To bee
By
-
To bee
It seemed like such a perfect day. The sky was not quite blue. Gray, white, and blue-gray clouds drifted slowly east. The creek ran clear. Birds chirped and called and sang their spring songs, and after our morning chores and a walk with the dogs, I headed out to the bee yard.
All nine hives were busy. The guards stood just inside the entrance, checking out each bee as she returned to the hive. Some were laden with bright-colored balls of pollen, neatly tucked into sacks on their rear legs. Others were swollen with sweet nectar, gathered from the ever so many brightly colored wild flowers that grew along the creek.
I tilted up the rear of each hive. They were all heavy. I knew that it was time to add the supers, the upper story of boxes that the bees would fill with honey for me to take off.
Back at the sugar shed, I got out my bee box, a color coordinated black and yellow tool box that I have filled, over the years, with all of my beekeeping tools and paraphernalia.
I reached for the duct tape and securely wrapped the ankles of my jeans to my boots. No need to be stung through my socks.
I then started up the smoker. Thick cotton packing string, that I bought at an auction years ago, serves as my fuel. One match, and a few puffs of the bellows, and it was good to go.
I took the supers, filled with empty wax comb frames, down from their winter perch on the sugar shed walls. I carried, them, two at a time, out to the bee yard.
Back at the sugar shed, I put on an old white cotton shirt, taped it around my waist, and put on my pith helmet and veil. I pulled on my leather gloves, and with their attached long white sleeves, up past my elbows. I was all set to go.
I gently puffed a waft of smoke by the entrance of the first hive. The guard bees ducked inside. Then I pried up the top lid and puffed a bit of smoke under the cover. I stood back to let the smoke settle the bees down.
It was such a beautiful day. Birds sang behind me up on the hill. The baby goats danced in their yard. One of the dogs lay in the tall grass, a good distance away, just to watch. Experience has taught her to stay back when I work the hives.
I lifted off the top lid and lay it on the ground beside the hive, upside down. Then I pried up the inner cover and set it on top of the inverted top cover. Hundreds of bees peeked up at me from between the frames.
The sweet smell of honey and wax wafted up to meet me. I set one of the supers on the upper deep, carefully setting it down catty corner, and then gently turning it, chasing along any bees that walked on the upper edges of the box. I am quite certain that I did not squash a single bee.
I believe that it is important not to squash the bees, because they become distressed at the scent of their mangled sisters, so I try not to kill any at all. I move slowly, and I feel as though when I stay calm and move slowly, the bees stay calm as well.
Inner and top covers replaced, I moved down to the second hive, and then to the third, and fourth, and then before I knew it, the afternoon was almost over and a few gentle raindrops fell. I had placed supers on all eight Langstroth hives, and moved the traveling ends of the top bar hive farther out, so that all the bees in the bee yard had room to store their gathered pollen and nectar.
The sweet smell of the bees lingered with me as I took off my bee veil and put away my tools. What a perfect afternoon it had been. I know with certainty that I had not been stung even once, and I truly believe that I had not squashed a single bee. I smiled. I know that I have learned a lot from the bees. I feel privileged to simply "bee" among them.
Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.
By CHRISTINE TAILER
For The Highland County Press
For The Highland County Press
It seemed like such a perfect day. The sky was not quite blue. Gray, white, and blue-gray clouds drifted slowly east. The creek ran clear. Birds chirped and called and sang their spring songs, and after our morning chores and a walk with the dogs, I headed out to the bee yard.
All nine hives were busy. The guards stood just inside the entrance, checking out each bee as she returned to the hive. Some were laden with bright-colored balls of pollen, neatly tucked into sacks on their rear legs. Others were swollen with sweet nectar, gathered from the ever so many brightly colored wild flowers that grew along the creek.
I tilted up the rear of each hive. They were all heavy. I knew that it was time to add the supers, the upper story of boxes that the bees would fill with honey for me to take off.
Back at the sugar shed, I got out my bee box, a color coordinated black and yellow tool box that I have filled, over the years, with all of my beekeeping tools and paraphernalia.
I reached for the duct tape and securely wrapped the ankles of my jeans to my boots. No need to be stung through my socks.
I then started up the smoker. Thick cotton packing string, that I bought at an auction years ago, serves as my fuel. One match, and a few puffs of the bellows, and it was good to go.
I took the supers, filled with empty wax comb frames, down from their winter perch on the sugar shed walls. I carried, them, two at a time, out to the bee yard.
Back at the sugar shed, I put on an old white cotton shirt, taped it around my waist, and put on my pith helmet and veil. I pulled on my leather gloves, and with their attached long white sleeves, up past my elbows. I was all set to go.
I gently puffed a waft of smoke by the entrance of the first hive. The guard bees ducked inside. Then I pried up the top lid and puffed a bit of smoke under the cover. I stood back to let the smoke settle the bees down.
It was such a beautiful day. Birds sang behind me up on the hill. The baby goats danced in their yard. One of the dogs lay in the tall grass, a good distance away, just to watch. Experience has taught her to stay back when I work the hives.
I lifted off the top lid and lay it on the ground beside the hive, upside down. Then I pried up the inner cover and set it on top of the inverted top cover. Hundreds of bees peeked up at me from between the frames.
The sweet smell of honey and wax wafted up to meet me. I set one of the supers on the upper deep, carefully setting it down catty corner, and then gently turning it, chasing along any bees that walked on the upper edges of the box. I am quite certain that I did not squash a single bee.
I believe that it is important not to squash the bees, because they become distressed at the scent of their mangled sisters, so I try not to kill any at all. I move slowly, and I feel as though when I stay calm and move slowly, the bees stay calm as well.
Inner and top covers replaced, I moved down to the second hive, and then to the third, and fourth, and then before I knew it, the afternoon was almost over and a few gentle raindrops fell. I had placed supers on all eight Langstroth hives, and moved the traveling ends of the top bar hive farther out, so that all the bees in the bee yard had room to store their gathered pollen and nectar.
The sweet smell of the bees lingered with me as I took off my bee veil and put away my tools. What a perfect afternoon it had been. I know with certainty that I had not been stung even once, and I truly believe that I had not squashed a single bee. I smiled. I know that I have learned a lot from the bees. I feel privileged to simply "bee" among them.
Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.
[[In-content Ad]]