We are in the thick of swarm season, which means many beekeepers are busy trying to prevent swarms and/or catch the hives that decide it’s time to move out.
Swarming is the way honey bees reproduce, a natural reaction to a healthy hive’s growth.
So far, we’ve had three — one of which returned to the hive. And that’s despite splitting several hives to prevent these mass exoduses.
This is all background for my PSA, inspired by my brother texting me that there was a “bee nest” on the playground of the school where he teaches.
Apparently, the initial reaction of the powers that be was to look for bug spray.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
That is not what you should do if you find a swarm, especially at a school. I mean, what kind of example does that set for the children?
Instead, you take a few minutes to go online and search “beekeeping association” or “beekeeping club,” along with your local county, nearest city, township, whatever. Once you find the site for your nearby beekeepers club, look for “swarm list.”
You see, most groups maintain a list of people willing to come out and catch swarms to rehome in their apiaries.
Then, you start making phone calls, and you don’t stop until you find someone or run out of names to try.
If the above tactic fails, you could also try finding local apiaries by looking at vendor lists for local farm markets and contacting them to see if they, or anyone they know, might be interested in free bees.
It’s quite an interesting process, watching a beekeeper capture a swarm, and much more educational — not to mention better for the environment — than spraying them dead with bug spray.
So, if you see somthing like this hanging off the side of your car or a parking meter or tree or anything at all, please don’t go for your bug spray. It’s just a group of bees trying to establish a new hive.
Please forgive me if this post is a little disjointed and for any punctuation and/or spelling errors. My head is spinning from the events of the past few days. I also just discovered I’ve been misspelling pneumonia all weekend.
Photos from the last months of Mom’s life (all photos my own except close-up of hands, which was taken by Darling Daughter)
With both my parents, the process of saying goodbye began so gradually I didn’t even notice.
Dad had Alzheimer’s, and the person he’d been was gone by the time he died, having already disappeared in tiny incremenents. When he died, I was relieved because I knew, wherever he was, he was finally whole for the first time in many years.
Mom lived to 93, so her goodbye lasted longer. As with Dad, it began before I knew it was happening, probably when she got pneumonia in her late fifties or early sixties. When I saw her in the hospital, my normally vibrant mother was scarily wan. Her medical team had also drained an astounding amount of water from her lungs and diagnosed Congestive Heart Failure.
A few years later, she broke her arm for the first time, the result of a simple fall.
I began to understand she wasn’t going to live forever. No one does, obviously, but understanding the ramifications of Mom dying connotes a different level of knowledge that was somehow different from when my father was ill.
She had one knee replaced, re-learned how to walk, then repeated the process with her other one.
Mom continued living her best life, remarried and moved to Florida with her second husband.
When he died, she moved back to Ohio, and for a few years, there were no further mishaps other being diagnosed with Atrial Fibrillation.
Then, in her early eighties, she was diagnosed with cancer. I worried about the resulting surgery, afraid with her age and heart issues she might not make it through, .
I began to prepare for the end, that inevitable part of life most of us prefer to forget. Once again, my concerns proved unwarranted. Mom sailed through surgery and rehab, and went on doing pretty much as she pleased.
She eventually transitioned from a cane to a rollator walker, which enabled her to remain independent, but in the years that followed, there were other medical crises — at least one more bout of pneumonia and several falls — one of which resulted in what the orthopedic surgeon called a “crushed” elbow.
We thought she’d never use her arm again, not an ideal scenario since she had arthritis in the opposite shoulder.
She ended up being fine. But between the falls and the illnesses, there were many mornings I’d have to make an unplanned visit to her apartment because she didn’t pick up my morning check-in call.
Each time, the drive there was spent rehearsing what I needed to do if I found her laying on the floor, injured or dead.
It this sounds morbid to you, you’ve probably never had an eighty-something parent who lived on their own.
Mom would laugh when she saw me at the door.
“What are you doing here?”
I’d say I’d been trying to reach her.
“My phone never rang!” she always exclaimed. “It must have turned off somehow.”
I’d remind her that I called every morning, and if she didn’t hear from me, could she maybe just please ring to say she was ok?
Her reply was the same every time. She was fine, and I didn’t need to drive over just to check on her.
“Yes, Mom,” I’d answer, seething with frustration, “I do. What would happen if you fell again? You could be lying on the floor, and no one would know.”
There were more falls, not as bad as the crushed elbow one, but enough for us to know what was coming. We discussed the future possibility of Mom moving into some kind of long-term care.
Then came a day when Mom just wasn’t herself. My brother and I took her to the doctor who did all the usual doctorly things.
Blood oxygen, blood pressure, pulse, ears and throat … all were fine. And although we still believed something wasn’t quite right, there wasn’t much more her doctor could do.
Two mornings later, it happened again. Mom didn’t answer her phone, and as I drove to her apartment, I prayed my worries would once more be proven wrong.
But she didn’t answer the door, and when I opened it with my key, I heard her weak “Help” coming from the bathroom.
She had gotten up to use the toilet and fallen. Unable to right herself, my 88-year-old mother had lain on the cold floor for hours.
You may be wondering why she wasn’t wearing a life-alert bracelet or necklace.
I don’t know the answer to that. Mom had both, the necklace for daytime, and the bracelet for night. In fact, we’d argued about her habit of taking off the bracelet, then walking to the bathroom before putting on the necklace.
“Mom,” I’d say, “When are you most likely to fall? When you get out of bed or in the middle of the night when you get up to use the bathroom. You have to keep them both by the bed, and swap them before you get up in the morning.”
Yet, there she was, sprawled on the tile in her nightgown, while that damned necklace lay in a dish on the sink, just out of her reach.
Against her protest, I called 911. When the paramedics arrived, they got her off the floor and into a chair where they checked her vital signs. Discovering how low her blood oxygen was, they and I agreed she should go to the hospital for evaluation. There, she was diagnosed with pneumonia again, resulting in a weeklong stay.
Mom never lived independently again. Instead, we moved her into assisted living at a care center in Burbank, and later into their long-term care. The center wasn’t part of a huge chain and was surrounded by fields and trees, with all single rooms. Also, the employees seemed friendly, as if they genuinely cared about their residents.
More importantly, it was only ten-minutes from my brother and the same thirty-minutes from me as her old place — an easy drive for both of us.
It felt like a physical burden had been lifted from my shoulders, knowing the next time Mom fell — and we knew there would be a next time — a nurse would be there to assess and treat any injuries.
Six months later, COVID struck.
News stories about the horrible conditions in nursing homes made us begin to question our decision about Mom’s living arrangements. Death spread rapidly through populations of elderly people with multiple pre-existing health issues, and I avidly tracked the number of employees and residents who fell ill or died in our county.
Mom’s nursing home was one of the few with no fatalities.
It also, we soon realized, had another heretofore unrecognized asset — outside windows on every room of its single story building. We were able to visit face to face with only a screen or window pane between us. Though we couldn’t hug or touch, we could at least see Mom was okay. We even managed to celebrate her 90th birthday with her in lockdown.
She got COVID at least twice, and made a full recovery.
The first phone call: “Kym, your mom fell. We think she broke her hip.” Second phone call (Mom): “Kym, I fell. They think I broke my hip. It really hurts.”
I think this was the first time I’d ever hear her volunteer that she was in pain.
More bad news followed. Surgery was required to repair the hip, never a great scenario for a 92-year-old with heart problems.
The operation was a long one, mostly because anesthesiologist took his time putting Mom under, but the orthopedic surgeon was happy with the result. The anesthesia, however, threw her for a loop.
The ensuing confusion eventually abated, but never completely subsided, growing worse after each hospitalization.
February 2023: A late-night phone call — Mom was being transported to the hospital, having succumbed to aspiration pneumonia in the less than twelve hours since I’d seen her. To try to prevent further aspiration of food, when she returned to Burbank, her diet was restricted to soft foods.
May 2023: Another late-night call. Mom had fallen again. She’d broken her hip again — the other one this time — which meant more surgery and learning to walk again for the fourth time.
She never could remember breaking either hip. If I mentioned her needing the aide for anything, she’s insist she could <insert task here> on her own. When I’d try to explain that wasn’t true, she’d ask why. And when told her it was because she’d broken both hips, her reply was always “They keep telling me that.”
There were more falls, many more phone calls. The dark cloud of dread began to descend whenever Burbank’s number came up on my phone.
But although Mom’s dementia grew worse, but her sense of humor faded. She made jokes, teased the staff, made everyone smile.
I can’t tell you how many Burbank employees — sometimes ones I’d never even met — would come up to me saying, “I just love your mother. She’s so feisty! I want to be like her when I get old.”
Last Friday, I got another call. Mom was a bit under the weather. The doctor had ordered labs and a chest x-ray, but the nurse didn’t sound too concerned, reassuring me she’d call back with the results. I planned to visit Sunday so I didn’t worry much when I didn’t hear back.
After all, there had been a few times when Mom had gotten a cold and recovered just fine.
This time, however, was different, and when the phone rang at 4 a.m., I jolted awake. Mom’s oxygen levels had plummeted, and she was being transported to the hospital.
When I met her there, the ER doctor reviewed her code status: DNR-CC (Do Not Resuscitate — Comfort Care only). Following these guidelines meant she would receive only the medication necessary to keep her comfortable. It was time to call hospice for their special brand of care.
The doctor explained she would probably be transported to the hospital and eventually to a hospice center. In the end, Mom’s doctor recommended sending her back to Burbank for hospice care in familiar surroundings, a much better option.
I stayed with her for several hours as she settled back into her room. Though her breathing was labored, Mom dozed and seemed fairly comfortable. I knew my Big Brother would be there later, and that we were in for a long hall, so I left for a planned overnight trip to attend a sporting event with Darling Daughter and The Engineer. I’d be back the next day, ready to face the difficult week or weeks ahead.
But that night, in the unfamiliar darkness our hotel room, the phone rang at 3 a.m. I stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The nurse at Burbank said Mom needed morphine. She was getting uncomfortable, and this would make her feel better. Did I give my permission?
Of course.
Not five minutes later, another phone call. The nurse thought she was beginning the process of dying.
I rang Big Brother in the hope he could get there in time, but the phone rang again immediately after we spoke.
Mom was gone.
It had been less than 48 hours since she first felt sick. No one expected her to go so fast, yet we are thankful she didn’t suffer long. And I know each of us who loved her wish it had been us — rather than than the nursing aide to whom we will always be grateful — who were next to her.
Despite this, these two thoughts bring me comfort: I know Mom knew she was loved, and ultimately we all experience death alone, no matter who is beside us.
How do you say goodbye? Well, for both my father and my mother, it was slowly — oh, so slowly — and then all at once.
Helen Mildred 28 August 1930 — 7 April 2024. Rest in peace, Mom. You live on in our hearts.
For a December holiday — Christmas or his birthday, I can’t recall which — The Engineer got a Topdon thermal camera that works with his phone.
We thought it might help keep tabs on the bees in winter. And it could — at least in theory — except we wrap all the hives but LoLa. This action is more effective at retaining the hives’ heat than we expected, so the winter pictures didn’t show much.
This is actually good news, just not the sort that lends itself to dramatic photos.
Still, the camera is useful for identifying hot and cold spots in our house which may require attention. As a matter of fact, when we were goofing arround with it in our living room, we were shocked to discover how much heat our old VCR player was throwing off. This discovery pushed us to make the not-difficult decision to finally get rid of a device we hadn’t used in years.
It’s always a good thing to get rid of something we don’t use, and this had the added bonus of ridding ourselves of the old videotapes too.
Fast forward a few months to now when, for various reasons, we’ve removed the wrapping from several of our strongest hives. Since the nights are still cold, we decided to see where the bees are hanging out in those hives, to make sure they were still keeping together to stay warm.
The Engineer has just come in from taking photos of all of the colonies except he forgot LoLa.
That’s okay. The bee cluster in LoLa is so pitifully small, it would probably have just been depressing to have it documented.
Here are the photos.
This is hive #2, which still has the foam box around it. You can clearly see where the heat is escaping beneath the lid and out the entrance.
This is #6S, and although it’s wrapped, you can see the bees are primarily on the right side, mostly in the bottom box, but with some in the top also.
Here’s #2A, one of our unwrapped hives. See the bulk of the bees near the middle in the bottom box, with a layer across the top box, and sort of a crooked column of them on the left in the top box.
Hive #3 is also wrapped, and you can see the heat coming out the bottom and the top. It looks like maybe the bees are mostly in the middle of both boxes? It’s also possible the heat signature has more to do with the wrap. I don’t know.
This is #4, also unwrapped, with bees mostly in the bottom right and some directly under the lid.
And hive #5, the monstor hive, has quite a big mass of bees in the middle of the two bottom boxes.Since we added the top box only because they were crowded, this makes sense. There’s probably not yet any brood for them to keep warm there.
Most importantly, all the hives are clearly warmer than their surroundings. Although in the first three photos, you can see the paving stones below the stand are retaining some heat, the ground beneath the last three is mostly a cool purple.
Kind of a cool way of looking at the bees, don’t you think?
It’s been cold (in the 20s, just a typical Ohio spring, dropping 30 degrees in a day), but today it warmed enough to take another look at two of the hives we plan to sell and take a peek at LoLa’s progress.
As previously mentioned, selling our three 10-frame hives is part of our plan to cut back to five hives — four 8-frames and LoLa (the Long Langstroth).
LoLa’s growth in population is slow, but steady. The queen is doing a great job laying, and we hope they’ll soon have enough bees for us to give them a frame of brood from another hive.
We turned to #2A, which we last looked at about three weeks ago. At that point, the queen had only laid one frame of brood, which we stole to give to #2 to make a queen to replace a drone layer we had to pinch. Fingers crossed!)
After seeing how much brood some of our other hives had, we were a little concerned #2A might have a queen issue as well. The first box we looked through did little to alleviate those concerns. There was some brood, but there was also a fair amount of drone brood.
Then we got to the second box.
Our worries were for naught. There was plenty of brood and bees, and a big healthy queen.
On to #4.
We marked this queen ourselves, and you can tell. The color is meant to be on her thorax, but I missed and hit her wings.
But look at the difference in the coloring of the queens! Interesting, eh?
Also in the lower right picture, you can see a queen cup on the very bottom (you may have to zoom in).
Sometimes bees make these to get ready to make a queen. And sometimes, they just make them just in case. Our bees tend to keep at least one of the “just in case” cups in their hives most of the time, so we’re not too worried about this hive swarming just yet.
If there were a lot of them, or an actual queen cell (or many), we’d be concerned.
Today’s Status Report: Two 10-frame hives with laying queens, and plenty of brood and bees, all ready for their new homes. Now, we just need to finalize their purchase and get them ready for pickup by moving them to the front of the house.
Last night as I was falling asleep, I suddenly thought about what time of year it is and realized I’d forgotten a date that brought an event that changed my life forever.
On 18 March, thirteen years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
It is my cancerversary.
We generally commemorate 18 March in some way. In the early years, we would go out to dinner or I’d cook something special. Lately it’s just been taking a moment to toast being alive and also me having hair.
I didn’t forget because I was doing anything particularly exciting. Monday was just a normal day. I got up, went to work out and visited my mom. Later we went to a bee association meeting.
And so, I am remembering my cancerversary now, grateful to still be here and appreciative of normal days. I also hope to never completely forget that no one is guaranteed a single day more than the one we are living.
In truth, I do forget sometimes, getting caught up in the minutiae of daily living and plans for the future. Eventually, something always comes around to remind me to take a moment to lift up my head and look around.
With all the horrible things going on in our world — and there are many — I count myself fortunate to have many reasons to be happy to be alive.
If you’d like to read about my cancer year, here is a link to my blog, Keeping A-Breast: Cancer Lessons. The lessons are no longer in order, so if you’d like to read them chronologically, you will need to search by number, starting with the Cancer Lesson #1.
It’s been a beautiful day today, sunny and the high 60s — before we plunge back into the 30s and possibly 20s.
Yes, it’s just another typical Ohio spring, where beekeepers have to seize the days of good weather to work in our apiaries. Because we’re retired, we were able to take advantage and do a first post-winter check on the two hives we hadn’t yet done.
Hive #3 was up first. This was one I’d rated in February at about 3 out of 5. (These ratings, based only on what we could see from the top of the hive, can be found here.)
This is what greeted us when we took off the inner cover today. There were a lot of bees and plenty of brood on a total of six frames, with a few being almost full.
Also, we found larvae, eggs, and the mother bee.
Nice wet larvae, moist with royal jelly.
I tried to take a photo of the hive’s eggs, but only managed to get one in the frame.
The egg is in one of the bottom cells, almost in the middle of the row.
Notice how it’s off-center? That’s usually a sign of a laying worker (which you heard about here), but we saw the queen, so that’s not the problem. Sometimes a new queen will take a while to learn to do the job properly, but she is at least a year or two old, so it’s not that either.
I did notice this queen was moving slowly, so perhaps she’s another one who is beginning to wear out. We’ll find out in the coming weeks, I’m sure. And if she is on her way out, she’s still laying enough for the sister bees (workers) to make a new queen. Failing that, we can give them eggs from another hive to make one or, as a last resort, buy one.
Since there was so much brood in this hive, we were going to steal a frame to give to LoLa, our low population long hive, but when we looked in on that one, we saw eggs, larvae, and brood.
Although the queen s laying well, the population will remain low until the new bees emerge. Another frame of eggs and larvae to look after might be too much for them to handle right now so we’ll wait until they have enough bees to take care of an extra frame or two.
Instead, we stole a partial frame to give to #2A since we’d taken that hive’s only frame of brood and larvae to give to Hive #2 (who need to make a new queen to replace the drone-laying one we’d had to pinch).
On we moved to Hive #5, which I had rated 4.5.
Great buzzing clouds of bees! This hive is rocking!
There were So Many Bees! Like how-can-this-hive-be-so-full-so-soon? Like a strong-hive-in-the-middle-of-summer population. Like okay-this-is-a-bit-extreme quantity of bees.
Like a hey-we-need-to-split-this-hive-pronto situation!
There were eight — count ’em — eight frames with brood (including drone) and/or larvae and/or eggs. And this time, I managed to get a picture of some eggs.
Compare the egg placement in the cells below to the lonely single egg in the picture above, and you’ll see what I mean about being in the center or not. You may have to zoom in.
Did I mention both these hives had plenty of pollen and honey?
No? Well, both these hives had plenty of pollen and honey, with more pollen coming in. In fact, all seven hives have been foraging like mad! They were even out a few days ago when the temperatures were in the low to mid-forties, which I don’t recall seeing in the past.
But since today was so warm, and Hive #5 was so full, with plenty of brood and food, we discussed going ahead and splitting it right there and then.
Then we realized the equipment we needed was in the hangar, we decided to temporarily put another box on with some comb and honey to allow them space to breathe. We’re hoping for a window of good weather to split it tomorrow. It’s way early, but we don’t want to take a chance on losing them to a swarm.
To sum up, the status of our hives is as follows: LoLa — Watch and add frames of brood as their population increases. #2 — Hands off until the start of April, unless we can pop up the top box to look for queen cells. Hope they are making a queen. This hive is one we will be selling once it’s queenright. #2A — Check to see if the queen has revved up at all; add brood as necessary. Another hive we will be selling once we are sure it is strong. #3 — Monitor population and split as drone population increases. Keep an eye on the queen. #4 — Monitor. Make sure queen is good before finding a new home for this hive. #5 — Split as soon as possible, then monitor for rearing of a new queen. #6 — Monitor; split if needed.
I mixed up a bowl of Small Hive Beetle bait and have been refilling and cycling out the old dried out bait in the traps. The nematodes are also ordered so I’ll treat the soil once the threat of frost is gone. That seems to help keep down the SHB population.
In addition, we’ve treated all the hives with Super DFM. I’m convinced it makes a huge difference in preventing Nosema (kind of like bee dysentery).
As soon as all the hives are rearing brood, we can check for Varroa and treat if necessary. Also, The Engineer has swarm boxes he’s going to put out, mostly in the hope of catching our own bees if they swarm.
Those are all the upcoming tasks I can think of right now. I’m sure I’m missing something, but at least this helps provide a small window into beekeepers’ lives in the spring.
There it is … the not-so-good news. Actually a bucket of sad, wet, dead bees is bad news, and there’s no two ways about it. It’s a horrible sight.
The dead bees are from LoLa, and honesty compels me to admit that related to the photo above is the equally not-so-good news that there are only about two frames of living bees in that hive.
At least the situation didn’t come as a complete surprise, since we had already discovered LoLa had a moisture issue. And this was our first winter with a long hive, so we’ve learned a few things and will adjust our wintering plans for the hive to prevent this happening again.
Now, for the better news: There was a small amount of brood and larvae on both the bee frames, along with the queen. And they have plenty of honey.
How does a beekeeper handle a hive like that? Well, these beekeepers cleaned up the mess, scraped out the majority of the dead bees, and removed the extra frames. Next, we pushed the bee frames — along with a few honey and pollen ones — to the dry(er) end of the box. with a follower board to keep the bees from wandering around in the empty part of the hive. .
Then, we moved on to Hive #4. Much better news (bordering on great, actually)! The hive was not only full of bees, with only a few drones (see yesterday’s saga), and — drum roll, please! — five frames with brood, larvae, and eggs! Two of the frames were full; the others were partial. We also saw the queen, busily doing her job, though we caught her for a moment to do a somewhat sloppy job of marking her.
We selected a partial frame, making sure it had future bees in all stages of development, and slotted it into LoLa. In adding only a partial frame, we hoped to give the workers no more brood than their small population could care for.
Next up was Hive #6. This hive was also full of bees with about four frames of brood, some partial, some full.
That queen was already marked, and we easily found her as well.
We stole a frame with eggs, larvae, and brood from this hive too, adding it to #2 to give them an even better chance at making a new queen.
Two more hives to go! Unfortunately, it’s supposed to get cold and snow this weekend, so we won’t be able to get into those until next week.
Also, we did see a few hive beetles, one of the banes of keeping bees in a yard that’s not very sunny. All the hives have beetle jail traps , which we’ve found to be quite effective, but I need to make up some fresh bait.
Gosh, I hate those little b—–ds, almost as much as I hate Varroa!
I’ll let you know how accurate my guesses turn out to be.
And now, for a bit of shameless self-promotion: Since we’ve decided to downsize to five hives, #4 is one of the 10-frames we’re parting with, and she’s ready to go. A complete hive including woodware (two deeps, screened bottom board, inner cover, telescoping cover and a medium super for honey), overwintered bees, and an Ohio queen (also overwintered) who is laying — all for about as much as some people charge for a nuc. And this hive is strong, so if we were keeping it, we’d expect to have to split it soon. We’d rather let someone else do the work on that, so, if you’re an Ohio beekeeper looking to grow your apiary, drop me a line.
When a beekeeper finally gets the chance to look into a hive after winter, there are several things s/he is hoping to see — plenty of bees, food, a frame or two of brood, maybe even the queen.
This is what we expected when the weather temporarily warmed enough for us to begin full hive checks. After all, we already knew all our hives have enough bees and food to make it to the spring flow.
Turns out we were right … to a point.
First, we opened #2. Oh yes, there were plenty of food and bees, but why were there so many drones?
If you’re a beekeeper, you already know where this is going.
Here’s some background for my readers who aren’t beeks: A queen bee normally doesn’t start laying drone eggs until later in the spring, when resources are plentiful enough to support bees that don’t do any work inside the colony. (To be fair, research begining to show drones do play more of a role than previously believed.)
Seeing drones usually means swarm season is coming, but March is (usually!) too early for that. Later in the season, we can expect to see a colony population with about 10-15% drones.
This can be confirmed by looking at the hive’s frames. Both a drone-laying queen and laying workers lay only drone eggs.
This is because a drone-laying queen has run out of fertilized eggs, while a laying worker never had them. An inspection will reveal only drone brood, with no worker brood to be found. (Click through to posts with pictures of each.)
Now, I know common lore says only mother (queen) bees can lay eggs, and for the most part, that’s true. However, if there if a hive is queenless (not queenright), without her pheromones to dampen the workers’ ovaries, the sister (worker) bees can begin laying eggs. And in their effort to make a new queen, they do. They know a queenless hive is eventually a dead hive so they are desperate to replace her.
The problems with this are two. Because workers haven’t mated, their eggs are all unfertilized (drone) eggs. They can’t make a queen of one no matter how hard they try. And because these sister bees have shorter abdomens, they can’t properly straddle the cell opening and end up laying multiple eggs in the cells. Again, doomed to failure.
This is a Big Problem, and the link above explains how it needs to be handled. (Hint: It isn’t an easy process and rarely worth the effort.)
It’s not surprising she’s outlived her usefulness.
Although this situation isn’t as dire as having laying workers, it’s bad enough. Fortunately, the beekeeper can fix the problem by pinching the old queen and giving the hive a new one.
A new queen can be purchased (at a cost of about $45 plus shipping if you don’t live near a queen rearer or store that sells them), or you can let them try to requeen using a frame of brood — preferably including some eggs so they can start from scratch — from another hive.
Because we’re cheap, we usually choose the latter option, even though it take a lot longer.
So, on we went to hive #2A, looking for some eggs. We found plenty of food, lots of bees, the queen (spotted by The Engineer this time), and one frame of brood, with some very tiny larvae.
Since mother bee was clearly laying and healthy, we stole the frame of brood for #2. We also know the queen in #2A is from last year because the hive was a split from #2 (hence, the name #2A), so she should be good until at least the end of the season … or until the hive decides otherwise.
We then went back to #2, pinched the queen, smearing her remains on the top of a frame, gave them the frame of brood, closed the hive, and crossed our fingers.
Smearing her guts on the top of a frame may seem like overkill, but it supposedly spreads the news more quickly that the hive is no longer queenright. And the sooner they start making a new queen, the better.
When beekeepers rear queens by grafting (way too much work and math for me!), they start with tiny larvae, so even though we didn’t see eggs on the frame, we are hoping #2 can still raise a queen from the minuscule larvae.
On another topic, I had hoped to do mite checks on #2 and #2A with my new “Varroa Easy Check” cup. I’ll be honest, although we’ve been diligent about treating our hives, we’ve been less so about doing the mite checks afterwards. After watching our bee inspector use one of these cups, I was impressed by how much easier it made the process. Now, I’m determined we will make regular use of ours.
Unfortunately, checking mites involves taking bees from brood frames, and I wouldn’t expect to get an accurate count from one frame (or none). The task will have to be completed later, maybe in a few weeks when the nectar is really flowing, and the hives are feeling confident enough to really get going.
The next time it’s warm enough (maybe this weekend if we’re lucky), The Engineer and I plan to go through two more hives. If we find an abundance of brood, we may borrow some to replace #2A’s loss, to add to LoLa (they seem to have the smallest population) and/or give to #2 if they haven’t made any queen cells from the frame we gave them Monday.
Note: We have had laying workers in the past, and at the time, everything I read said they wouldn’t accept a new queen. Both times, we discovered the problem after we’d already purchased the new mother queen, so we introduced her anyway, allowing a long time for them to get to know her before giving up and releasing her into the hives. Through sheer dumb luck, both times, the queen was accepted, but I wouldn’t count on this happening in the future.
It warmed up enough Wednesday to pop the hoods on the hives so we could check the food levels. All seven colonies had at least a reasonable number of bees, though the amount of sugar that had been eaten varied.
I took pictures of each and decided to compare them against the ones I took last month. The results are mixed.
Hive #2: Population increased, and once again they had gone through the backup sugar. I rate this one a 4 out of 5.
Hive #2A: Fewer bees, but still a reasonable population under the sugar. They get a 3. (Number 2A indicates this was a split from 2 last year.)
Hive #3: More bees eating more sugar. 3 out of 5.
Hive #4: About the same amount of bees eating more sugar. 3 out 5.
Hive #5: Picture on left is January; other two were this week (bottom of inner cover and top of frames). Population remains strong, and they are going through the sugar. Graded 4.5. This one will need to be split early.
Hive #6S: Again, the left picture is January, the other two are inner cover and top of frames taken this week. This hive is booming, eating voraciously, and will need to be split early. 5 of 5. (Number 6S indicates this was a swarm from last year’s #6.)
LoLa Hive: Top left is January picture; the rest were from Wednesday. Population has declined, and there were again many bees dead from dampness. We removed all the dead bees and everything damp and took off the plastic piece we’d put in to keep them from chewing the foam insulation. It is clearly doing more harm than good. We remain cautiously optimistic because there are still at least as many bees as come in a package. Grade is maybe 2.75-3.
We saw a few bees bringing in pollen of various colors frrom greyish-yellow to yellow to bright orange. Where do they find it?
All hives got more sugar, SuperDFM probiotics, and a small amount of pollen substitute. We decided to add pollen to the mix after talking to a beekeeping acquaintance at our club meeting. The queens will be laying by now, and there is little pollen (needed to raise brood) available for foraging. The concern with adding pollen is if you add too much too soon, it may encourage them to increase the amount of brood before the hive has the resources and bees to support this.
We decided to add just a little to the sugar we were feeding to support the brood that is already being raised.
Today there’s been a little cold snap, but it’s forecast to warm up again at the start of the week. We plan to use the opportunity for an Oxalic Acid treatment to knock down any mite load the hives might be carrying.
March is the when most hives fail. The queens start to lay again sometime after the winter solstice, and sometimes a hive’s food supplies aren’t enough to support the number of mouths it has to feed. As a result, they may starve. Alternatively, if the winter bees begin to die off before there is brood to replace them, there may not be enough bees to do the work necessary to get through to spring.
Thus, we wil keep a close eye on food and population levels and continue to supplement as needed until spring has truly arrived, and they are able to find enough food to support the hive.
Eventually, it will warm up enough to do a full inspection, and we may steal brood from the stronger colonies to add to the ones that are smaller. We’ll also make more definite plans on which to split and when to do so.
You probably know this already, but Port wine comes from Portugal. More specifically, the wine is made in the Douro River Valley, then transported to Gaia (officially Vila Nova de Gaia), across the river from Porto, to age in the many cellars (also called lodges) located there.
The barrels used to be moved downriver by boat, but evidently the producers lost a lot of wine that way, plus it took a while, so now it arrives by truck — less romantic, but more efficient.
It’s also interesting to note that the industry was established by the English, and for a long time, most of the cellars were owned by British companies. Thus, many of the lodges still bear names that are distinctly non-Portuguese — Churchill’s, Graham’s, Cockburn’s, and Taylor’s to name a few.
Anyway, if you do happen to be in Porto, visiting a Port lodge (or many) is the thing to do, and on our last day in Portugal, we headed downhill and across the river to do just that.
Side street mural
First we tried Sandeman but were told somewhat brusquely by a security guard that they were closing for lunch until later that day. Then he firmly shut the gate in our face. We reckoned the closing for lunch thing was an industry standard, but strolled back up to Calem just to make sure.
Happy surprise! They were open, and the next tour was in forty minutes. We immediately registered and paid, then retired to the restaurant next door for a drink.
Thirty-five minutes later, we were in the Calem museum waiting for our tour to begin.
I’m not going to try to explain how Port is made; I couldn’t even if I tried. But we enjoyed both the tour and the tasting afterwards.
I was also gratified to learn that 1961 was not just a good year for me (being born and all), it was an outstanding year for Port!
My brief fantasy of buying one crashed with the sad realization that such an expense would be wasted. We probably wouldn’t know the difference between that year and any other.
Our tasting featured the white and dry, the 2018 single vintage (not a blend), and the 10 year tawny. I did not like the white at all, though of course, I drank it — it was alcohol, and we’d paid for it after all. The single vintage was quite tasty, but we both liked the 10 year tawny best, so in lieu of the ’61, that’s what we brought home. 🙂
Afterwards, we decided it would be a good idea to have some food to balance out all the alcohol, and we went back next door.
I’m sharing the menu because I loved the “Tiny Hot Dog” and “Aunt Helena’s Stewed Gizzards” options. Also, I’m not sure what a veal cheek is, and don’t all eggs have to be broken in order to cook them?
We stuck with the familiar — The Engineer had Chorizo with Bread and Cheese, and I had Stuffed Bread with Four Cheeses, Bell Peppers, Olives, etc. It was — and I never thought I’d say these words — almost too cheesy, although very flavorful.
Thus fortified, we made our way back to the hotel, pausing to take the occasional photo.
Tiled church with icon – GaiaView of Calem Cellar from across the riverIgreja de Santo IldefonsoThese dogs appeared to be waiting with varying degrees of patience for their master(s?) to return.I liked the juxtaposition of the old (the fountain) and the new (graffiti and scooters).Teatro Nacional S Joao — Note the incredible detailing on the stone work. Details of Sao Bento Train Station MuralsWe saw these stores everywhere with their cows, which they park in the doorway or wheel just outside. It was raining again, so this one got an umbrella. Interestingly, despite the name, the shops had nothing to do with ale or hops. Instead they sold woolly hats and other accessories. The aptly named Majestic Cafe — we didn’t eat here, only admired its facade.
We left Portugal the next morning, arriving back in Cleveland about twenty-four hours later. It was snowing heavily, but even without my jacket, I stayed warm under several sweaters, a heavy shirt, and my hat and gloves.
The roads were treacherous from the slush and snow, but at that time of night, there was very little traffic, and we arrived home safely.
Thank you for going on a vicarious trip to Portugal with my posts. I hope that you will seize the opportunity with both hands if you ever get the chance to visit there.
The Byrd and the Bees 