Talk of the hive

It is a bright sunny afternoon.  Mum has announced that the bees need checking on, and I jump at the chance.  I find those creatures fascinating; the way they dance and wiggle when they find a new source of food, the way they carry huge baskets-full of pollen in their leg-sacks back to the hive, the way they fan their wings to say that the queen is in, the way they all work together, like an engine made up of a million small parts.  I am truly in love with them.

So I don my dad's white bee suit, bee-proof trousers and wellies and head out into the sunshine, where mum is already setting up the smoker, and getting bits of hive together.  We check each other to make sure we are totally bee-proof, then head over to the little village of white boxes, where the bees, having been cooped up in the wind and rain for a fortnight, are dashing to and fro, excitedly gathering supplies while they can.

The first colony is small, but strong.  Mum runs through each frame, carefully checking it for the expected patterns of brood, pollen and supplies.  I stand by, smoker at the ready, observing carefully, learning.  And as expected, everything is as it should be.

It is at that moment, mum engrossed in the middle of a set of frames, that we hear the Noise.  Uh-oh, trouble.  Mum looks at me, I look at her.

"Follow that swarm!"

"Righto"  I say cheerfully, trundling off in the general direction of the line of bees, now heading in a determined fashion towards the nearest spruce tree.  After some deliberation, they clearly decide spruce is not the word of the day, and settle instead for a small neighbouring bush.  With a sigh of relief that they have not decided to make home twenty feet up the spruce tree, I stand watch over them, in case they decide they really do want to be twenty feet up a spruce tree after all, and move off again.

Mum finishes reassembling the hive, and fetches the customary cardboard box, with 'quality wines, this way up' printed on the side, and some spare board.  We wait.

Half an hour later and the swarm has arranged itself in an ungainly clump around the middle branches of the bush.  We place the piece of board carefully below the buzzing mass.  Mum poises with the cardboard box.  The moment of truth has come.  Get it wrong, and, well, goodbye swarm, it was nice meeting you.  We both hope that when we shake the branch, the swarm will plop neatly into the box, complete with queen.  All that follows, then, is for the box to be placed upside-down on the board, with a space underneath, so that stragglers can follow the scent of the queen in to safety.  In theory.  Mum trims the extra foliage from underneath the swarm.  Here goes... Mum gives the bush a sharp shake.  With a large and slightly irritated buzzing (well, how would you like to settle in after a long day, only to be disturbed again?) the cloud of little black things drop (mostly) into the box.  Rapidly it is turned upside down and propped up with a brick.  For the next few minutes we watch, anxiously, as the (by now slightly confused and disorientated) bees make their way into the box, passing on directions via their feelers and little dances.

Satisfied with our handiwork, we continue with our inspection of the hives.  The next hive we check, comprising mostly of the native black bee, a docile lot, give us no bother at all, and in fact the rest of the inspection passes without mishap.

Without mishap, that is, except for the the quiet buzzing being punctuated by dozy drones bombarding my hat at regular intervals, and the occasional check to see that the swarm is still there.  We move on, from hive to hive; a fuzzy grey newly hatched worker bee here, a bee laden with pollen from the nearby buttercups there. It appears that none of them has lost any of its population... which can only mean one thing - someone else has - and probably won't be too pleased about it when they find out...!

At last it is time to re-hive our swarm.  We listen at the edges of the box, looking for a sign that they are still there.  Alas, over the noise of the few bees milling at the entrance, we hear nothing.  Have they gone?  Mum gingerly picks the box up, commenting on it's lightness. We take it over to it's newly prepared home.  Whilst mum holds the box, I bend down and peek underneath the edge. Oh yes, they're still there, alright.  One throbbing rugby-ball size mass of bees.  Hive prepared, mum shakes the swarm down into the hive, through the frames and into the eek space below.  And then wham!  They are up and erupting out through the top of the frames like some kind of mini volcano.  I struggle to fit the crown-board and lid back on hastily, without incurring too many casualties.

We stand by a while, watching the bees make their way slowly but surely back into their new home, and smile at a job well done.  An almost textbook operation.  Now all that is required is one large cup of tea, and some of those amazing looking home-made biscuits.