Fungicide = Apicide

It's confirmed. Fungicides are a significant contributor to colony collapse disorder. Mother Jones just published an excellent article on the topic. (Thanks for the link, Dad.) 

Another case where what's good for the chemical industry isn't good for honey bees. Or anybody else.

Occupy Scarecrow

These poor homeless bees are my fault. Yes, I know I'm supposed to consider them as cells on the body, not as individuals, but it's hard. They got separated from the hive on Sunday during the "Things with Wings" event at the Gardens when the top of the observation hive popped off. There were only about 50 of them - a fraction of the hundreds, thousands, or tens of thousands in a typical hive - so the right response is to forget them and move on.

But here they are, days later, huddled together on the shoulder of the Children's Garden scarecrow. The crows aren't scared, but the kids and their parents sure are. Queenless, they haven't moved docilely as a group into the nuc box I left for them. Hiveless. Purposeless. Stupid. Dead cells. And yet, here they are, clinging to life.

Sweet

A booming hive is like uncorking a bottle of champagne, or lighting the birthday candles, or finding $20 on the sidewalk. Oh, joy!

Just a couple of days ago, I added a FIFTH medium box onto my hive. That's right, a fifth box. On July 21. Only a week and a half after I'd added a fourth box.

For you southern beekeepers, that may be no big deal, but for me it's exhilarating. Last year (my first year), my little hive went into winter with a total of two medium boxes, most of it brood. There was a hot spring, then a freeze, then a drought. This year, there's an abundance of flowers, extended cool temperatures that keep the nectar flowing, and just the right amount of rain.

But it's more than the weather. Some of the hives aren't doing quite as well, even in this excellent weather year. It's a lesson in wild animal husbandry. We all started with the same package bees, the same pristine equipment, and the same lack of expertise. Yes, it's been a great year for honey. Nonetheless, I'm among the lucky, and it feels good. Really good.

Make Me One With Everything

No, this is not just the punchline of a bad joke about a Buddhist monk and a hot dog stand.

Meghan told me that the bee is to the hive as a cell is to the body. The hive organizes the bee and gives it purpose. On its own it is formless. Directionless. Stupid. We should avoid killing bees because it puts the hive on high alert, but not because we've killed an individual with an identity. Killing a bee is like giving the hive a mosquito bite. Bees will come after you like a human hand swatting a mosquito.

It is an interesting idea. It makes me feel less regret about killing bees. But it also makes me wonder about the nature of life, and humanity, and intelligence. Am I merely a cell in the body of mankind? Outside of the social context, am I formless and without purpose, stupid and directionless? Even the greatest human achievement is quickly forgotten, like dead cells sloughed off the living body. The Pharaohs, after all, were gods incarnate.

But who remember the Pharoahs?

Bee Stuff

Bee stuff is like taking a vacation in the 1950s, at the seaside in a gingham checked bathing suit with wide straps, a structured brassiere and modest leg cuts. Bee stuff is like a Shaker chair, or a feather comforter, or a one-speed Schwinn with an S on its broad seat.

Bee stuff is nothing like an iPhone or a big screen t.v. or an Xbox 720.

When they're new and pristine, bee boxes smell like a wood shop or a pine forest or a mowed lawn. Later, after the bees have lived there for a while, they smell like honey and beeswax, sunshine and sweetness. After I've dumped the ashes out of the smoker, the skin on my arms holds the smell of smoke, carrying me back to the beeyard.

The bee boxes and the empty smoker make the car smell like something outdoors and wild, like you want to take a bite of it, or take a nap in it, or take a deep breath of it. Nothing like a new car smell.

I love the elegance of bee stuff, and its function, and the way it mostly hasn't changed in a hundred and fifty years. A blacksmith and a carpenter and a seamstress could have made beekeeping equipment for President Lincoln that would fit right into my bee bucket in the backseat of my car. The hive tool. The veil. The bee brush. The smoker. The boxes.

Bee stuff.

The Queen Is Dead, Long Live the Queen!

I was right to worry. When I opened the new nuc yesterday, this is what I saw:

Meghan's nuc - the bottom box

Hatched brood cells, no eggs, no larva, no queen. For whatever reason, the queen cell did not turn into a successful queen. Maybe I killed her when I monkeyed with the hive last week, or maybe she never made it back from her nuptial flight. Or maybe something else went wrong. No way to know.

Queenless deep - the top box

This time, I'd come fully prepared to move the nuc into a new hive. I went ahead and moved them out of the nuc anyway so I could return the box to Winn on Sunday.

Then I consulted with Meghan and UM Bees beekeeper Parker Anderson. Their advice was to combine the queenless nuc with the nuc Meghan had set up for me a few weeks ago. This was an easier option than finding a new queen, and would theoretically give me one strong hive rather than two weak hives. The strong hive can hopefully be split later in the season.

New combined hive

So, I took the top board and telescoping cover off the queenless deep and Meghan's nuc and put a single sheet of newspaper over the bottom box. Then I stacked the queenless deep on the newspaper, replaced the top cover, and put the telescoping cover on at an angle to give the top bees an entrance.

Bees flying in and out of the combined hive

By the time they chew through the sheet of newspaper, they will be used to each other and (I hope) will not kill each other off. The queenless bees will be fully integrated into the new, stronger hive.

I wasn't sure that the bees would be able to find their way home, what with all the moving around. Both the top and bottom openings are in active use today, however, so I am hopeful that this strategy will work.

To Be Prepared Is Half the Victory

I was not victorious.

It was the day before vacation, a week after we created the new nuc. I traveled to the botanical gardens - on my day off, dragging my husband along - and smoked the new nuc. Opened it. Removed and examined the frames. Moved the frames into the new deep super (so generously given to me by Parker Anderson from U-M Bees), disturbing and disbursing honey bees as I went.

Realized that I did not have the top cover, inner cover, or hive stand.

What the --? Embarrassing video courtesy of Rich Rickman

Realized I could not leave them with no top or bottom cover, unattended, for over a week. Realized I did not have time to come back to assemble the hive before my vacation.

Smoked them again. Puffed some smoke at the neighboring hives by mistake. Got smoke in my eyes, but did not start crying. Asked Rich to stop taking pictures.

Removed the frames and bees from the new super. Put them back in Winn's nuc box. Backwards.

Realized they were backwards. Righted them. Left.

Worried. What if I rolled the queen? What if they all moved into the hive next door? What if they outgrew the nuc while I was away?

Tomorrow I will return to the hive, prepared this time with a complete hive set-up. I will see whether they survived BNB syndrome. Brainless neophyte beekeeper.

Forewarned; forearmed. To be prepared is half the victory.
~Miguel de Cervantes