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Queen cage, empty
except for one poor dead worker |
On day three, I went back to the beeyard to be sure the workers had released the queen. There were about a half-dozen of my classmates in the beeyard, and there was a spirit of kindness and collaboration that I am coming to expect among beekeepers. I headed to my own hive first, feeling a bit tentative. I wore close-fitting jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, leather gardening gloves and my veil, much more than I wore to tend my hive last year: I don't yet know the temperament of this Georgia queen. I was quickly joined by three other new beekeepers, all eager to see how my girls were doing. No one else had lit their smokers, so I left mine in the beebox. The girls didn't kick up a fuss when I removed the top cover, but seemed as gentle and quiet as my Michigan Mongrels. Inside, everything was fine. The workers had released the queen from her cage, and the girls were busily building up comb and storing nectar. A couple people helped me lift my hive so I could raise it up higher with extra 4"x4s".
 |
| The beebox |
Sadly, one of the beekeepers' hive was mostly dead, her pile of corpses already much bigger than my entire dead colony from the winter before. We helped her lift her hive so she could dump the dead ones off, saving the remaining workers the job of removing so many. Perhaps the hive isn't queen right. We were not skilled enough to figure out what was wrong, but we all hoped that our teacher, Clay, will have the answer at the next class.
My carpool buddy Pete's hive had drunk the entire two gallons of sugar syrup he'd left for them, and another beekeeper, Lawrence, offered a gallon from the trunk of his car. Elliot, a fellow Ann Arborite, gave me his phone number and offered to add my super for me if I didn't have time to get back to the beeyard next week.
All this generosity and helpfulness makes me feel like I've entered a slower, kinder universe.
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