I have bee hives in the corner of my garden.
I would love to call myself a beekeeper but I am reserving that distinction until I get through my first year and have actually managed to keep my bees. That’s what I think makes you a beekeeper. Otherwise you’re just a bee-loser. Or a bee-used-to-haver. I desperately want to be a beekeeper, but only time will tell.
I almost bid adieu to all hope of retaining beekeeper status in late July when one of my two hives swarmed. The only thing that saved me was that I was out in the yard and heard the roar as 30,000 bees took flight and I was able to watch as they settled in a nearby willow tree. It was an incredible sight — the explosion of golden bodies hurtling themselves into the sky before being drawn back to the queen like a 10-pound magnet. Once they formed a cluster they were so quiet I could have walked within a foot of the tree without knowing they were there. If I hadn’t been outside when it happened I would have been a bee-loser for certain.
As it were, I was able to saw off the limb and shake them into a box and set them up in a new hive; so now I have three hives altogether. That’s the good news. The bad news is that they swarmed so late in the season it will be all they can do to gather enough honey to get themselves through the winter, which means there won’t be any extra for me. Like the saying goes, “A swarm in May is worth a load of hay, a swarm in June is worth a silver spoon, but a swarm in July ain’t worth a fly.”
If you’re going to be a beekeeper you need to learn how to provide your bees with the kind of conditions that make them want to stick around. I knew the hive that swarmed was boiling with bees and suspected it should have been divided, but I just kept topping it with supers hoping that would give them the extra space they needed. I suspect that’s just the first of many rookie mistakes I will make in the years to come. And I do hope they will be part of my life for years to come. I knew having bees would be interesting but I never suspected I would fall in love with them the way I have.
Whenever non-beekeepers find out I have bees they seem to only have one question — have I ever been stung? It astonishes me that the answer is still no. As a newbie I check my hives far more often than I should and even though I try really hard not to be, I am a bit clumsy but so far the bees have been forgiving. And it no doubt helps that I usually wear the full bee suit complete with gloves.
When I say I have never been stung I mean I have never been stung by one of my honeybees. This summer I have, however, been stung by three bumblebees and most memorably, a wasp. The bumblebees were in our house crawling around on the floor when I accidentally stepped on them. Not all at once, but one at a time over the space of a couple months. The wasp stung me just last week when I stepped on its nest while working in my garden. I really need to start watching my step.
After treading on the wasp nest an enraged resident catapulted out, bounced off my forehead a couple times and then tangled itself in my hair. As the wasp fought to free itself it became increasingly agitated, revving its motor up to a fine-tuned whine which made me feel quite concerned. Then it started to sting. And that’s when I noticed the rain barrel.
Racing over I plunged the top of my head into the water until the enraged buzzing and biting slowly ground to a stop. I would have felt sorry for the poor drowned wasp if my head didn’t hurt so much. But I have to say, my hair has never felt more silky or soft.
Shannon McKinnon is a humour columnist from the Peace River country. You can read past columns by visiting www.shannonmckinnon.com