Darn. On Friday, I finished my second in-depth inspection of my one hive. (That involved thoroughly investigating the bottom box, which in my hive is larger than the others, and is what beekeepers call a "deep"; hence, inspecting is pretty much by definition "in-depth". Heh, heh.) I say "darn" because I squashed a few of the bees. That was the first time, I'm pretty sure. Previously the frames were light enough, and not so sticky with propolis (an all-purpose, ultra-sticky sealant made in large part from tree sap that the bees create to seal any/all cracks in their hive) that I'd had an easy time maneuvering them. Not this time. They're Buckfast Bees, the distinction of which I'll aim to explain in a future post. For now, it's helpful to know that, among their many noteworthy qualities, they are a breed of bee known for prolific propolis build-up ... more stick-um and sealant throughout the hive, and I'm going to have to get used to it, I suppose.
While beekeepers say it's pretty much impossible not to crush several bees during each inspection, I was hoping to avoid that. My objective is to give life, not death. The thing is, there are so many bees -- at this time of year, with a successful laying queen, every day there are as many as a thousand or more bees more than the day before -- that the hive is profoundly crowded. For all I'd read, and for all the photos and videos I'd seen, nothing prepared me for the sheer numbers of bees that would be living and working the hive. So, beyond the propolis, which reduces ease of the manipulation of the inside of the hive, the nature of the stacked boxes made of pine, with their inch-thick walls, means that each time a beekeeper places one box on top of another, as careful as they may be, they (meaning me) are going to kill some bees. I am really, really unhappy about that.
As you've already done the math in your head (impulsively and unavoidably, I'll bet) it's true: that means that by Father's Day weekend, in three weeks, which is the next time I plan to inspect the hive, there may be some 15-20,000 more bees in the hive than there were this weekend. So, as you can see from the photo above, which is of your host holding a full deep frame, the inside of a hive is crazily crowded.
As you can see (click the photo above for a larger and more detailed view) the mass of mature bees on the frame I'm holding, below them are thousands of cells, capped dark brown, that are filled with growing, as yet unborn, bees at various stages of development. I recently read an estimate that each of the full frames has some 35,000 cells between the two sides. That brown cell capping is thin enough to be air permeable, to allow the larvae to breathe. (Honey cells are capped with much lighter colored wax that's thicker and completely seals off the cell.)
Now figure something like ten of those frames in a box, 3/8 of an inch apart, and maybe when your sibling is next sitting next to you in the backseat of your parents' car, and she's on your side, you won't feel so conscious of the invasion of your space. (Yes, human space is more than 3/8 of an inch, I'll grant you that.)
The lesser estimate above, of a 75,000 increase in legs within the hive(@ six per hbee), is to factor in the natural honeybee deaths, as well as births. Aside from the queen, who can live a few years or more, hbees typically live two-to-three months -- and literally work themselves to death, wearing out their bodies until they're no longer able to be fully functional. When that happens, they typically fly or walk away, and die. Some who study Colony Collapse Disorder see the empty hive syndrome as being an aspect of this quality: a sick bee will leave the hive, possibly to avoid spreading illness throughout the entire population. As such, a hive that's full of sick bees will be evacuated in quick order.
I also got stung for the first time. It wasn't so bad -- no swelling afterwards, as I flicked off any bit of the stinger almost immediately -- but it was sharp and startling. As I had previously anticipated how it would happen, I was stung by putting my fingers in a place and not first looking to see where I was placing them: a no-no when most space is covered by stinging insects in motion. In this case, it was just around the corner of a frame (like the one I'm holding in the photo), but I wasn't looking, and made the mistake of being stung. One big plus is that now I know I'm not fatally allergic to honeybee stings: and a rather big positive that is. (Or perhaps even remotely allergic, I should add, which is pretty good, too.)
Earlier in the day, I donated blood, and -- big surprise, right? -- got into a conversation about beekeeping with a worker and another donor, who for a while has had a notion of getting a hive. He asked several very specific questions that, after he had admitted his interest, he explained were the result of mulling over the idea of getting bees, but not knowing anyone who maintained a hive, didn't pursue it. I gave him my name and number, and invited him to come by for a visit. The woman who works there said, "I do this because it gives back. That's what you're doing with the bees, too." I was pleased with the thought, and immediately added to myself, "...And I haven't killed any bees, either!" But it's only one hive that I have, and it hasn't been a full month, so it's far too early for that kind of statement. Additionally, of course, later in the day I did kill some bees. (I'm really not pleased with that fact.)
All done for now. Wishing you healthy and happy hives of your own, and excellent weather, too.
Mig
