Honeybee_ Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper - C. Marina Marchese [39]
When I arrived at their house on typical clammy summer day in the middle of August, little did I know that we would be opening and inspecting every single one of William’s thirty beehives! August, in our region, is the time to evaluate the hives and begin preparing them for winter. When I arrived, Margie greeted me at the door and led me through the air-conditioned house to the backyard. Along the way I spied all types of bee crafts and collectibles. Various bee-themed needlepoint pillows, honeypots, and tiny bee statuettes embellished their home.
“Good morning,” I greeted William from their back porch. William peeked his head out from inside his shed, which served as a honey house. “Are you ready for a full day in the beeyard?” he asked. I smiled and followed him around the other side of the pond to a hidden trail that led through the woods and into the beeyard. There, among the trees, sat William’s prized honeybee hives. He told me he had visited beekeepers in other countries and learned some new techniques of hive management not taught here in the United States. Each of his wooden beehives looked remarkably different from my own beehive. These were not simple Langstroth-style hives. Custom made and imported from Europe, each was architecturally engineered with unique features, like ventilation chambers and two brood boxes. William told me they were called Kerkhof hives. Some were fancy, with two or four entrances on all sides. They looked similar to a honeybee condominium. I appreciated the unique designs, and the idea of having highly stylized beehives in my own yard was very appealing.
Every beekeeper has their own tricks of the trade, and I soon learned there was never only one way to do things in the beeyard. William donned his veil and announced we were going into the first hive. He did not use the typical smoker and fire to puff his bees, but instead used a squirt bottle of brown liquid known as wet smoke. Opening the cover of the first hive, William gave a single squirt to the top of the exposed frames. The liquid smelled something like barbecue sauce, and it did the trick, same as the traditional smoker. Apparently, a little wet smoke goes a long way. Using this handy liquid was quicker than lighting and keeping the flame going inside a smoker, and since we had more than just a few hives to visit, using it was one way to save time.
William then asked me to take out the first frame and tell him what was going on in this hive. I could see that this was a little test for me, and I rose to the occasion. Confidently, I began to pry up the first frame with the end of my hive tool. It was a challenge, as the frame was thoroughly glazed over with beeswax and propolis, which was typical for this time of year. William told me he harvested every single nugget of propolis for making into alcohol-based tinctures. So we scraped and scraped the fragrant, gummy propolis into a jar filled with alcohol, which would slowly melt the propolis down into a liquid state and make it usable. After letting me make a few attempts to lift the sticky frame from the hive, William lent a hand and began prying one side of the frame up with his hive tool. I did the same on my side. All this shimmying made the bees a bit defensive, but I took a deep breath and remained focused on the task. Up came the frame, dripping with brilliant honey and burr comb—a lovely waxy mess. Buzzing contently while I grabbed the whole frame from William, the bees licked the honey from the cells that had been punctured open as the frame made its way out. I held the frame properly, by the corners and at a five-degree angle to the sun. There was capped honey along the top of the frame and much more in the top corners. Near the honey was brightly colored bee pollen, packed neatly inside other wax cells. Tacky propolis lined the sides of the frame, put there by the bees as insulation in preparation for the future cold weather.
I was able to point out the difference