A day in the
life of a beekeeper
Batik & beeswax
My first interest in bees came about
indirectly, as the best things in life do. In this case through my pursuit of
beeswax for use in Batik work.
I was put in touch with a woman called Nancy who was something to do with
spinning, weaving and dyeing. She also kept a few colonies of bees and kindly
kept me supplied with beeswax, always free of charge, which should go some way
to dispel the myth that all beekeepers are tight fisted. At some point, Nancy
suggested that I might consider becoming a beekeeper myself. I turned down the
suggestion, dismissing the idea and taking the hint that perhaps Nancy was
slightly mad and getting fed up of this crazy artist pestering her for wax.
The ‘good life’
Some years later, my wife and I moved to Countesthorpe which to us city people
was a rural idyll. Our new house had a large garden. First came the homegrown
vegetables and fruit, then came the chickens who produced beautiful golden
yolked eggs. A few colonies of bees became the next stage of what our neighbours
called the ‘good life.’
My first swarm
Only a few weeks into my new hobby, I had a telephone call from the principal at
the local community college who told me that a swarm of bees had formed in a
tree in the college grounds. (News travels quickly that there’s a beekeeper
nearby, albeit a novice.)
There were some workman nearby who had stopped work for fear of being stung so,
after quickly reading up about how to deal with a swarm, I arrived at the
college suitably dressed in the full gear, with smoker billowing for effect and I climbed up the stepladder,
cardboard box in hand watched by a crowd. I could sense the disappointment when
the rugby ball sized mass did exactly what the book said they would, fell
kerplunk, into the box, following a sharp tug on the branch, followed only by a
bit of buzzing before settling down. No stings, nobody being chased.
I felt quite proud of myself for having handled the swarm and decided to merge
them with my colony in my garden only to discover a very depleted hive. It soon
became clear that it was a swarm from my own hive which I had simply fetched
back.
Instruction
Practically everything I’ve learnt about bees, I owe to Derek. A
long-term beekeeper in charge of teaching the basics to beginners at Brooksby
apiaries. One evening Derek showed us a trick he used to encourage the bees to
transfer their surplus honey stores from the brood chamber up to the supers
(where the beekeeper could make use of it.) This involved scraping the wax seal
on the brood frames using the hive tool. Bees, being the intelligent and clean
creatures that they are, clean up this exposed honey and take it upstairs to the
supers, making way for more egg laying activity below. Keen to make sure that
our first honey harvest was a good one, I began scraping away the wax seals in
earnest. I can only assume that I overdid it as hours later I went into the
garden to watch the bees and saw in alarm that the foragers were flying back to
the hive to be met by a pool of honey, now trickling out of the hive entrance
with some hundreds of bees wading their way through. My first thought was to
phone for advice. Derek’s calm and measured response could have been a pre-recorded
message, it sounded just as down to earth and re-assuring as ever: "they’ll
be fine, don’t worry, they’ll be fine."
"Are you sure? They’re in a right mess, they’re drowning in the
stuff."
"they’ll be fine"
By the next morning the night shift had done a great job of cleaning up the mess
and I resolved never to be so greedy again.
Innovation
Something positive came out of this episode though. I now knew what efficient
cleaners bees were. So when I discovered a small pool of honey on the upholstery
of my wife’s car, an idea came to me in a blinding flash of inspiration. I
scooped up some of the honey onto a piece of paper and went into the back garden
to the hive entrance. Pretty soon a couple of bees showed an interest and begin
devouring the honey. I carefully carried the paper and bees to the front garden
and left it in the boot of the car. Within half an hour, thousands of bees could
be seen flying by the side of the house to collect the honey. I watched in
amazement at the sheer volume of bees passing to and fro from hive to car and
back and Maria from next door shouted to me from her bedroom window to ask what
was going on. "I’m getting the bees to clean the car." Maria
muttered something about a nutter and slammed the window shut.
A bee’s defence
A commonly asked question when people learn that I keep bees is "do you wear all the kit, veil and
everything?"
The question is more to do with
aesthetics rather than practicalities and could be translated as "Don’t
you mind looking so stupid?" After been stung numerous times in the course
of beekeeping, I have to say yes, I do wear the kit, veil and all, and no, I don’t
really care how it looks. There have been times in my first year when I’ve
felt confident (or reckless) enough to handle the bees unprotected. I can
tolerate the occasional sting on a hand, an arm or a leg. Occasionally the bees
sting in more intimate places but the worse thing has to be a sting on the head.
It hurts, but what follows is much worse: the swelling by the following day has
dropped to the bridge of my nose and the corners of my eyes have lost definition
with the tautness of the flesh from the swelling making me look like something
out of Star Trek, the next generation. On one occasion I had
to teach a class the next day. They were very polite but I could tell from their
prolonged and slightly amused stares that they were trying to work out what it
was about me that was different.
Nowadays, apart from occasionally handling the bees without gloves, I don’t
take any unnecessary risks. I treat them gently and with the respect that they
deserve. The bees respond well to this and the result is less stings and better
quality bee- time.
Moving
hives
Keeping bees in the garden is a real pleasure. To walk out on
a warm summer evening and watch the last of the foragers flying back to the hive
and to smell the raw nectar on the air are real bonuses of beekeeping.
At some point it became necessary to move the hives to a more
suitable site, far from worried neighbours. This is no straight forward job.
The entrance has to be blocked off in the evening when you’re
sure that all of the foragers are back. The hive is strapped together to
facilitate being moved without it falling apart and for good measure a large net
curtain is draped over so that if there are any bees loose, they won’t be
flying around the car. (That’s the intention at least.)
However, on the morning that I was moving them I peered out of
the kitchen window at the six or so hives, strapped up, netted and lined up
ready to go and noticed a tell-tale mass of bees which had somehow managed to
escape one of the hives and now sat, a frustrated seething mass just under the
net. Too late now. The only answer was to put my gear on and transport them all
as they were. Inevitably there were some escapees flying around the car, quite
unnerving when you’re driving.
Nowadays
My bees are now sited nearby, far enough away from
the village to cause concern to worried neighbours. They are in a south -
westerly facing
sheltered spot with gardens, hedgerows and fields to forage in and a nearby pond
to keep them supplied with water.