Beekeeping in Croatia Slovenija

I don't know about you, but with spring making its first tentative incursions toward the overthrow of winter, I'm starting to itch for bees and beekeeping. For now, I'm trying to content myself with reading and thinking about honeybees—and gazing longingly at pictures of bees doing their thing.

So I was delighted to find a fabulous new resource for viewing bees who reside some 4,000 miles away, in and around Croatia Slovenija. A gentleman there recently posted an announcement on the Organic Beekeeping Group regarding a beautiful new web gallery featuring pictures of swarming honeybees.
The gallery is called Rojevi ("swarm" in Croatian), and resides on a content-rich beekeeping site called Webpcelinjak ("web-apiary"), which is fun to explore for moments like this and this and this—not to mention scenes like this and this and this. The images above and below are borrowed from a particularly delightful page on the Webpcelinjak site, which includes a healthy dose of historical and nostalgic (Nostalgija) art, photos, and ephemera.
And as if this weren't abundance enough, the site also has also a nice collection of videos, including a series documenting a big ole snake checking out the hives.

The Rojevi/Swarm gallery invites readers to send good-quality swarm-related photos for this gallery to: webpcelinjak at gmail.com. Photos should be 1024 x 768, at minimum. Include your name and the name of the region and country in which the photo was taken.

Many thanks to the beekeepers who put this site together! Your work has greatly brightened the cold, wintry day of this bee-loving Brooklyn girl!

And in other insect-related news...

There's a fascinating new study out on how serotonin (a mood-regulating chemical found in the human brain, as well as in other animals and even mushrooms) triggers swarming behavior in locusts. As a bee-lover and a once and future Swarm Catcher, I'm always eager to read about the fascinating phenomenon of swarming.

Check out the story on National Public Radio.

Read the Press Release (dated 1/29/09) from the American Association for the Advancement of Science entitled Serotonin Brings Locusts Together.

Learn more about that fascinating substance, serotonin.

And, while you're at it, get the real dirt on how soil-borne bacteria can spark the production of serotonin and turn us all into "happy campers."

Does Beekeeping Run in the Family?

I'm sure it's a total coincidence, but it is a pretty funny coincidence, that yesterday a swarm of bees chose my brother and his partner's old farmhouse for their new home. The house-hunting seems to have started in earnest on Saturday, with a few scout bees checking out the side of the building and flying around the window.

Apparently the scouts liked what they found, because on Sunday, more bees arrived to take a gander—enough bees to warrant a call to the beekeeper sister (moi). While I was on the phone with my brother and his parner trying to assess what was going on, a swarm descended en masse in what they described as a "snowstorm of bees."

By the time Wren and I got there (and we drove pretty fast), the swarm-excitement had passed and the bees were hunkering down in their new quarters. Here are some pics snapped with iPhone as the swarm made its way into the hole beneath the window sill.
The issue now under consideration is whether to leave the bees be, as it were, or have them removed. Thoughts? Votes? Opinions? Insights? We welcome them all.

Bronx Bees

SwarmCatcher Karen brought to our attention this New York Post item about a recent swarm in the Bronx: BRONX BEESTS.

It's good to know honeybees are thriving in NYC—along with the Post's punstering prowess.

Urban Swarming

My birthplace, Manhattan's Upper East Side, was the site of a bee swarm yesterday....A modest swarm that chose a newspaper distribution box as its temporary stopover en route—had all gone according to plan—to a new home of its choosing. Read all about it (and see the amusing video) here. Happily (and surprisingly), the New York Post's reportage was fairly sympathetic and it sounds like the urbanites actually enjoyed this exciting natural wonder. The bees were safety relocated by beekeeper Jim Fischer, shown above.

(Thanks to Karen for the tip.)

The Sad Eros of Abandonment

Strange confluence of the foreclosure crisis in Florida and homemaking honeybees. Don't miss the rather amazing video, "The Beekeeper's Lament."

Honeybee Decision-Making & What It Can Teach Us

Recent research on the process by which a swarm decides upon a new home from among the various choices identified by the scout bees. The swarm's decision is made relatively quickly and remarkably well. No small feat when you're talking 10,000+ individual bees.

A Swarm's Whereabouts

Orange Hive swarmed, for the second time, on Labor Day weekend. In the morning, we saw the swarm high up in a tree near the hive, and by late afternoon it was gone to parts unknown.

Last weekend, Wren and I were taking a walk down the road and lo and behold, there were the bees in a hollow tree. Interestingly, the entrance was an eye level, which kind of surprised me. I would have expected them to choose a more elevated location, but what do I know?I'm not sure why so many of the bees were clustered outside the entrance, but there they were. The entrance hole is the little dark spot in the midst of the bees. Foragers could be seen going in carrying pollen, so I guess at least some comb has already been built.Unfortunately, this late-swarming group has a thin chance of surviving the winter—just not enough time to build enough comb, store enough food, and do the reproductive work needed to ensure a large enough cluster of bees to keep the tribe warm during the long, cold winter. On the other hand, the autumn weather has been kind thus far, with warm days continuing and no hard frost due for at least another week.

I've learned a lot this summer about being sure to have enough volume in the hive to accommodate the rather astonishing population of bees that can build up in a healthy colony in a relatively short time. Three swarms and a hell of a lot of bearding bees have taught me the hard way. I really like the design of the top bar hives I have been using, but suspect lack of space may have been a problem for me and the bees. A friend is building me even bigger top bar hives for use next spring and I am hopeful that this will alter some of the crowding dynamics I witnessed this year. Only time will tell.

For now, I hope you'll join me in wishing the best to the bees who set up housekeeping in the hollow tree down the road. I'll provide updates if and when there's something new to report.

Live! The Swarm! On Video!

I guess video isn't really live, but these days it's pretty close. I was so blown away by seeing my first swarm (nearly a month ago today) that I kind of flipped out and started repeating myself (and talkin' a bit like a Beverly Hillbilly), but I'm sure you'll overlook that and focus on the truly amazing phenomenon at hand. Enjoy!


After a few intense minutes of flying through the air with the greatest of ease (even in a very high wind), the swarm alights on a small sumac, where it clusters around its queen.

Afterswarm(s)!

Rebel Rebel had been settled in for a week and the memory of the swarm-dramas of latter day June had begun to fade. Some guests came by for lunch and I proudly gave them a tour of the bee yard. We were standing by Hive Orange while I held forth about my recent swarm-catching (mis)adventures. Suddenly, one of the guests fixed his gaze on a sumac a couple of yards behind me and murmured, What's that?!

We all turned our gaze to where he motioned.Yes, it was a swarm in the tree! Actually, an afterswarm. Whereby a colony, having already "thrown a swarm" in which some bees depart with the old queen while others stay in the hive with new queen cells decide, once those queens hatch, to create smaller swarms with the new queens leading the excursions. (Confused yet? Don't even try to keep up with the bees; they are much more complicated than we can possibly fathom.)

My guests felt they'd gotten more than they'd bargained for (in a good way). I was baffled. I was intrigued. I was also, to paraphrase Vladmir in Waiting for Godot, growing weary of this motif. It was hard not to take this afterswarm personally; were the bees so disgruntled with my beekeeping skills that they were going to afterswarm themselves until the hives were empty?

I also found, to my surprise, that swarm catching is a rather addictive pursuit. Once again, the bees were temptingly located on a low branch—why not take them? But no, I fought the urge; I'd had enough drama for one summer. I decided to let the free-spirited bees go their way in the world—may fortune smile upon them.

I did enjoy watching the swarm cluster alter its shape over the next day or two, in response to warmth, cooler weather, and mild rains.

Two days later, a second afterswarm appeared in another sumac at the edge of the bee yard. This time, I was fortunate enough to see the bees swarming in the air—a deeply energizing sight—and form a small cluster on a very low branch.By now, swarming was becoming a way of life around here. Each day, I wandered to the bee yard a few times to check on both swarms. The second, smaller afterswarm disappeared after two days; the first afterswarm continued to hang around, tempting me with its presence.

Slowly, inexorably, the idea of capturing this afterswarm gained traction. Several factors contributed to my succombing to the siren call:

(1) I was becoming hopelessly addicted to swarm catching. Is there a 12 Step Program for this sort of thing? (We admitted we were powerless over the swarm....We came to believe the bees could restore us to sanity...etc., etc.)

(2) We were due for very severe weather in the form of Biblical hailstones the next day.

(3) The swarm had stayed put for more than four days, leading me to wonder if there was a shortage of affordable honeybee real estate nearby or if the group simply lacked the necessary get up and go to make it on their own.

(4) Most importantly of all, Rebel Rebel was looking a little undernourished, bee-wise, and I was beginning to suspect that I'd failed to get the queen in during the multi-part hiving process or that part of the colony had left with many bees, or both. With no queen, Rebel Rebel was doomed. With a shortage of workers, the colony was endangered. I knew there was a queen in the afterswarm cluster and the idea of adding this queen along with a pool of workers began to seem like a bright idea that just grew brighter—until it became a blinding force.Compare this paltry action at the threshold of Rebel Rebel to the pictures of the boisterous colony in its first few days, as shown in the preceding posts.

For the second time in as many weeks, a hapless weekend guest was enlisted to help with the hiving. My partner, Lauren—who'd missed out on the original swarming and swarm catching, much to her dismay—was also here, and the three of us were up at 5 the next morning to catch the swarm and combine it with Rebel Rebel.

The hiving was the polar opposite of my previous experience. It was calm, quiet and utterly peaceful. The entire afterswarm was transferred (by our guest—perhaps this is why it went so smoothly) on its branch directly into Rebel Rebel. Not a single bee was dropped, lost, harassed, or traumatized. We closed up the hive and left the two groups in Rebel Rebel to get to know one another. By late that afternoon, the groups had joined forces, the branch was empty of bees, and the hive appeared to be humming.

Who says country life is boring? Never have I been this overstimulated by my life in the city.

Swarm Saga, Pt. 3 (A Forcible Reunion)

I was up at dawn the next morning to check on the progress of the two groups of bees. Needless to say, in spite of all my wishes, hopes, and dreamlets—the two contingents had not merrily reunited overnight, but remained in their separate spots: half the colony in the Brother Fax Box clinging to their severed branch, the other half in the Office Max (OM) box I'd designated as the bees' temporary hive until the real hive arrived from out west.We were getting nowhere fast. Having interrupted the bees' natural swarming process, I felt a responsibility to try and get everyone together in the OM box and put an end to this stalemate. The probability was that I'd failed to get the queen in the initial hiving and that, instead of residing the OM box, she was with the second part of the swarm, in the Brother box.

Determined to set things to right, as competent rural people say (or so I've read), I marched back to the shed, put on my beek suit, marched back to the bees, whispered a few niceties to them ("Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me."), opened the OM box, and, as gently and effectively as I possibly could, dumped the thoroughly unamused Brother box bees into the OM box. Then, my left leg shaking uncontrollably as before, I closed up the OM box, placed a tarp over the top, and stomped back to the shed. (I did all this without my swarm-catching partner Karen's able help, just to assure myself that I could do it. This was psychologically important, since Karen would be gone by the time the real hive arrived and I would be on my own for the final hiving process.)Once inside the shed, I could hear the buzz of several distraught bees clinging abjectly (so I thought) to the back of my bee suit. Feeling badly for all I'd put these brave bees through, I stepped outside and returned to the hive so the girls could rejoin their colony. Aside from guilt about repeatedly bothering the bees, I felt the colony needed every bee it could get. I slowly removed my veil, unzipped my suit, and began gingerly removing it so as not to jar the bees on my back.

One millisecond after my hood was off, one of the clinging bees zoomed around from behind with the speed, professionalism, and precision of a fighter pilot and stung me on the chin—nothing abject about it. It was kind of funny and I couldn't help but side with the bee; I so deserved that!

I was shaken, but felt that I'd now done everything I could to get the colony together, in one place, while we waited for the real hive body to arrive via US Mail. I began to pray to the US Postal Service as a drought-ravaged farmer prays for rain.

Unfortunately, the bees didn't seem too happy in the OM box. They hung out on the front of the box in mass quantities, and began to set up little clusters in the gaps between the tarp and the box, and under the box, and along the concrete blocks on which the box was positioned.
It was going to be Big Fun getting them all into the real hive once it finally arrived.

Swarm Saga, Pt. 2 (Mission Accomplished...Not!)

Yep, me and Karen were feeling pretty damn proud of ourselves after ketchin' that swarm....(Man's dominion over nature, etc.)

I was riding on an abundance of post-swarm endorphins, happy to find that my left leg had finally stopped shaking, feeling very King Bee.Karen was fine-tuning her "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" Beek-in-Flight moves.
Yet all was not entirely rosy. At least half the swarm appeared to have re-clustered in the sumac from which only hours before we had so painstakingly and incompetently removed them. (And here, I mean the royal we, since Karen bears no responsibility for any of this insanity.)

OK, so all those bees that landed on my suit and on the ground and in the air—plus any of the scout bees that were off premises looking for a good home far, far away from Gerry Gomez Pearlberg during Swarm-catching Attempt #1—all of these bees were now back on their branch, perhaps with the all-important queen, without whom the colony is doomed. Sigh. It was fun the first time, so why not do it all again? I felt terrible, but the colony had to be united. A bee colony is a superorganism whose survival depends on the sum of the parts.


In a painful case of deja vu all over again, the Brother fax box was brought back out from the shed and placed under the sumac in which this most unfortunate honeybee clan had cast its lot. This time, we clipped the branch on which they rested and gently laid it in the Brother box. The bees were pretty calm this time; too blue to protest, I guess. Or perhaps they appreciated the gentle treatment.
We placed the Brother box directly in front of the Office Max Recycled Copy Paper box, in the hope that a happy reunion would ensue.
The Brother box contained a rather astonishing number of bees. It was amazing that I could have missed or misplaced so many of them in the initial swarm-catching effort. Learning Curve Alert #79!

I had a funny feeling the queen was in the Brother box...in which case, everyone would probably leave the Office Max box and go into the much more exposed (and vulnerable) Brother box to rejoin their hive mother (who, in a Chinatown-like twist, is also their sister...but let's not go there at this time).

We decided to give it overnight and see what the bees decided to do. But before departing, I posed proudly by the box. I really need to stop doing that—it's bad beekeeping luck!

Because as you see, we still hadn't accomplished our mission! (Yes, it's political allegory, all right.)

This last group was easy to grab, and we added it to the Brother box and left the bees to their own devices.

But first, one last pose with the honeybee popsicle.


To be continued...

Swarm Saga, Pt. 1 (I Take A Notion)

This is the story of how not to hive a swarm of bees.

Last week, on the Summer Solstice, the bees from both Hive Orange and Green Hive took to the road. One swarm left without saying goodbye, but I was lucky enough to get to see the other swarm take to the skies with a collective roar before landing in a small sumac in the bee yard.
The sumac was a temporary home for the bees whilst scouts went out in search of a better home—a nice, hollow tree or some other suitable spot to set up shop.

Seeing the swarming process was a thrill. Once settled in the tree, the bees became so quiet you wouldn't even know they were there. An astonishingly powerful force of nature, yet so vulnerable and humble.

Initially, my intention was simply to let them go their way and lend their numbers to the feral honeybee population. Several factors, including the bees' relatively accessible location, soon shifted my thinking toward the idea of trying to capture the swarm. I'd already ordered an extra hive body from my top bar hive supplier, though it hadn't yet arrived. That wasn't ideal, but with the new hive winging its way through the US postal system, I expected it in a matter of days. The notion of catching and keeping the bees in a temporary setup seemed to take on a life of its own. "Why not try it?" my local beekeeper said when I called to ask his advice, sealing my fate.

Somehow, catching a swarm seemed the next logical step in the beekeeping adventure. Plus, it sounds so damn cool: catching a swarm. Let's face it, in spite of all my deep ecology philosophizing, I share that horrible human urge to tinker with natural processes better left to their own devices.

By later that evening, I'd begun to think it might be possible to make it work. My intrepid friend Karen was visiting for the weekend and seemed game for the adventure. She took the shots below.

First thing the next morning (4 a.m., actually), Amateur Hour Carpentry had re-opened for business and there was duct tape, screen mesh (for ventilation), and corrugated cardboard everywhere. We built a temporary holding box for the bees and prepared to capture them. (The advice I'd received was to temporarily house the bees in a cardboard box with a separate, fitted lid—like the kind office paper comes in. But I didn't have one of those boxes and didn't want the swarm to up and disappear, so we created this initial holding pen out of an old fax machine package. Why catch a swarm of bees in just one step, when you can do it in three?!)

The calm euphoria before the decidedly non-euphoric storm. As you can see, the cluster was very quiet and subdued—no problem getting close without protective gear...so long as you don't bother them.

Spraying the cluster with sugar water to calm them before seriously bothering them.
The open box was placed under the cluster, the branch on which they'd gathered was inelegantly shaken, and bees fell by the hundreds into the box—and on my suit, and on the ground. By this time, there were many bees flying around in a rage—or was it a feeling of fear and betrayal?
The box of bees was closed...

The bee-brush Samba—an attempt to remove some of the bees trying to sting me through my jeans. Who could blame them?

Back in the shed, my bee suit removed, I have a delayed reaction to the self-inflicted trauma of being surrounded by thousands of flipped-out bees and decide that there's a bee on my neck that wants to kill me. I freak, but Karen assures me it's just a bit of torn cloth from my bandanna. She takes this picture to prove it, but for an hour or so I have paranoid delusions of bees crawling on me.

We rush to Office Max and buy a ream of paper in order to acquire the proper type of box. A minor drama ensues regarding the location of the recycled office paper (why do they make it hard to find that?!). Another small drama ensues about the time it takes to check out (forever!), though we are the only people in the cavernous store in a ghost-town of a mall for which acres of pasture were paved (and people wonder why all the pollinators are disappearing).

Finally, we're out of there and back to Amateur Hour Carpentry so the box can be screened for ventilation and entrance holes drilled to allow the bees to come and go (and forage) while we wait for the real hive to appear.

The bees are transferred into the new box.

And the box is placed on the same stand where the real hive will be located. Bees have very sensitive navigation equipment and would have trouble making the transition to the real hive if the location was suddenly changed.

Mission accomplished, we're feeling pretty good. Karen gives the bees some sugar water to cool them off and rejuvenate them a bit. We're both relieved that, after two transfers, the bees are now set up and can relax in their temp home. We're Swarm Catchers, and we're feelin' mighty fine!

Except for this....


To be continued....

And then there were three...

Last evening at dusk I was able to place the swarm in its new home. I've affectionately named this third hive Rebel Rebel, but a more apt name might be Patience of a Saint. They really did go through a lot with me (Learning Curve Alert!) and I hope things work out for them now.