by saying,

"Mostly, I can tell you how to kill bees.  I seem pretty good at that."

(Kip has hundreds of hives.  And is an amazing fount of knowledge, and he is willing to share.)

But the best thing was that everyone was telling stories about what had worked for them.  And what had not worked for them.  Because everyone wants to have happy, healthy bees.  And the best way to do that is sharing all of the information at your disposal.  Enthusiastically sharing about the new bottom board that keeps beetles out.  Explaining how and when you split hives to make happy bees. Even talking about when the best thing you can do is to destroy your hives.... a sad last step that is sometimes necessary.

After lunch sandwiches (included in the 20-dollar registration), we spent a couple of hours out on the bee yard, with the experienced guides working the bees and opening hives and showing us how to count mites and offering suggestions on how to space the frames....

All the while we were breathing in that lovely, smoky, sweet aroma of open hives. 

If anything, the day was too short, and there was too much information passed along.  It was hard to process all of the steps that I have not yet gone through.  The seasonality.  The winter feeding and frequency.  The treatments, and the optimal orientation, after a while, the details started to blur a little. 

But if I have questions, I have people who I can ask.  And they are wonderful people.

Note: don't stand between the entrance and the returning bees.....

Beekeeping is not generally a social activity.  In this case, the guys who know it best made an exception for those of us who understand it least, so that we can do it well this year.

And I simply can't wait.

I will get my bees in May.  I am counting the days.

Eulogy fit for a Queen

The Queen is Dead.  Long live the Queen.

So I am researching what happens to a bee colony when it dies.  There are a lot of websites, and a lot of sections in the books on what can do a hive in.

Yes, I am doing my beehive post mortem.

I am also dealing with some sadness, because I loved having my bees in the yard, and it has been hard to see them die.  The worst part is knowing that perhaps a less novice version of me could have improved their situation... and their chances.  It has been a month since I figured out that my colony was going to die, and there was a single moment when I realized that there were no real steps I could take to keep that from happening.  And it is only just now that I am able to write about it.

I am also trying to decide whether, and when to do my next experiment with the bees.  Much of that question will be answered by what I determine to be the cause of death.  And to my degree of certainty as to the cause.

The colony entered into a death spiral before I even realized something was wrong.  The brood that I got with the nuc(leus) hatched (they were pretty stabby when they did) and started to build the frames out with good waxy comb.  But then they slowed down comb production, and the queen was laying in weird patterns.  She was not replacing them fast enough.

And by the time I looked again, two weeks later, the beetles had taken over and the bees had started raiding their stores of honey instead of building more and saving it for a rainy day.  With not enough new eggs being laid to replace the last generation (workers only live 6-8 weeks in summer, so continual replacement is critical), the death spiral had begun.

So I have to ask some hard questions before I introduce another hive.  If the factors that led to the death of my hive are elements that I can control, then I need to know. And if they are not, then I might have to rethink the location before putting another hive in.

1.  Was it the setting?

I live in a neighborhood with lots of lawn and lots of old growth trees. They are located at the edge of the woods in semi-shade, and the single deep hive I provided got morning sun and afternoon shade.  Directly down the hill - perhaps 30 feet away - is a stream where there is water for them.  I lifted them off the ground on concrete blocks (I have seen elaborate wooden frames used, but the blocks get them off the ground just as well.)

There is not much of a second understory that would provide a rich source of usable nectar and pollen (oak tassels just won't cut it....).  And there is no agriculture nearby.

It is possible that my bees would have done well in a field of poppies. (Or any other flower.  I just like saying 'poppies'.)  Since the environment is not a typical nectar-rich environment, it is possible that they did not do well for that reason.  If that is the case, I will have to think twice about installing another colony in the same place.  There are things that I can do to supplement, but at what point am I just subsidizing bee production with artificial setting?

My across-the-creek neighbor (my backyard hive overlooks hers) also just lost her hive.  Although we haven't talked about it, I suspect that the same thing happened to her.  There might be something systemic affecting our bees.

Management measure:  I will be spending more time watching the bees from the outside, making sure they are bringing lots of pollen into the hive.

2. Was it the bees?  

In my reading, I have found evidence of some queens that just don't do the job.  A friend of mine said that a couple of his hives were struggling, and he found the queen and 'mashed her'.  And then described the process he had developed for re-queening.  It could be that the queen simply was not up to the task.  This seems less likely, because she was leading a healthy group before she got brought to the Woodstock yard.

But she was also from elsewhere.  One of the concerns with getting package bees (they send them to you through the US Postal Service) is that bees are adapted for the area that they are raised.  And might not flourish in the new space.

I got my bees from a few hours' drive away.  Not exactly importing Arctic bees and trying to make them thrive in MS.  But maybe a more immediately local variety would do better.

3. Was it the beetles?

When I first took the bees out of the box and hived them, I freaked out a little because there were quite a lot of what I soon figured out were hive beetles.  When I spoke to the guy who sold them to me and another beekeeper besides, they both assured me that unless there is a LOT of beetles, it is not a problem.  Every hive has beetles.

Um.  What is a lot?  I just transferred the bees to their new home, and what moved in with them seemed like a lot to me.  How many before I need to worry?

The end result was a lot.  The beetles really took over and out-competed the bee larva.

I suspect that the beetles are just a secondary stressor, and not the origin of the problem.  Like diagnosing a nosebleed (just apply more pressure!) when the problem is something much worse.  But there is something that I can do to address the beetles.

Management measure: I will order beetle traps, and make that investment in the health of the hive.

4. Was it zika?

I was worried last year when I saw the mosquito spraying trucks come through, spraying for mosquitoes during the Zika Scare of 2016.  Knowing that I was going to have a hive, I had spent some time trying to figure out what was reasonable to ask the City of Vicksburg to protect my bees.  I would not ask them to shut down the program altogether - the mosquito problem and the risk was real.  But I had planned on talking to the truck driver, and as needed, the city officials, about delaying the spraying in our neighborhood until after dark, to give my bees a better chance.

But they did not even spray this spring at all.  So there was nobody to ask.

Now it is possible that the environment had built up enough toxicity from previous events to wreak havoc on the bees.  But without a real forensic post-mortem, I can't fathom it.  And there would be no way of counteracting it.

5. Was it mites?

One of my mentors immediately asked me about the mite load.  Varroa mites are one of the biggest problems, and is one of the proximal causes of hive collapse.  If you lose a hive, chances are good that it was either poor management (gulp) or varroa mites.  And you can address a varroa problem through a number of techniques; left unchecked, it will destroy the hive.

But I had been spending quite a bit of time under the hood, so to speak, and had not been able to find any mites.  I had done a couple of dustings with powdered sugar to do a count, but had not come back with any that I was able to identify.  Which, of course, means I did it all wrong.   But by the time she asked the question, there were too few bees to even test.

Varroa management will be on my list for management measures, when I get the next hive.

6. Was it poor hive management?

This is where I worry, and am sad.  Because if my hive died as a result of something preventable that I simply did not take care of, then I am at fault.  I might very well have killed my hive.

Better management is something that I can take steps to accomplish.  I can feed bees.  At least until they are established, I can provide them gallons of simple syrup, and maybe even give them some protein pacs that are sold for this reason.

I can also better manage the bee space.  One of the things that I have read and discussed a lot recently is the management of the area inside the hive.  I had understood that bees don't like open space, so I left them plenty of room to grow outward from the center frames, densely packed to fill up the usuable space.

What I have heard, though, is that it is better to intersperse your empty frames in the box.  By alternating empty frames and full, I can encourage the hive to fill in the space more quickly, and give them help in defending that space from the beetles.  Because they HATE having frame between brood and brood, they will start building up the wax comb immediately, and she will start laying.

Moving them out into the sunshine might help.  The first real indication that I had that there was something horribly wrong was when I saw that the hive was not clearing the trash from the entrance.  Dead bees, wax, twigs, leaves, all cluttering the entrance.  Housekeeping might be easier with less of a canopy shielding light.

Still I worry that it will not be enough.

Epitaph

I am very sorry to see my bees go.  The poor queen held on to the end (she is pictured below, a week before the rest of the bees gave up), and only disappeared once I had less than 100 bees left.  I have cleaned the combs, cleaned the frames, and have tried to improve the situation, so that the next round of bees will have a better chance.

The dying hive.  The late queen in the yellow circle.

And then I got a call today.  A woman in town wants a hive removed from the corner of her house. I went over during lunch, and she has agreed to let me do it.  She's getting a deal.  Normally, it is a $300 charge for bee removal.  And since I have only done a removal one time before, I figure that I am learning on the job.  Doing it for free, and getting the bees.

My goal is to remove the hive, remove the brood, remove the honey.  And clean it out so they can close it up and avoid repopulation from another swarm.

And, in the process get myself set up for another try.  Local bees.  Feral hive.  Feed them, fight off the beetles, and get them started.

Wish me luck.  Long live the queen.

Mentoring

My bees are not drawing comb as fast as I thought they should.  Is it just the nectar flow in my neighborhood, or is something wrong? That's not unusual, Kip told me. You might want to put an empty frame between two brood frames.  They HATE having an empty frame there, and will fill it up with wax, and the queen will lay as soon as they get any of it built.  They might also need some help, if you don't have good nectar sources nearby; give them some sugar water in an inverted bucket.

Kip is a lifesaver.

At the workshop back in March, I started talking to this guy in the back of the room while we were going through the lessons.  He was one of the instructors, but also just a guy with a tangle of curly hair under a ballcap.  Just a guy.

I befriended him on facebook, and watched his business with admiration and a little bit of envy.  His beekeeping is not just a side hustle.  It is a lot of work, and a pretty intense business. He just dropped $12k just on new frames to put in new boxes. (Not the boxes.  $12k for just the frames.)  And kinda shrugs about the expense.

Twice now, I have sent him a message asking for help.  His response was immediate.  Both times.

"Call me."

The conversations that ensue always last longer than I expected, and cover ground that I had not thought of.  Mostly, I want him to reassure me that I am doing what I need to do; that my bees will not die of neglect; that what I am seeing is kinda normal.  And he does.

This time, I called him, and left a message.

Ten minutes later, he called me back, coming out of his Honey House to do it.  He was working on extracting amber liquid, and couldn't get reception with bees all over him.  Then he took 20 minutes to talk me down off one cliff after another, suggesting solutions to problems I had observed, reassuring me that other things weren't problems, or, if they were, that there were simple solutions I should enact.

The ladies aren't doing housekeeping like I think they should.  There is a lot of debris on the entrance, including the bodies of dead bees.  Is this normal or should I be worried?  That's not unusual.  You might want to include a check of your bottom board when you do your next inspection.  Hive beetles love that bottom board - sometimes there just collects stuff down there.  It might just need a cleanout.

I really thought that I was going to need more boxes and more frames, but they aren't expanding to fill the area they already have.  Is there something that I should be doing?  That's not unusual.  I have one hive where I saw they needed more room, and I put another super on top, and in less than a week, they had filled that up.  The next one over has just been reluctant.  Sometimes you get bees that are not as productive. 

The whole conversation was held in a reassuring tone.

"That's not unusual".  Somehow, those three words had the much-needed effect on me. Much the same way as I do when I open my hives, I became calmer.  I breathed more deeply.  My stress abated.  My heart rate slowed.  My blood pressure went down.

I might have described Kip as 'just a guy'.  But when he takes the stress off of me, he becomes something more.  When he takes a few minutes out of a busy day to talk to me about the bigger picture of what I am trying to do, he becomes a mentor.

Mentorship is an amazing gift.  It is the voice of experience that helps guide the inexperienced.  It gives a novice a chance to talk out the tough problems with someone who sees a bigger picture.  It provides someone with a small, overwhelming investment, with the chance to put that investment in a much larger perspective.

I will almost certainly never own 500 hives like Kip does.  But because he does, and because he talks to me, I get to put my hive problems into the context of 501 hives.  And in the context of 501 hives, my case is not unusual.  And if a hive presents these problems, there are ways of encouraging the ladies to thrive.

But it does make me think about those areas where I am hoarding my own information.  Where my perspective on my specialty - even when I don't see it as special - might help someone else while they are struggling with their own.  If I open up to others about my insecurities, and talk about what I did, would it help?

Would there be a chance for me to help a friend going through a tough transition to the new job? Would my mentorship potentially help someone looking at moving from the academic sector into public service?  What about my perspective on academia?  Or my experience floundering while looking for a career path after college? About my struggles with wild mood swings and suicidal thoughts when I was a teenager?

I think I need to start looking around me for situations where my presence and experience might be reassuring.  Where maybe I can start the process of mentoring someone, with three simple words:

"That's not unusual."

Feeling Stabby

Some days, it is simply hard to focus.

Those are the days to avoid working with the bees.

Yesterday, the smoke wasn't coming out right - I was alternating between dragonfire and snuffed candlesmoke. I was pushing to get done before dark. I was rushing through steps and feeling awkward.  And I was dealing with a whole new crop of emerged workers, who had never been worked before, and they were cranky about the whole process.  I think the worker who stung me was as surprised as I was that she was angry with me.

I never quite got to that Zen moment where I am just breathing and working with my bees.

I completed all my steps. I dosed the ladies and brood with some powdered sugar to help with the mites.  I smashed dozens of hive beetles.  I marked down in my journal where the grubs were and where the honey was and where the new comb was being drawn.  I removed a couple of queen cups so that she wouldn't raise other queens and swarm off.  I found the queen, and she seems happy.

And after getting stung, I pulled on some gloves - I have been working without them -  so I wouldn't risk reacting to a sting and dropping the frame.  I even harvested a couple of teaspoons of honeycomb, to share with Kathe.

I did what I needed to.  But days like that, when I am a little off of my game, and the ladies are feeling stabby, it might be best to just put the work off for a little bit.




                                              Sting count: 1.  Cumulative sting count: 1.

Bee Majick

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

Waggle Dance

When I worked in Yucatan, I got fascinated with the physical differences between our cultures in how people give directions.  To say that the path takes you a long away, point with your hand and swing forward in an arc that extends all the way to the top of your head.  Turn right is indicated by extending your right hand, palm out, and pat the air twice.

I asked for directions A LOT when I was in Yucatan, and managed to get pretty good at reading what people were telling me through their body language (even when that message was "I have no idea, but I don't want to appear rude by saying so). And I loved learning the unspoken communication.

So it has been equally fascinating for me to read the literature about honeybee communications.  In 1967, Karl von Frisch translated the waggle dance for the first time*.  The waggle dance, he explained, describes direction and distance.  Scout bees looking for a new home to swarm to, come back and do a waggle dance, telling everyone about the place they have found.  Same for bees looking for a source of pollen and nectar.

My rendering of the waggle dance.

The dance is a three-step solo dance, with repeats.  The worker bee comes in after having found a lovely field of flowering plants, and she begins her version of the Dance of the Seven Veils.

Wiggle wiggle wiggle.  Then loop around to the right.  Wiggle wiggle wiggle.  Then loop to the left. Wiggle wiggle wiggle.

The fact that von Frisch figured it out is really cool.  The angle of the dance (wiggle wiggle wiggle) corresponds to the angle from the sun of the flowers she recommends.  If she does her dance on a perfect vertical, it means the flowers are directly in line with the sun.  If her dance is done at a 35 degree angle, it is 35 degrees away from the sun.

And the longer she dances - the more loops she makes - the further away it is.

As soon as she finishes, other bees will make a beeline for the flowers, and her directions will take them right to the location. (Much more effectively than the hand-waving that the Yucatecans did for me).  I have been reading about both decisionmaking and communications among the bees, and I am excited to see it in action.

Tonight, I will be working with the bees, making sure they have enough space, and that the beetles are not taking over the hive.  I am so psyched to be able to watch them as they do their own work; how much honey and pollen they have accumulated; how many more eggs the queen has laid, how much more comb has been drawn.

And I'll be doing my own waggle dance while I do.  Wiggle wiggle wiggle.


                                                                                          Sting Count: 0

* Frisch, Karl von. (1967) The Dance Language and Orientation of Bees. Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

Should I worry?

I thrill to see my bees in my backyard, but they are a source of worry.  And even having bees for less than a week, I have rediscovered one of life's great truths.   There is NEVER a best-case scenario that shows up when you go to Google with your problem.  Whether you are looking up a suspicious mole on WebMD or trying to find out whether the debris pile in your living room means termites, internet searches seldom provide good news.  It is easy to lose perspective.

So when I discovered a problem with my bees, I fretted, and flashed back to my first days on the job as project manager at the Corps of Engineers.

I had no idea what I was doing. It was terrifying. In addition to managing my projects, I was asked daily, it seemed, to provide some information in response to a request from somebody, somewhere up the chain of command.  Much of the time, there was little by way of instructions to go on, and other times there would be a thousand pages of guidance for one page of data requested.

Nowhere in any of the guidance did it say how important the requested information was. Does Western Civilization's continued existence depend on the accuracy of these data?  (Certainly not.) Will my project get canceled if I don't submit the right information? (Maybe....) I had a hard time separating out the URGENT from the IMPORTANT.  My friends  Vic Landry and Bobby Duplantier both helped mentor me through these rough patches.  Sometimes it was just a matter of calming me down, other times it was explaining what was required, and sometimes the instructions they gave were simple: "Crorey, make it up."

A decade later, I can determine for myself now whether something at work is important or urgent, and I take it much more in stride. I had almost forgotten that helpless feeling.

The bees reminded me.  When I accidentally dropped the box in the bed of my truck, I was panicked.  How much did I just damage the hive?  Can the frames/honey/brood/comb/queen take that kind of shock?  What should I do?  (Since panicking doesn't seem to be helping, how about calming down?)

Image of the Madrid Codex Bee
Almanac stolen from the FAMSI website

And each successive victory comes with a huge sigh of relief - and a little bit of joy.  The moment when I opened the top and everyone seemed to be OK, a huge grin creases my face.  The moment when the sun warms the bees up and they start flying around the hive, I almost giggle.  The moment when the returning workers are loaded down with pollen, my spirit soars.

I gave the bees two days to get used to the new location before placing the frames in the new box. In the meantime, Kathe had helped decorate the hive box, using a figure from the Madrid Codex - one of the four pre-contact Maya documents that have survived.

When I moved the bees into their permanent home, it went perfectly.  I found the queen (YAY!).  The workers had already started to modify the cardboard box into their own space (which means that they are healthy and busy) by building burr comb, already attached to the sides and top of the pasteboard box.  The ladies were coming back from the woods with lots of pollen attached to their legs, and are communicating with all the others where to get more.  They seem to like the new space in my backyard, and are adapting to it.

Deep hive, with Kathe's design.

Kathe got some cool video of the transfer (yes, she actually got pretty close!), and there were no real incidents.  I struggled a little to get the remainder of the girls out of the old box and into the new one, but even that went off pretty smoothly.  And I am, of course, fretting about the placement.  Did I put the frames in a different order?  Does it matter?  Should I have put the uncapped honey next to the brood....

And then I notice the beetles.  Lots of little beetles in the box.  Maybe a dozen or so of them, all scurrying for cover.

Here is where I really don't know what to do.  There are serious things that can infest bee hives. Foulbrood can only be addressed by burning the hive.  Varroa mites can kill off your hive (and infest adjacent ones, too) if they get out of control, but they are present in every hive out there.  Wax moths are detrimental to the health of your hive.  Tracheal mites, too.

And small hive beetles.

For some reason, I did not listen as well in the workshop when they were talking about hive beetles.  And I can't remember why.  Was it because they are not as deadly?

I went to the internet for my answer.

Now Best Beloved, if you have a concern, going to the internet is the worst idea possible.  The hive mind of the internet (see what I did there?) is pure Eeyore.  No matter how many good things are going on, Eeyore will see the potential down side, and see how everything is about to go wrong.

So.... after reading one site after another that explains to me how my hive is doomed, and exactly what the beetles and their demonspawn offspring would do to my hive, I panicked.  (The larvae eat the honeybee brood.  The larvae eat the honey and defile it in the process.  The larvae can overtake the hive.  American honeybees cannot resist, and die under the onslaught.  Save yourselves!)

Yep, I panicked.  Again.  And this time, Bobby and Vic could do nothing to help me.

After putting as many beetles as I could find in a jar of vinegar, I gave the guy who sold me the beetles, um, I mean, bees, a call.  He reassured me that the best way to keep the beetles under control was to encourage a strong colony.  That they weren't really the problem I was imagining them to be.

Then again, that is what you would expect him to say.  He sold me that pig; of course any problems with the pig are of no consequence.  Some pig, huh?

Eventually, I got in touch with another beekeeper in the area that I had met at the workshop. 

"Naw, man, hive beetles are everywhere - everybody's got them.  You only got to worry about them if you have a bunch."

Um, well, what is a lot?  I just don't know whether three is a lot or five thousand....

Over the next half hour, we discussed both treatment options and diagnosing, and by the end of the conversation, I was reassured as to the nature and severity of the problem.  As well as the solution (involving brushing off the bees from each frame and then shaking the beetles off and KILLING them.)  Just talking it through with someone who knew made all the difference.

Yes.  I have a problem.  The consequences of having the problem are low.  So I mostly just need to do what is best for the hive.

In the final analysis, it might be better to worry than to be apathetic.  I certainly learned something because I worried enough to research a solution.  But it certainly is more stressful.

Now I just have to figure out how to cage Eeyore more effectively....


                                                                                                Sting count: 0