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.
Birchwood Croft, Inverness-shire 