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Honeybee_ Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper - C. Marina Marchese [22]

By Root 615 0
special handling of the queen. Then he handed me two small hive-frame nails and asked me to bend them to ninety degrees with a rock. I had forgotten what these nails were for, but I obliged. Next I removed the outer and inner hive covers, and the top deep, as well as five frames from the bottom deep, in order to create space for three pounds of live bees to be poured into the hive. Three pounds! The idea was thrilling and dreadful at the same time. Then, with the hive ready, my moment had come. I held the box of bees by its corners and banged it on the ground a few times, so the bees would fall to the bottom of the box. Oh, they did not like that one bit! Next, using my hive tool, I pried the small wooden plate off the top of the box and removed the tin can full of sugar water that had been placed inside for feeding. Then I replaced the wooden plate on top so the bees could not escape. Once the can was out of the way, I slowly slid the wooden plate to the side again and removed the queen cage. Once again I slid the wooden door back in place.

HIVING THE QUEEN AND HER COLONY

The queen cage is a small box, not much larger than a pack of chewing gum, with a screen on one side and a sugar cork sealing it closed. Inside the box, the queen travels safely along with five or six female attendants who groom and feed her. This cage needed to be removed from the main package and placed in the hive before the rest of the colony. Now here was where those two bent nails come into play. Mr. B instructed me to stick them into the top of the queen cage so that it could hang between two frames inside the hive. With another nail I poked a hole into the sugar cork. Over a period of about a week, the worker and attendant bees would eat away the sugar cork until the queen was released from her cage. Then she would be free to meet her family and spread her pheromones throughout the hive. I hung the queen cage with care, with the sugar cork facing up, in the space where normally the fifth hive frame would fit.

The easy part was over. Now it was the time to open the bee package and pour the bees into the hive. I gave the bees one more squirt of sugar water for good luck, and then I grabbed the bee box with both hands and once again pounded it on the ground. I took a deep breath and moved aside the wooden plate for the last time, exposing a circular hole the size of the sugar can that was removed earlier. Immediately, bees began to crawl up and out of the hole. I had to work fast. I stood, feet planted to the side of the open hive, turned the box upside down, and begin shaking and pouring the bees in as quickly as possible. That box was heavy and boiling over with thousands of live, seemingly unhappy honeybees.

QUEEN CAGE

I wish I could say that my first hiving experience was uneventful, because, in truth, most hiving experiences are. But as it turned out, my bees were not in the mood to be poured that day. Instead of funneling into their new home in an orderly fashion, as is usually the case, my bees became defensive and agitated. These were not like the docile Italian honeybees I met last month at Mr. B’s apiary. These bees crawled all over my veil and began to sting me through my blue jeans. Unfortunately, once a bee is provoked to sting, she releases an alarm pheromone warning other workers that danger is afoot. This is the signal for the other bees to defend themselves, their honey, and their hive, and more stinging ensues. A few curious bees had already found their way under my veil and down my bee jacket.

I panicked, which was exactly the wrong thing to do.

I screamed and ran away from the hive, removing my veil and even my bee jacket. I could hear the bees buzzing in my hair as if trapped in a spider’s web. Mr. B shouted after me to remain calm, and that the more movements and swatting I did, the angrier they would become.

But I was already frantic. I screamed, “Get them out of my hair. Help me!”

Mr. B took his hive tool and began flicking the bees out of my hair. Finally, not without several more stings, they were out. Mr. B. showed

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