The Swarm Arrives

We got our bees today!

A few weeks ago, Jordan and I joined our friend Neil for a workshop on beekeeping. Neil has a hive in his yard, and I'm always glad to run into him and ask about his bees. Although his hive is the traditional Langstroph box type, he is actually a proponent of topbar hives and natural beekeeping. A traditional hive is essentially a stack of wooden boxes filled with a set of frames. The frames come already set up with supporting wires and a foundation: sheet of beeswax (or sometimes plastic, sadly) imprinted with the hexagonal honeycomb pattern. The bees build their own comb on that template. Over the years, beekeepers have gradually increased the cell size stamped into the template, since bigger cells mean a bigger honey to wax ratio--more production per hive. Sounds good, right? Well, maybe not.

We all know the bees are in trouble right? Mites, pesticides, GMOs, cellphone towers, destruction of natural habitat--people aren't really sure why, but commercial hives and wild bees both are dying off, with alarming consequences for the world's food supply. I'm guessing it's an evil synergy of all the abuse we pile into our environment. And some of it is only compounded by the way commercial bees are cared for. Most beekeepers depend heavily on chemicals to keep their hives alive; in much the same way a dairy farmer might resort to bgh to boost milk production, beekeepers use all sorts of medicines and tactics to increase honey production. And, just like the factory dairy farm and its poor cows, a lot of these practices seriously derange the hive's natural operations and defenses.

Enter the top bar hive, which is widely used in many parts of the world, and is growing in popularity among back yard beekeepers in the US. Part of its appeal is that it's very simple structure, that anyone who can use a saw and a hammer can make. In its most basic form, it's a manger shaped box, with rails acrosss the top--the top bars--and a roof. At Neil's workshop, we all pitched in, measuring and cutting wood, nailing the boxes together, gluing in the slender shims (well, ok..popsicle sticks!) the bees will use as the anchor for their comb. Materials ran about $40 for each hive, and we made at least eight that day. In a top bar hive, there are no frames, no premade large-celled foundation. The bees are in charge of making the comb the way they want it. In our version, each rail has a guide--the popsicle sticks--glued into the center, to serve as a place for the bees to start builing from. This little bit of guidance is what allows the beekeeper to be able to remove the bee products--honey, comb, pollen, etc,without damaging the entire hive.

http://www.livingoffgrid.org/top-bar-bee-hive-perfect-for-backyard-beehives/

But what does the hive style have to do with keeping bees healthy? As Neil explained it, bees don't have much of an internal immune system. Part of the bee's defenses come from thier food. Bee products like honey, propolis and royal jelly are all antimicrobial--humans have been using these remedies for centuries. (Next time you burn yourself in the kitchen, put some good raw honey on the burn and wrap it up for a few hours. You'll be amazed how rapidly and painlessly you heal.) Besides their food, the hive's immune system is behavior. Bees are relentlessly clean, a contingent of young workers is in charge of patrolling for dead sisters, intruders, grime, and parasites, all while constantly grooming each other and the brood. And this is where the honeycomb cell size may just be critically important.
It's harder for bees to properly clean the larger cells, allowing parasites like mites to escape detection when workers tend the brood. According to some beekeepers practicing the top bar method, within a few generations, bees in a top bar hive will choose to reduce the comb cell size back to that preferred by wild bees. And the hives stay healthier.
Neil's got a source for hygienic bees--so called because they have great grooming habits--from a beekeeper down near Orlando who doesn't use chemicals. When we did the workshop, he wasn't sure he could tack on more orders to that of the last class--bees are largely pre-ordered--and we were prepared to wait a few months for our hive.
Which brings us to today. Today, we got our bees. And we were not at all ready. "What?" I said, "We haven't even painted the coop!" (I've been keeping chickens a long time...) We hadn't bought any gear, like a smoker, or a net hat, or...anything.

So we scrounged for some exterior paint and I picked up a few things--cinderblocks to put the hive on a hummingbird feeder (I'll get to that in a second), and a bag of sugar. I never buy sugar, and I ended up doing it at Walmart, where I almost never set foot, so it felt weirdly momentous buying a 5 lb bag of generic white sugar from the evile empire. New bees need to be fed, while they set about getting to know their new territory and building comb. Sugar, being essentially nutrient-free, is not a perfect food for bees, but it will get them through transitions or times when there isn't much food about. I'm told you can feed honey, if you are sure it is untreated, raw, disease free and chemical free. If you are unwise or unlucky, you can kill your bees and infest your new hive. I went with sugar.

I picked up the bees from Neil after work this evening. He lets me choose from two wooden boxes full of bees. I pass my hand before them; they're both generating a rich pulse of warm air. "This one, I said, it's louder." I secretly theorize that means they'll be tougher. Neil patiently tutors me through how to install the hive, and I repeat it back to him to be sure I have it right before I carry the bees back to my truck. I put the crate of bees on the floorboard next to me. I like to explain things to animals, and there's a long tradition of talking to bees, so on the way home, I introduce myself. "Bees," I say, "I know you've been through a lot the last couple days, but you're almost at the end of your journey. My name is Kathy, and I live in the woods. That's where we're going. There are lots of trees, and..." I tell them about the forest, and close the air vent so they don't get chilly.
At home, we prepare. Jordan sets up the freshly painted hive on its blocks; I brew sugar syrup and hang up the feeder. I tack in two little brass nails as spacers so the bees will have an entry point in front of the rails. We gather a smudge stick, a few tools, and put on long sleeve shirts, tucked in and buttoned. (Neil said when he installed his, wearing a short sleeve shirt, four bees went up his armpit.) I wind my hair into a bun.

When we had everything to hand, I carried the little crate of bees around to the hive. Bees go into swarm mode during transportation, and inside the crate I watch the "beard" of the swarm gently sway as I crossed the yard. They're buzzing furiously, shrilly, and I get a little nervous. It's a sound to set your pulse racing! They sound mad.
"Bees," I say gently, "this is your new yard. And here's your new house." Jordan gives them a little sage-and-lavender smoke, and the volume subsides from furious to merely surly. Smoke makes bees settle down and think about food: If there's a forest fire, why then, we need to fill our bellies with as much honey as possible and fly away! We all breathe a couple breaths. It's important to be calm, and careful, and think good thoughts. It's a test.
"We're probably going to get stung, Jordan says. It's inevitable. "
I shake my head. "I trust our bees. I think it will be fine. "A little more smoke and the bees hummed, softly.
With a screw driver, I pry off the cardboard door on top of the crate. There are so many bees on it, I don't know what to do. Eventually I set it down in the hive, carefully, slowly, giving the bees time to move out of the way and not get squished. Bees bubble out of the opened cage like beer foam out of a mug, covering the top. I reach through them to free the food cup, and then the queen's little capsule, her retinue clinging as I handed her off to Jordan. By now, bees are everywhere. Checking us out, crawling on our hands. Breathe. I turn my palm up so the bee there won't feel trapped, and she travels over my hand a moment before lifting off. There's a buzzing cloud around us now. Jordan gets the queen's cage ready to hang and sets it aside. There's at least one bee moving up my pants leg! Breathe! It quickly encroaches into sensitive territory, and I have to stop what I'm doing to pull down my britches and let it fly out. Bees everywhere.

"Okay, bees," I tell them. I'm going to shake you into the hive now." This is the scary part. You upend the box, and shake it, vigorously, over the hive. I think this is where things could go bad, so I take a couple breaths and try to embody trust. Shake, shake, shake. I shake them five times, until most of them are in the hive. I only thought they were everywhere, before. Now they really are, clouds of them, flying fast and buzzing. Neil said there were about 10,000, and I don't know but I think a third of them are in the air. Still, no one has gotten stung. We're breathing. Jordan slowly, slowly, sets the top bars in place, then suspends the queen from the last bar. It's done. We ever so gently lower on the tin roof, and step back.

By nightfall, all the stragglers have made their way into the coop. All, so far, is as it should be.