From A to Bee

by James Dearsley

  Quite aside from all of that it was quite an exciting day for me as I saw an advert in the back of Beecraft, the beekeeping magazine, for a nucleus of bees for sale. After closer investigation I realised it was for five frames of bees (about 5,000 apparently) complete with a 'laying queen'. The price of £150 is quite high really if you consider what you are getting for that money. But then as beekeeping seems to have become the 'in thing', I suppose they can charge that sort of money.

  I was having some discussions with a blogging friend of mine about this sum of money and basically the crux is whether I definitely want to start beekeeping this year. The cheapest way to get bees is to hand your hive (or parts of it anyway) to your local association and then wait. You hope that as swarms of bees are recovered from around the local area, your hive is the one that is picked. I wonder if it is like those games you play on Brighton Pier which are a complete rip-off – you know, the ones with the mechanical arm that looks like it will pick up the fluffy bunny, nips its ear, starts to pull the bunny up and then, just as the pincers close, the ear miraculously escapes… There is no guarantee this way that you will get a swarm. However, there are a lot of beekeepers in the association and so there must be a chance that a beekeeper forgets to check their hive or doesn't see the tell-tale sign of a hive wanting to swarm (large cells known as queen cells are what to look for apparently). When the old queen gets the hint that the colony is raising a new queen, she will take a good proportion of the older bees and fly out of the hive to find a new home elsewhere. Generally this will be local to the hive for a period of time while they try to find a viable new home. If a swarm is reported there are people within local associations that will go and retrieve these swarms offering the bees a new hive to take up home in.

  I was told of a little poem that beekeepers are said to remember when dealing with swarms. It goes like this:

  A swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay;

  A swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon;

  A swarm of bees in July isn't worth a fly

  Essentially the earlier in the year you can get a swarm the better. If you can get an early swarm, then there is more chance that they will become established and you could get a good crop of honey from them.

  Alternatively, if you buy a nucleus, you will have bees, simple as that.

  I have also learned that having a nucleus, despite the expense, is also good for the beginner. As the frames of bees grow, so does your experience and confidence. If you are lucky, you may get some honey at the end of the year as well.

  I think that I may try both. I might just have to make contact with this gentleman, to see how many nuclei he has.

  There is one more option. You can put an empty hive near your house and hope that there might be a passing swarm that may be vaguely attracted to the colour, aspect, size and smell of the lovely empty hive that has appeared on the horizon. It sounds a complete shot in the dark but could be worth a try as, except for the effort of taking a hive and planting it on the ground somewhere, it doesn't sound like there is a lot to do. There are ways to increase your chances of attracting a swarm to a bait hive, the name given to a hive for this purpose. You can rub propolis into it – a glue-like product produced by bees – or rub other bee-friendly smells into internal walls like orange or lemon peel.

  Either way I have to pick one of these methods and make a decision. No bees mean no honey!

  The last bit of exciting news is that my local beekeeping association is having a 'frame-building' day next week – which, as it happens, is the same weekend that I will be building my first hive (hopefully I receive it in time through the post). A year ago I would have laughed at the chances of going to a frame-building day… What have I become?!

  Finally, today I was able to get out into the garden and plant some shallots and onions as well as do a general clear up. It felt really nice to be in the garden again and the weather held off, which was a bonus. I had a really enjoyable day with Jo and Sebastian, running around the shops and then going to a playground in the afternoon. It's great to actually have time as a family; a rare commodity at the moment due to work commitments and other friends and family commitments. We do too much! Tomorrow: working, driving up to Birmingham, on to Bolton and then home again. Not the nicest way to spend a Sunday.

  FEBRUARY 28

  Though it is a little bit late to do this, today was an important day. I felt Sebastian was old enough to learn how to chit potatoes, even if it meant doing this from his high chair. On reflection, I am not quite sure he has yet grasped the importance of letting the potato sprout before planting and still sees the potato as an object to throw or nibble on.

  In my family the potato is the most important of all vegetables and I have fond memories of my formative years helping Dad on the allotment to dig them up. It was always as if Dad was as amazed as I was every time the fork lifted up and lots of lovely, dirty-looking potatoes came spilling out of the earth. I remember distinctly Dad's love for pink fur apple potatoes and he and I would always marvel at the bizarre and silly shapes that would come out of the ground.

  In thirty years' time I wonder if Sebastian will have the same nostalgic feelings for the vegetable that I do. I will do my best to ensure that he does and it all started today while trying to describe to him why we place potatoes into half-sided egg cartons to let little sprouts develop. I am not sure he was too impressed but I think he felt it was a great break from his usual shape-sorters where he attempts to put brightly coloured squares into circle-shaped holes. This was a breeze compared to that and despite looking distinctly unimpressed by his first attempts at potato chitting he was actually rather good at it. Now there is a job for life in my book.

  MARCH 1

  Spring is officially on its way. Goodbye February, hello March. I have to say it was one of those days when you draw the curtains and the first thing you notice is that fella Jack Frost has made an appearance. In the half-light you can make out a hazy sun rising as well as seeing the wildlife around you waking up to a beautiful dawn.

  It is generally accepted that Britain is a pretty miserable and inhospitable place when the weather is foul, and it has been for about three months now. However, today was an exception. It was stunning and it's amazing what a little bit of sunshine does for you. Today, Monday, was great for many reasons and it all started with the weather.

  I live in the middle of nowhere and good God do I know it. Having lived in London for many years, the move to the country was a welcome relief; but the most fundamental change, alongside the saddening realisation that I couldn't walk out of my door to a choice of pubs and restaurants, was the fact that I really noticed sunrise and sunset. I cannot tell you how much I despise the clocks going back in the winter when the commute to and from work, which by that time is already in semi-darkness, is plunged into pitch black. We don't have streetlights out here so you really, really notice the dark. However, one of my favourite times of the year is fast approaching and it is simply gauged by the sunset I witness. Each day, driving home at pretty much the same time, days just seem to last that little bit longer and though it's only about two or three minutes a day, it's enough to lift my spirits an incredible amount. Today was one of those days; the first day I have noticed the last strip of light as I was driving home. How wonderful.

  Arriving home, I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, and standing there at the top of the stairs was Sebastian. At the top of his voice he simply shouted 'Dad-dy!' Now I have got the odd spattering of 'Dad-dy' before but not with such annunciation and sheer joy. What a lovely coming home present from my seventeen-month-old son. He then proceeded to run off and cause havoc with his fire engine but, by that point, I wasn't really worried.

  This has also been a nice day because of the dawning realisation that this is the week that I could get my hive and could be building it at the weekend – whether the hive arrives or not, I will be building frames for a beehive, courtesy of my local beekeeping asso
ciation. Though a little apprehensive, as it will be my first meeting with them, I am looking forward to getting my hands dirty.

  There is one final positive point about today, though, and that is about the old beekeeping neighbour of ours, Anne Buckingham whose Saab I used to clean every week for extra pocket money; my parents must have bumped in to her while walking the dogs and Mum phoned this evening to tell me. Her garden was beautiful with a great slope covered in flowers and she had kept her beehives high up on the outer perimeter. It may explain, on a subconscious level, why I felt drawn to beekeeping. I always remember the yellow spots of pollen we used to get on the washing when it was hung outside not to mention the spots on the car which were impossible to remove. Mum always came in and stated it was because of the bees down the road.

  Now, what I didn't realise was that Anne was, and still is, very active in the Surrey Beekeepers' Association. What a wonderful coincidence. I have asked Mum to see if she would mind me popping over for a cup of tea and a little bit of advice to steer me in the right direction. Maybe this weekend after I have built the hive… unless I lose my temper while doing the fiddly bits, which I am sure could happen.

  What a nice day; wish they were all like this.

  MARCH 3

  For every good day like Monday, there are some days you are just glad to get through, and today is one of those days. It was all going well until the final thirty minutes before I was planning to leave work and I spoke to one of the staff over in Spain (I work for a company that works mainly in the UK and Spain). He stated that more people were being made redundant today and others were taking a pay cut, some for the second time. We must have seen over 75 per cent of our workforce go now. This is a tough recession; this sort of thing obviously gets you thinking.

  As a result of this I missed my first bee association evening meeting due to consoling some of my Spanish colleagues and reassuring some of my English ones. The insecurity these situations bring is incredible. Thankfully, I feel that is where hobbies come in handy, keeping you focussed and as a result keeping you sane. This morning as dawn broke I went up to water my seeds and saw the little green heads of the broad beans poking out along with a couple of sweet peas. Seeing these little signs of life each year always gives me a boost. A sign of the year to come. I cannot wait to use my recently acquired willow poles to train the sweet peas up.

  In the past I have been guilty of being a workaholic, but I can feel a tide of change. These are tough times. Not only the worst recession for a generation, but also coming out of the worst winter in a generation, tends to change your outlook on things. For me it is a time to reassess my work–life balance. It has started with gardening and will continue with beekeeping.

  MARCH 6

  I am feeling quite overwhelmed today after an amazing day. After the negatives of Wednesday where I missed my first bee meeting, today I did manage to attend a frame-building day, which involved about thirty new, slightly rough around the edges, theoretical beekeepers keen to hone their practical skills. I am sure it is simply a way to get new members building frames for the old members!

  It entailed a nice man giving a demonstration on using the basic elements of woodwork to put together a frame for the bees to lay the honeycomb on. Basically you need some wood, which looked like balsa wood, and eleven small nails which hold it all together. You also need strips of wax as well, which already has some hexagon shapes to encourage the bees (though without the wax they would still make exactly the same shape and size!). It felt a little like The Generation Game as he was able to build this frame in a little over four minutes and then said 'Over to you'! There we were, all keen and eager to compete for the cuddly toy, gathering the wood, nails and hammers to have a go.

  I did the first one in about ten minutes and felt pretty confident about it but then, on the second, realised that one vital tool was missing from my repertoire – pliers! I blithely nailed the wrong section and then got in a complete mess. I desperately needed pliers to pull out the wrongly placed and protruding nails so I could start again. As I was looking at the mess, I realised that I had also managed to put my hammer right through the wax and therefore left a gaping hole in the middle. Not all was lost however, as apparently the bees would fill in the gap with their own design. Amazing; but sadly I didn't think I would get any further in my quest for the cuddly toy. The other contestants just carried on unperturbed.

  It was quite a chilly morning, and they have been for the last week despite fantastically glorious sunshine throughout the day, but you could see a few bees flying around. The site for this frame-building day was just outside the Reigate Beekeepers' apiary, a fenced-off area containing about ten hives. Every time the sun made an appearance, I spotted a few of them flying down to areas with water – I suppose they were gathering some up to take back to the hive – a lovely sight.

  Towards the end of the frame-building it became evident that something I was wholly unprepared for was about to happen. It was suggested that we might actually pop into the apiary and see if the bees were all right after their long winter of cuddling up together to keep warm. I was completely taken aback as I thought today only my woodworking skills would be tested, not my comfort levels, being surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of bees. On reflection I am quite glad that I didn't know beforehand as I would have been quite nervous.

  Anyway, in for a penny, in for a pound… I saw most of the others had gone to get their bee suits. By that time there was only a small and medium left and they were all jackets, not the full-on body armour protection I had expected to be wearing. Being a not-so-slim 6 foot 5 inches tall, this wouldn't be the best start but everyone was already getting going. Richard, someone I had met at the training course back before Christmas, helped me with the veil which felt distinctly weird to have around my face, and then I was ready to go.

  I looked a complete idiot wearing the medium-sized suit and I felt slightly uncomfortable given the amount of flesh on show, especially the large expanse of back that was left exposed by my suit riding up. I had heard that bees love to land and then walk upwards into dark areas – that was all I needed with a sizeable square footage of rump back skin available for them. I was also wearing jeans which I have heard is a complete no-no when it comes to bees as they just don't seem to like them. Let me assure you that bees do not insist on a dress code, at least I hope they don't, but I hear that the fabric of the jeans is not great for the legs of the bees and they can easily get caught which is not good for either party.

  I was expecting to be given some gloves to protect my digits from attack but all I was given was some of those membrane thin ones akin to what surgeons wear. I couldn't quite believe that these would give me any protection and my hands felt very exposed, but these give you far more control than thick leather gloves, which apparently is far better for the bees.

  If truth be told, I felt a little like a teenager given a jumper knitted by their gran for Christmas that was based on a design for a five-year-old, but too polite to take it off.

  I was put in the same group as Richard, and we were introduced to our mentors, Tom and Maggie. As we were marched in like ants, I quickly took Maggie to one side, who looked less likely to judge than Tom, and subtly suggested that it was like taking a lamb to the slaughter with me dressed in the suit. Maggie, fresh with enthusiasm and bursting with energy, just told me that it would be OK and that, to be honest, it was usually the head and eyes that they went for. She rejoined the group as I tried to digest this last little nugget of information. At least I had a veil so I slowly, rather nervously trudged into the line and wandered into the apiary.

  The first thing that struck me as I entered the apiary was how small it was. There were ten hives in total, meaning that in the height of summer they would house over half a million bees in an area probably about 25 feet by about 20 feet – can you imagine if they all swarmed at once! It seemed almost claustrophobically small given the content within.

  Before I could go much f
urther with this train of thought, Tom went right up to the first hive and took the roof off. Underneath the roof was the cover board, the small wooden membrane that separates the world from the bees. There was no time to be nervous but my mouth was getting slightly dry at this point. Would there be many bees? Would they fly all around me? Would they make a beeline for me? As I went into a trance-like state, Tom kindly asked me to move away from the entrance as I would be right in their way as they flew into and out of the hive. Needless to say I moved out of the way very quickly. Tom then lifted the cover board a fraction to puff some smoke from the newly lit smoker inside. There were a few bees crawling around. Then after a few minutes he lifted the cover board off completely and started to remove the frames. I watched, fascinated.

  Tom was checking the level of stores available on each frame; apparently this was necessary as we might need to feed them until they could start to regularly forage again. As he removed a frame to check it, hundreds of bees would fly into the air. It was an incredible sensation to see thirty beekeepers surrounded by thousands of bees that were coming out of the hives all around us and the sound was immense. The buzzing was incredible, and powerful is perhaps the only way I can describe it. Sitting in the garden on a summer's day and hearing a wasp or bee fly by or nestle into the flower next to you is nothing like the sound of thousands of bees flying around you. I suppose I have just come to terms with opening up one beehive and being surrounded by some bees. Seeing this multiplied by so much for my first time was both mesmerising and terrifying. I was struggling to keep calm and put aside the urge to make a run for it. For all of my thirty-one years I have become very apt at avoiding situations with bees or wasps as I was taught that anything looking vaguely yellow and black is going to hurt you. Here I was surrounded by them and as time went on I started to feel all right about it. I think it helped that everyone around me was in the same situation.