Headcount

four live babies, one with brown stripes down its back, three solid orangy brown
1 dead in nest (looks like mom maybe sat on it)
2 unhatched green eggs
1 unhatched brown egg

Cleaned out nest, put in fresh hay. 4 survivors up and about. Attempted to candle the three eggs, all looked solid inside. Gave them back to Starboard and she settled back down on them, so all hope not lost.

Starboard's a mommy!

She actually did it, even with all that up an down and last Monday's two or three hour dereliction (somebody needed a dust bath). We lifted her to peek last night and all the brown eggs had hatched, 5 or6 little brown peepers. She's being a good mom so far.
I wonder if the green eggs were fertile? I'm planning to wait until she's up and about then clean the nest, which is full of hatching detritus and poop. Very stinky, but as I understand it, that's one way a baby chick picks up it's mom's immunities--symbiotic bacteria in poop. Peeked in on her this morning and she warned me off, but a couple little fluffy heads popped up to see what was going on. Cute! At any rate, the eggs hatched right on time, Saturday August 14th, 21 days.

Had a very distressing few moments when I got up to let the birds out this morning. We were so distracted by baby chicks last night that we failed to close the three mini-roos' cage, and there were black feathers everywhere, with two of the mini's standing nearby. Oh noes! It's no tragedy for the Sanctuary--we're presently seriously rooster heavy--but I do like those adorable little guys. (I don't know if I ever mentioned it but last week, the one we always thought was a hen began to crow: three mini roos.) Fortunately--the third emerged from somewhere when I started strewing the morning food.

We visited Dadant yesterday and picked up two veils and a smb trap. I've made a frame for the trap to rest in so it can sit in the top bars and do its job. The frame is long enough to hold two traps, although we only bought one. We're going back on the 21st for a Alachua County Beekeepers party, and I'll get another one. For now I'll just cover the open side. Sources say to fill it with apple cider vinegar or mineral oil, although I don't know why you couldn't use vegetable or olive oil. I thought I'd start with vinegar.

I've bought myself a new bonsai, a little juniper, from the Tony the crazy orchid guy. It's a pretty little tree and so far I've been following his incredibly fervent and explicit care instructions: "Never leave your tree alone! When you travel you give your tree to your mother or a friend!" "Two cups water per day!" "Always have tray, very good, never dry out, never die!" "You mist, like this...!" "Take outside at night, inside everyday!" "You like that fisherman? I make that myself."
There's a bridge and a fisherman in the pot with the little tree, which is a windswept shape with several well grown branches. Tony set a little pool made of blue glass stones--at least one of which is heart shaped--under the bridge. I have a couple ideas about how to proceed, but the great thing about bonsai is that they benefit from long contemplation. No need to rush their process. Just daily attention, daily care, and slow decisions.
The little tree is getting some mold on the dirt around her roots, which I don't see as a great sign, but she looks well enough. I set her out in the rain yesterday afternoon, and just brought her back in now as I write. I'd kind of like to re-pot, maybe easing a piece of limerock under her more exposed roots, maybe replace some of the pea gravel (which Binky declared "tasty food, ladies, come and get it!" when he came across it...) with some pads of moss. But I won't rush that. She's not all that stable in the pot, which suggests a rather recent transfer before she came to me, so I won't move her her again for at least several months.
I'm also imagining a bonsai pot--more of a pan, maybe, made out of that concrete tufa material my mom showed us how to make. Like a rock ledge. I can anchor some copper wire inside to help anchor the tree.
Time to dress for yoga class.

Encouragement

S. paid a visit to the store today, and inevitably we got to talking bees. When I described what Beedicca went through at the beginning of July, his first response was, I bet they swarmed.

He should know. Their bees have swarmed 4 times this year alone, and the most recent one was about two weeks after Beedicca's population crash. We talked it over a little more and he still thought that sounded like a good explanation.
> all that honey was gone: before swarming bees depart, they gorge on as much honey as possible, to get them through their journey.
>The bees were lethargic and faded-looking: the older bees stay with the hive and raise a new queen.
>it was raining a lot, which might have kept them from foraging: we can't find enough food here, so we better move.

He made me feel a little better, less anxious, because Beedicca is thriving again now, and a swarm is not a failure, it's a success. We sent some bees out into the world.

He said he's just come to understand that the bees have reasons for all they do, reasons that may or may not be visible to us, and they do things in their own time and when they need to. All we can do is support them and celebrate their success. And enjoy the honey :)

Hive check

Opened the hive today. About a week ago, I stopped offering the sugar syrup because one refill (about a quart) lasted the girls more than 4 days. I figure that means they've found nectar flow somewhere. In the Sanctuary, plants seem to bloom a bit later than they might in full sun or a little further south. So in the bee grotto, our devil's walking stick isn't flowering yet, but driving around the region I see plenty of it.
At the back of the hive, behind the follower board, the floor is littered with varroa corpses. I saw bees moving them around, and I didn't see any at all on a bee, nor did I see any workers with damaged wings. In the hive proper, at the back where there are unfinished honeycombs, I found several hive beetles, most of them under savage attack by a bee. I dislodged and/or crushed 5 or 6.
The bees are beginning to fill those rear combs, but I wouldn't say we have a surplus, just yet.
In the brood area, I found: no beetles; plenty of fat larvae, and far fewer varroa specks on the floor. The bees in general were very active, responsive, and curious about me.
By the way, I am still working without a veil, and have abandoned our improvised smoker, as well as the long sleeve shirt and long pants. I have been wiping Beat It over my face and shoulders, at first just because the mosquitoes are really fierce this year, but I think it influences the bees too. Guard bees certainly check me out, even hang out on my hands, but they don't get aggressive.
There were far fewer other pests like cockroaches, spiders and ants--in fact I didn't see any at all. I attribute this to the shims Mark cut for me, to replace the bamboo sticks I was using to space the honeycomb bars. The new shims are a much snugger fit and I don't think as many pests can squeeze in. Also, of course, the bees are clearly feeling much better and are doing a better job of defense.
One of the women who got a hive the same time we did reported that her family harvested about 2 quarts of honey from two combs a few weeks ago, so apparently not all the hives ran into that dwindling problem. Her hive is also in town where there are many more ornamental plants providing nectar.
I have an idea that I'm not sure how to execute. In our house, to control roaches, we use common sense techniques like keeping the kitchen clean(ish) and I strew diatomaceous earth around baseboards and under the stove. If things get out of hand I buy those little roach motels. They contain bait, and a poison, and are sized for the bug you want to trap. Pets and everyone else are not exposed to the toxins. I can't help but imagine a SHB sized trap with DE or some other mechanical bug killer inside. The opening would have to be too small for a bee, but the beetles could be baited in with honey and trapped.
At any rate I plan to construct our next hive with a mesh bottom, so those varroa corpses and SHBs will fall through to their deaths onto the DE treated ground below.

In most of the natural world, infection, predators, and parasites are most attracted to vulnerable organisms: the old, the starving, the weak, the already ill. A healthy creature, whether it's a well-nourished human, tomato plant, or bee will have worthy defenses to keep attackers in check. So our goal as beekeepers must be to keep our bees healthy and strong, and not dependent on chemical crutches.
As I battle to rebuild my own immune system, damaged by pollution perhaps, or over-medication, or genetic weakness--it seems to me the bees of the world are on the same path. And although chemicals--medicines--may keep an individual alive, they are no path to a stronger species.

Adventures in Frugality

We live a fairly indulgent life, in our own small way. We're vegetarian, but we make terrific food and there's always plenty of it. However, this week--okay--this month--we've overspent a bit. It's in a good cause: we paid for our cruise and our passports. The expense is right at the edge of our ability to pay--very nearly too much. So I find I need to get a little creative in the kitchen, to use what's in the pantry rather than bring home my usual basketfuls of whatever strikes my fancy.
It's not all bad. For breakfast I fried some leftover cheese grits and baked an omelet with sweet potato greens, a red chili, and basil--all from the garden, with a couple eggs courtesy of the ladies.
Tonight I'm using up a bag of spotty marked-down tomatoes, some leftover cheese, and a batch of hoe-cake style cornbread to make tomato pie. Here's the recipe:

Tomato Pie

Make a half recipe of hoe-cakes, and prepare it like southern cornbread. That is: pour the batter into a hot oiled frying pan, and move it to a 450 oven to bake. After 15 minutes, turn down the heat to 350 to complete baking.

While that's going on, slice 2-3 lbs of tomatoes, not too thin; the tomatoes don't need to be pretty--just ripe.
slice one large onion very thin;
grate a cup or two of cheese, and blend 2 (cheese) to 1 (mayo) with mayonnaise for the topping. This sounds dangerously wierd, but Paula Deane says it's okay, and I trust Paul Deane.
Pick some basil and slice it into ribbons.

When the cornbread is done baking, cover it with layers of tomato and onion, sprinkling each layer with sea salt, a grind of pepper,and some basil. You may need to slice away the top to make a flat crust-- if you do, be sure to save the top. You can eat it for breakfast with butter and honey, or save it to make carrot-jalapeno stuffed something. Spread the mayo-cheese topping over all and return the pan to the oven to bake another 1/2 hour or until the top is golden brown.

This cries out for something alongside, and I opted for Savory Carrot and Spinach Salad. Because I have carrots and the last quarter of a bag of baby spinach. I think the flavor contrast is going to be...piquant.
Grate 4 carrots
crush 2 cloves garlic
1 tbsp dijon mustard
balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper to taste
Toss in 1 or 2 cups rinsed baby spinach leaves.

Hoe Cakes

Made these for the Lughnasad altar, and they were deeeelicious slathered with butter and fig preserves.

Hoe Cakes

1 cup Bob's Red Mill Pancake mix
1 cup stone ground corn meal
1/2 cup hulled hempseed
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp sea salt
two eggs
3 tbsp honey or syrup
3/4 c to 1 cup water
oil for griddle

Blend dry ingredients, and in a seperate bowl beat the eggs with the honey and water. Heat oil on griddle or frying pan. Quickly stir the liquids into the flours, without overmixing, and cook like pancakes, a few minutes on each side. Cakes will puff up. When both sides are browned, remove the cakes to a baking sheet. Just before serving, bake 8-1o minutes at 35o to finish cooking.

Lughnasad: Reaping

We're observing Lughnasad tonight, me and my consort. In the place of its origin, it's a first harvest festival. The reaping of the first ripe grain, the earliest dug new potatoes; the foretelling of the winter to come. The clans would gather to trade and wed in the fullness of fine, hot summer. Lugh himself is only the most recent of warrior gods to lend his name to the occasion, and by his succession he presents the archetype of the new king, the new reaping; it's a time to say goodbye the old and welcome the new harvest, the new fruits of your year's work. It's said that the old king might be sacrificed, by token or effigy, and the new king crowned at Lughnasad.
Of course before Lugh came to the party, there was always the gratitude and joy of the first fresh grain of the year, the Goddess honored with dancing, loaves baked of new grain, feasting, and handfasting--a special kind of handfasting, a trial that could last a year and a day, then be dissolved by returning to the place together and agreeing to part. Deeper than that even, there is the Sun, the male principle, beginning too wane now, even in the fullness of the hottest season of the year, promising the return of coolness and long dark nights.

Here in Florida, it must be said, this is not exactly our best or most promising harvest time. Unless you are a very skilled and dedicated gardener, your tomatoes have long since burned to diseased twigs, and we dig our potatoes in spring. In fact, August is our time of dearth, when there is not much to harvest except a flourishing crop of weeds and mosquitoes. For us, the signs of coming autumn, such as the newly bronzed leaves of the sycamore, are welcome signs of relief from the heat and a new season of planting to come.
Personally, it's my own private New Year. I've just turned 45. This year I've had to come to terms with the unalterable fact that I will never bear my own child. That my family line ends with me and my sisters. There will be no more Whipples on our branch of the family tree. This is unexpectedly sad to me. I didn't see it coming, this grief. Lughnasad, with its overtones of out with the old and in with the new, seems particularly apt to my own journey this year. I'm at the full promise of my maturity, yet the end is in sight. Or so it feels to me today. I must turn my thoughts away from how I will raise my own family to how I might be a mother to my community. In token of this, I've tucked under the altar my childhood rocking chair, meant to be passed to my own daughter in her turn, now empty. With what shall I fill it?
For our Lughnasad altar, we'll have, on a green cloth, a corn cake drizzled with honey from our bees, and some seasonal selections from the yard: a head of wildflower seeds, a sprig of poke berries. We'll thank the Goddess for nourishing us, for the hot rainy summer, the cool springs, the blazing sun. Our feast will be necessarily simple, just a few things dredged from the pantry, lentils and cornmeal, supplemented with what little there is in the garden: basil, chilies, sweet potato greens, two fresh eggs. We'll share a cup of last summer's mead, and maybe talk about what we'd like to leave behind with this turn of seasons, and what we'd like to cultivate next.
Blessed be.