Category: Bees

Bees, Crofting Life

Don’t Worry, Be Happy

croftingwifie

Begone, thou fairest Queens. And begin your new quests in a land far, far away and begaze your new surroundings. I’ll stop the ‘bee’ words. For while their kingdoms remain the same, the bees were loaded in the night, tucked up in their abodes, and transported to be governed by a new crofting emperor. Well, maybe emperor isn’t the best word. Keeper of the bees, who will respond to beck and call for need of food, ensure they are comfortable, and all the other things that beekeepers do for queens and colonies.

Yes, the bees went this week to their new kingdom, we are beeless (that is actually a lie, we have the usual non honey bees and there are some honey bees in our ancient woodlands, a lost swarm from last year but I am referring to the pet bees).  

Over winter they have been tucked up in their bee boxes with fondant. No opening up of the hive, but once we started getting some good days when you could feel the warmth from the sun, the bees (not the queens, they stay in their Beeckingham Palaces) came out; mostly to deposit bee poop onto my washing line but I can forgive them for that. Several times all three hives could be seen that they had activity, which was a relief. Having made the decision last autumn that the bees had to go, a new territory was sought, but it was always planned that they would wait until spring as we could never be sure of how many colonies would survive the winter. 

When the initial post went out that the bees would go, I think anyone who had a beekeeping friend went and told them. Which was fine, it did help get the word out that we needed to find them a new home. But within the beekeeping world, biosecurity is tight. We don’t like getting other bee equipment or bees which affect our own. So I got heaps of beekeepers sending me a message pretty much saying ‘I have bees, so I don’t want yours, why am I getting sent this info and why are you getting rid of them before winter?’ (Note: This was not everyone, I should say, but more than I was expecting who hadn’t read the entire social media post). Of which I had to politely say, yes the bees needed rehoming due to Tim’s allergic reaction. But they would be best going to someone who didn’t have bees and they wouldn’t be going anywhere until the spring, but I needed to organise where they were going as I didn’t want to wait until we had the activity of Terminal 5 in backlog on a Saturday on the first day of the school holidays before making plans. 

It was a rough call to decide where they went as we had a lot of equipment. So planning for moving bees took some time. Bulls seem to be easier than bees, Maybe bairns too. I had several dreams of driving down the road with a swarm of bees following (and yes, I know this is not realistic, it was a dream, and dreams aren’t sensible thought processes in the night). 

Collating the equipment took time. Several parts of the process were talked through to make sure it would be minimal disturbance for the bees. Loading the equipment caused issues. It was a mild day with little wind. A few of the bees came to see what was going on and wanted to explore the supers. And the bees really like Tim. We quickly put a stop to that before they became too interested. And that evening, they were secured in their hives and loaded. Belt and braces; one hundred and one ratchet straps (not far off) were used. 

That night it rained. Pelting it down. I dreamed that they had been flooded. At 5am I checked. In fact, the pickup was so full with bee equipment that barely any rain had made it into the pickup. With the lights casting shadows into the inky darkness as the rain still lashed, I set off, crawling. Not literally, just very slowly as every bump conjured up the image of the hives being knocked. 

And then the usual. Ten minutes down and I realised I had left all the washed sugar syrup bowls at the house. I didn’t dare drive back up. I abandoned the vehicle in the middle of the track (who in their right mind would be out on our track at 5am; she said as she watched a neighbour’s car lights head off as I started back up). 

Take two and we were off again, a total of 50 mins from first leaving the house and making it to the end of the track, a journey that normally takes 10. The hives checked again. The idea of getting to the destination and finding no bees would have been grim. Check fine. Onwards. I started feeling better, until the concocted swarm dream trilogy returned. Another stop, another check. All good. And so the journey went on. Every so often, pulling in to let cars pass. There was no chance I wanted to hit potholes or make any sharp stops that I must have looked like a driver of the gentry out for a Sunday afternoon drive. Except I was in an agricultural pickup (i.e., it’s not plush), stacked with beehives, and it was 6am on a Tuesday. 

Eventually, I reached their new home. The transition from vehicle to view point was smooth. I then started thinking maybe I had made them all car sick, which if honey is bee puke anyway, how would they cope with motion sickness? Maybe I had upset Queen Flora, Fauna and Trixie-boo? Would they like their new empires? The journey back was full of what ifs.

The apiary spot now sits empty. A slabbed area with a path behind, nestled at the foot of the orchard. An empty void in the shed where all the equipment was stored. But for now, we wish those bees well. To Queen Flora, Fauna and Trixie-boo: may your colonies grow strong, not swarm unless planned and organised, no A & E trips, and may you give your new keeper much joy and heaps of bee puke. You may also get renamed. We’ll wait and see. 

New empire

Bees, Crofting Life, Livestock

Hippy, hippy shake

croftingwifie

A wee while ago (OK, maybe a few years ago), I went on a freebie session about maximising social media for small businesses. So I dutifully signed up as a business to Facebook, got an account on Twitter and joined up on Instagram. Facebook, oddly enough, I could handle. I like stories; while a photo or two can capture the reader, there is info in the post (well, not on every post and not on everyones but let’s ignore that). A lot of blog posts all started off as a facebook post, became too long so got transfered over.

Next, was Twitter. And nothing really prepared me for a newsfeed of pure sharp shooters; snipers sitting at their keyboards (most likely in a darkened room, eyeing up any movement or activity on the plaform that they could shoot down in a single shot). I may be slightly exagerating. Not everyone is like that. But it is certainly a one liner culture: a hit and run culture. I sit in the arena and watch the horror of gladiators and lions attack each other. I think I average about 10 mins a week on it before it is abandoned and I go back to the fairy tale stories of facebook.

But then, there was Instagram. The click and collect social media version of the happy shopper. All I saw was lots of pictures. But tell me more! Why are those two women jumping about in a living room in front of a sofa? Why is another picture showing me a coffee being made, of a dog looking shocked and another of some mist? Why is the wee blurb sometimes hidden? The conversations between people doesn’t flow. So, with the difference in the set up, Instagram came even further down my list of what to look at in the night when suffering from insomnia. Figured, hey, I’ll do a bit of reaserch another time to figure out who looks at this stuff and the thinking behind it.

And so the days rolled into weeks, into months and hum-hmp, years. Until recently, a discussion with a friend gave a bit of insight into who uses it and why. It is her do-to app. I started looking at it again. Promptly to be closed. Until that is, a nudge from a good fiend. Someone who is the real life version of the Mr Men’s Wizard (not that he has special powers but he has a beard, a wealth of knowledge and can talk to anyone). Yes, Mr Wizard knew how to tap into the chic and shabby world of instagrammers. You know, the type that have avacado on toast, want to live in the country side where the air is pure, they can experience walking through meadows barefoot and eat local organic food (can I clarify this is not the entire set up, it’s just the type I seem to find). So how do I discretely join in when we just had a 400 degree hot pizza oven blasting from the back of a bashed pickup parked in the byre due to it lashing with rain? Or when I had good solid dirt under every fingernail from digging veg? And when I’ve just had to pressure wash a pair of boots that got coated in gardener’s gold (aka manure) straight from a cow? They may not smell the manure on Instagram but I don’t think pictures of cow pats cuts it.

But never fear, I’m sure I do have photos that match the wannabe country folk. But if it’s out walking the meadows barefoot, I’ll be checking for ticks. If the sun is shining through the long grass, I’ll be assessing the grass length or blocking the contract tractor dude from mowing the grass. Dancing to the Hippy, Hippy Shake? Sorting a bee swarm by the sound of it. And if I’m lying back, on the grass, looking like I’m dreaming? Mostly likely a cow has knocked me flying and I could do with a hand up or an ambulance. So this will be interesting; bridging a gap between what people think I do and reality. And more likely needing witty, one liners for a photo. At least actually ‘living the dream’ does put food on our table and gives me a warped sense of humour.

Bees, Crofting Life

Mother Nature’s recipes

croftingwifie

Lockdown restrictions have been easing at variable rates. And I discovered the bees have been keeping up with the the changes too. How? Well, Hive One decided to have the biggest street/air party you could have imagined. Had they really won the Honey Bee World Cup? Were they aware it was still only so many households with a maximum number of people? Mind you, these bees were all from one hive bubble so if anyone was that bothered, I’d have left the police to hand out the fines (honestly officer, that’s not a hive two bee, can you not tell??). But this wasn’t just a wee cheeky lockdown catch-up, they had decided they needed to cut the ties and find a new abode. Yes, they swarmed. And what a way to do it.

Now the garden has been severely hit with our cold whether. Lots of potted plants grown from seed are (or were) still in the polytunnel. And now they very suddenly needed the outside. The Antarctic-come-forty-days-of-rain seemed to have finally past. The ground seemed to have been fully detoxed by taking in more fluid than you would have imagined. But the weather didn’t ease gradually. No, it suddenly changed. The polytunnel started hitting the high 30s and the potted plants wanted out ASAP. Suddenly transporting plants out of the tunnel was getting urgent.

And it was while in the process of copious trips back and forth to the veg garden, a noise suddenly arose; a noise akin to a whole group of Hell’s Angels deciding to drive past (which would have meant they were coming off the hill and down a common grazing track; highly unlikely but if true, would have been phenomenal). So I very tentatively had a look at where it was coming from (because, who knows, Hell’s Angels might one day come down from the common grazing). There was not a motorbike in sight, but above the hives, the bees looked like they were negotiating Birmingham’s spaghetti junction in rush hour just before a bank holiday. They were everywhere. All lockdown restrictions had suddenly been lifted and there are no limitations on their social gathering (please note, this is not the case, please adhere to government advice and don’t plan a street party after reading this; just because the bees did it, doesn’t mean it’s right and no, you can’t have 5,000 meeting up in your garden). Nor had they won the World Cup. In fact, a hive was in the process of swarming. Thankfully into the hedge next to the hive. Great! Now what am I supposed to do? What did they say on how to deal with a swarm on that beekeeping course? How was I supposed to remember? I did what you always do in an emergency; I called in the experts.

Swiftly, the experts responded and very soon I had a beekeeping pro. With the calmness of a yoga teacher (not doing some funny pose, but the ability to look like there was just relaxing music going on rather than the buzz of the M25 in rush hour), the swarm was plopped into a new hive. The old hive was then checked. And then the other hive. And what an eye-opener. Not in the sense of needing to keep your wits about you due to half a hive absconding, but to watch the Pro handle the bees.

With both hives now fully checked and the new hive observed again to make sure all was well, the relief was good. Well, apart from losing the oldest Mini Crofter who was nowhere to be seen before finding out he had decided to nip down to the neighbour’s to see their new ‘toy’ (aka a fairly reasonable piece of machinery). Having coaxed this info out of the Micro Crofter (so I didn’t run any risk of misplacing a child), I thought, great, I’ll nip down and milk a cow (because it’s always easier with one child than two and I am always up for utilising these times). Everything set up, cow in, machine busy working when suddenly rush hour hit again! I glance up thinking, this can’t be right, the noise again was in the air. And that was with ear defenders on but I could still hear it. And my ears did not deceive me, there was the Birmingham spaghetti junction of bees coming down the track (thankfully taking the otherside of the byre) and I watched them head down the road before quickly running back to dismantle the milker from Tilly, cleaning up and sprinting up to the hives. But each seemed ok, they all had bees. I phoned the Experts again (start thinking of the term ‘muppet’ across forehead). Advice was to go check the new hive. Sure enough, now there was hardly any bees going in and out of the swarm’s hive. As much as I thought they would like their new house being delivered to them, no, they must have watched The Snail and the Whale and wanted to go see the world. And off they had gone.

A major bee search then started. Involving multiple neighbours, neighbour’s visitors, really anyone I could rope in. Now, this wasn’t just a nice and easy search and rescue. This was a search and rescue while lugging a two year old about with you. Which required good stamina and an ability to pass a mental hurdle that you really can carry the weight of half a bag of chicken feed about with you while searching high and low (my right arm has still not fully recovered). The determination to keep going was aided by the frequent concept that I could hear bees. The burn was very deceptive; giving off a slight humming noise that constantly drew you back to it. The hillside was examined. I may have been persistent but I can admit the trees were not tooth combed. But alas, no swarm was found.

By the end of that day, I would have been more than happy to be Baloo from the Jungle Book. Not to be some big fluffy, overweight bear. But to be singing about bees buzzing in the trees making honey just for me, and not chasing them over the Scottish hillside.

Now, all is not lost. Our two beehives are still functioning. We had been hoping to split the hive. The bees beat me to it this time. I am hoping to be more prepared for the other hive. But, in the mean time, I’m just away to go check back on that pregnant cow…

Bees, Uncategorized

Stayin’ alive

croftingwifie

Lockdown restrictions have changed again. So I can go to a pub but I can’t have two friends (from separate households) come into my home? I can mix with some but not others. Hmm, ok. Or maybe I just haven’t read the new rules properly to understand them. But I’m not the only one with communication issues though. The bees are currently getting fed sugar syrup at the moment (I keep wanting to call it sugar soap; something entirely different but it rolls off the tongue easier). And they are drinking it (syrup, not the soap) like there is no tomorrow. Now, there may not be any tomorrow for some of the bees, but at the moment, they want sugar and they want it now.

All well and good until our weather picked up a bit. The sun shone and the midges disappeared (well, kind of). So you open windows to enjoy the warm air. As a newbie (no pun intended), I didn’t think anything of it. No issues before in opening windows in September on a sunny day. But now we have bees. And we had a plate of beeswax on the kitchen counter, melted down to remove the last of the honey.

The bees decided that they should implement some of the lockdown rules and avoid overcrowding in the hive. And it felt like half a hive divided itself to set up an ‘all you can eat buffet’ in our kitchen with the wax. Can’t socialise at home but you can head to a pub. So they went out for dinner. An all you can eat buffet with a discount if you not only invite a friend, but bring another with you. And they just kept coming. The place was buzzing. Loudly. Thankfully no Covid police went past the window at the time to hand out fines (honestly Officer, it may be in my kitchen but I did not organise it!!).

Although the bee rave was in full swing, I decided it was time to break up the party before more came. The beeswax was quickly moved outside and on seeking advice from an expert, opened the windows fully to allow the bees to yes, come in but get back out again while we waited for the hive’s contact tracing team to start notifying the masses that the wax was now on the bird table (now known as the bee table to the Mini Crofters) and NOT in the kitchen.

The information slowly filtered through; the bees finally seemed to decide it wasn’t as much fun anymore and they needed to head elsewhere. As evening fell, the beeswax outside was the only sign of a party. A fairly tidy lot I must say. The kitchen was back to its usual hum drum, the bee’s flight path outside the window stopped, the sun soon set and stillness returned to the air.

Until the following day. And today. We have tried to have the windows open but no, the bees like the kitchen. Today wasn’t as busy (with bee traffic) but still, their communications team need to up their game. The bee table has now been moved away from the house to see if that helps and the beeswax has been hidden away. Let’s hope the long party weekend is over for the bees.