"Winterizing"

The bees are "winterized"—their entrances reduced, mouse protection added, and sky-blue sheets of Styrofoam insulation placed atop and along the false back of every hive.

Two of three look good to go. The third seems a little quiet, but time will tell. All three hives have been left their honey; I didn't harvest this fall and it will be interesting to see whether, with nothing stolen from them, they make it OK. So much depends upon the weather; the weather, luck, and whatever secret strengths or deficits reside inside those mysterious wooden hives with their brilliant clusters of thrumming beings.

Geese are passing overhead now, not just daily, but hourly. And so begins the countdown to winter which, for me (and for the bees?) is really just a countdown to spring.

On Golden Pond

Got a little freaked out on Friday afternoon when this sulfurous yellow dust appeared on the surface of our pond. Being perpetually conditioned for bad ecological tidings, my mind immediately went to thoughts of evil pollutants and Hazmat suits.

Happily, after some eco-sleuthing (walkin' & lookin'), I realized that the "deadly fallout" was actually pollen blown by high winds from the locally abundant bog willows (one of the first pollen producers of spring).

Thus was my eco-fretting averted. Bouyant spring mood was restored by the unassuming little willow shrubs/trees that give the bees plenty to work with, pollen-wise, when they need it most. Joy to see the plants abuzz with honeybee industry and the butter-yellow pollen baskets of the workers arriving at their hives.

Lilac: The Original Purple Heart

I had some serious pruning to do a couple of weeks ago, and much of it focused on some very old lilac bushes that, after eons of neglect, had grown tangled with dead and fallen wood. It took me three long sessions over three days to do all the pruning, clearing, cutting, and hauling to get the site where it needs to be.

During this time, I remembered how deeply I enjoy cutting wood with a handsaw—especially on cold days. Along with being a warming exercise, the physical and aural repetition associated with sawing is profoundly meditative, as is the opportunity this activity brings to explore the wood and the plant's habits up close. The tangible sense of accomplishment at the end of the task is icing on the cake.

As I began clambering around the tangle of old lilacs and sawing off some of the most accessible of the many dead and damaged branches, I noticed for the first time the burgundy and pinkish coloration swirling in the heartwood—like compacted candy canes or splashes of wine. I guess it should be no surprise that a plant as lovely as the lilac should have a trick or two up its sleeve. Here's what I discovered as I worked.I also enjoyed the diverse textures and coloration of various lichens, mosses, and fungi colonizing the dead branches.Below you can see that the lilac offers not only beauty, but utility. Rabbits foraged on it this winter when food was scarce, and squirrels helped themselves to the malleable wood—presumably for nesting material (and perhaps as a food source). In nature, as we know, nothing is wasted.

Where Would We Bee Without Willows?

I spent a marvelous afternoon in the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens on Wednesday, bee-watching. Finally getting a few minutes to post images from the happy outing.I saw many honeybees working the crocus, lenten-rose, winter honeysuckle, and Cornelian cherry blossoms—all good things to plant if you're a city gardener looking to provide the bees with forage in early spring, when their options are limited and their need for pollen and nectar sources is great.

The really hot and heavy bee action on Wednesday afternoon was to be found at an unassuming pussy willow shrub that overhangs the little stream that runs through the center of the garden. At this subtle yet marvelous (and marvelously useful) plant, hundreds of honeybee workers painstakingly filled their pollen baskets with fiery-yellow pollen to bring back to the hive. There, other workers will store the pollen or, more likely, mix it with honey to make "bee bread," a nutritionally rich food that combines pollen-protein with honey carbs. This will be fed to the larvae and young bees to raise the next generation of strong, energetic workers, who, once they have matured a few weeks from now, will carry on the whole cycle again, drawing from a different mix of blossoms than those available in this, the first glimmers of spring.

Bee-Watching @ The Liz Christy Community Garden

The Liz Christy Community Garden, at the corner of the Bowery and Houston, is a fabulous little gem with the distinction of being NYC's first community garden.

Not much is in bloom there yet, but the lone honeybee gathering pollen from the miniature tulips generously allowed me to grab some nice shots of her beautiful self with my iPhone. With assistance from the afternoon sun, she cast lovely shadows on the tulip's petals. (As always, click the pic for a bigger, better view.)

Honeybees on Crocus

Seen in a garden in Franklin, New York, on Sunday afternoon, just before the snow shower of later that evening. Much pollen-getting! Ants were at it, too. Click photo for bigger shot.

The Queen of Serious Moonlight (& Other Delights)

We had a fun, sunny, and productive holiday weekend—nice change after a week of cold and rain.

Got a quick peek into the two new hives, Moss Garden and Serious Moonlight. Both hives are building comb nicely. Here you see the bees getting started on building comb on a new top bar.
During our "hive dives," we got a glimpse of the queen of Serious Moonlight. She's the big bee marked with the blue dot at center, left. (Click the photo below to enlarge it so you can see her.)
Found this beautiful striped spider on top of one of the hives.
Had to evict a wasp who was beginning to build a nest underneath the hive lid. Beehives seem to attract quite a little ecosystem; it's always interesting to see what turns up on and around the hives.

We had our first official guest of the season this weekend (Swarmcatcher Karen) and she, Wren, and I disbursed some free wildflower seeds kindly provided by Haagen Dazs as part of its Help the Honeybee campaign. More on that adventure—including (possibly) a little movie—soon.

My Birds

MY BIRDS

Bobolinks everywhere—especially in the apple trees—chortling their drunken song.

Brown thrashers collecting nesting material by blueberry bushes.

Oriole chasing crow from oak tree.

Indigo bunting perched on dead plum tree, excruciatingly blue.

Chestnut-sided warbler following me down the road.

Shy male wood ducks at Big Pond—no matter how quietly I approach, they fly.

Flicker calling from—blending in with—gray snag in pond.

Yellow-bellied sapsucker right outside the window!

Cute-faced peewee at margin of field and wood.

Song sparrows hidden in shadow of hay bale.

Blue jay perched forlornly on spiky plum branch.

Yellow warbler with saffron-colored necklace—reminds me of Nepalese markets’ piles of yellow and red curries.

Purple and house finches back in town, paired, and mating in the linden.

Wren family taking up the birdhouse in the bee yard.

Hummingbird back on its favorite perches: aged birch and dead ash by outhouse.

Robins nesting in tall white pine.

White-crowned sparrows in raspberry brambles.

White-throated sparrows rustling behind the shed.

Yellowthroat, high in the black locust, chest lit by morning’s brief sunlight—announcing himself proudly.

Redstart singing by Kroger’s Pond.

Great blue heron in slow-mo flight, carrying huge sticks toward nest site on northern ridge.

Catbirds flirting in the lilac bush.

Red-tailed hawk hovering over dandelion-covered field.

Canada geese calling beyond the tree-line.

Ovenbird heard, never seen.

Thrush crying its sad song at dusk.

Phoebes perched on the lawn chair, hunting by the barbed wire fence.

Mourning doves paired on telephone wire.

Mr. Bluebird waiting on a branch above the beehive.

Nighthawks calling, high in sky, as evening grows warmer.

Screech owl—I think—whimpering in the pine grove as Holsteins pass below.

Turkeys rushing away up the road ahead.

Swallows everywhere, testing their prowess along the surface of the pond.

Goldfinches chasing each other through tightly woven firs.

Rose-breasted grosbeak reminding me to put up the feeder.

Tufted titmouse waiting impatiently for his turn at the suet.

Chickadees playing chaperone as I get slightly lost in the forest.

Warblers and sparrows I can never find in the book.

These are the birds I belong to.

Recent Things

The weather hasn't been great for bees—pretty cold and gray. But they get out when they can, and yesterday what remained of the apple blossoms (following days of heavy wind and rain) was in receipt of considerable attention by bumblebee and honeybee alike.
The road strewn with fallen blossoms.
The joyous surprise of finding columbine at the edge of a neighbor's woods.
A dog who doesn't let the weather report ruin his fun.
A cool ornament at our favorite farm stand on Route 28, near Phoenicia. (Truly the robins are everywhere.)

"Installing" Our Packages of Bees

"Installing" is the term commonly used to describe the process of transferring a package of bees (normally a 3-pound box of about 10,000 bees, plus a queen in a separate container) into the hive body in which the colony will live out its life—whether that structure is a top bar hive (shown below) or a Langstroth hive.But "installing" seems like the wrong word—it's so machine-age, so icy. In reality, the process is thrilling, exhilarating, scary, amazing, and humbling, at least for this still-new-to-it-all beekeeper with only two hives to fill and all the time in the world to experience the sense of wonder and awe that proximity to honeybees accords. So let's go with the less automaton-like verb, "hiving"—it's more precise, anyway.

Happy differences between hiving our bees in this, Year 2, as compared to last year:

• My entire body wasn't trembling with fear;
• I managed not to drown a million bees in the process of getting them into the hive; and
• the weather cooperated (last year, a serious nor'easter approached as we raced to get the bees in, fed, and settled).

The other big difference this year was that Wren hived her first package. She did great—very cool and collected, and got most of the bees into the hive very well. Did a better job of it than I did: far more bees in and got them in calmer. (Something about hiving bees scrambles my mental circuitry. That's me below, doing the Etch-a-Sketch Rag—a not-recommended way of getting bees out of the box and into the hive body. I definitely need to work on my technique!)

Still, the bees made it in relatively unharmed, if somewhat "shaken up"....
Earlier that day, we'd left Brooklyn to pick up our two packages of bees from our new friend Andrew, purveyor of Andrew's Local Honey from Silvermine Apiary in Connecticut.A man of many talents and seemingly inexhaustible energy, Andrew's also started a cool new organization called Bees Without Borders, whose mission is to provide beekeeping skills that can help alleviate poverty throughout the world. Check it out and consider making a donation to help this worthwhile effort get off the ground. (Read the Village Voice article about Andrew here.)
Andrew provided all the bee-buyers (most of them totally new to beekeeping) with a great demonstration on hiving a package.
He showed us how to carefully remove the queen cage from the package.He showed us the queen cage, where the queen (the reproductive key to the colony's survival) is cared for by a few workers until the colony accepts her "queen substance" and releases her by chewing through the tiny candy plug that keeps her safely ensconced for a few days.
He showed us how to gently spray sugar syrup to keep the bees calm and a bit distracted prior to the hiving process. ("A pint to a pound the whole world 'round" refers to the syrup recipe beekeepers use: 1 pint water to 1 pound of granulated sugar.)
He demonstrated how to carefully remove the can of syrup that the bees travel with, which leaves a baseball-sized hole through which the bees are then shaken into the hive.

He showed us how to get the bees in.
Lots of bees in the air, lots of excited giggles and nervous questions and awe-stricken expressions and worries about getting stung (which didn't happen). It was great to see so many people taking an interest in bees and taking the plunge into the world of beekeeping—an addictive pastime if ever there was one.

Everyone was blown away by how the bees, once they sense the queen's presence inside the hive—and once some of the bees begin signaling "this is home!" using pheromonic communication, begin to march in the front entrance en masse, as shown here.

During Andrew's demonstration, Wren rescued a honeybee that was having difficulty extricating herself from a little puddle on top of one of the hives.

Inside the house, we got a look at Andrew's impressive honey collection, with samples from around the world.
After he finished educating all us newbees, Andrew was going to hive these packages for his family's apiary. I think he planned to hive about 100 packages after we left. Like I said: a lot of energy in that guy! Thanks, Andrew! May your bees—and all bees—live long and prosper.