My girls have been working hard. I installed the swarm the first week of November, and they've really been doing well, in spite of having to draw out a whole new set of frames (producing wax takes energy, and energy comes from honey or nectar).
I only took 4 frames, but they were all loaded, wall to wall, with capped honey. I uncapped them by scraping, with an ordinary table fork; I might invest in a wider tool for a cappings scratcher for next time, but it worked okay.
I have a hand-crank 4 frame tangential extractor, so two spin sessions of about 10 minutes did the trick. It went smoother than I expected. Ran the honey through a kitchen sieve to catch the cappings wax, but no heating or anything - straight raw honey, I'd guess about 2 gallons.
Time to make some mead! Tomorrow, though, I'm a bit shattered today. It's sweaty work, cracking a hive open, examining the frames (well, 2 of the 3 boxes anyway), and then all the equipment, cleaning the extractor, lifting, etc. Apologies for not taking photos today.
Oh, and I finally got a sting today - several, in fact. Today I worked the hive without gloves, because it's just so much easier, and cooler. I went quite a while, maybe 20 minutes, before the first girl stung me. Got a few more after that, all on the back of my hands. Very minor. I did put the gloves on, at the very end, because when I was re-assembling their boxes, I knew I'd be squishing a dozen or two (it can't be helped, there are so many of them). And squished bees puts the others in a stinging mood.
The honey is a very pale yellow, and very delicious. I have no idea what the bees are making it from exactly, but probably a variety of sources. It's quite lush around here, and the honey flow is strong. I'll probably take some more honey in a month or so.
I love bees! My neighbor kept bees when I was a child! I bet that honey is wondrous, healing, full of memory and hard work. I want to hear more about it! The field behind my childhood home stretched for countless acres of tall pale grasses and hidden snake holes, all of them covered by swarms of honey bees. They landed on blue bachelor's buttons and the delicate stalks of goldenrod that made my mother sneeze. The bees "belonged" to our next door neighbor, as if thousands of migrant winged aliens living in a city of sand could belong to anyone. He crept through the fields in canvas overalls, carrying leather gloves and a bee-keeper's veil for the times he would dip his hands into the white boxes, small specks from our house, removing mounds of lumpy honey. My friends were terrified of bees. They never walked the field, never put foot softly in front of foot to feel for quail under the brush, never knew an ancient oval piece of black basalt lay at the ridge of Johnson's Hill. I knew these things, felt quail rush beneath my feet, knew the incessant sawing of worker bees floating through the white trumpets of morning glory. My neighbor siphoned angry bees into a glass bottle and gave it to me to hold. I studied hairs on tiny legs, learned to identify workers and sentries and the elusive queen. I carried his bucket to the hives and stood yards away while the flapping wings of the colony added to the gentle breeze, and smelled the rich scent of beeswax and honey he would carry home to bottle and sell. He called it "bee barf" and though he was right it made the honey hard to eat. He looked like a bee, with short stubbly arms and sun wrinkles like stripes across his face. Winter was a quiet time. The field slept, covered in crunchy layers of ice and snow, dead goldenrod encased in fairy tale icicles. My sisters would walk the field these cold days, to Johnson's Hill, unafraid of the frozen bees on the ground around the hives, and by February the snowy grass parted for our sled trails like tracks in a rail yard. One winter I collected frozen bees in a jar. I examined them carefully, made sure I had all worker bees, as they do not sting. I screwed the metal lid onto the jar and slipped it into the pocket of my down Eskimo coat. I put the bees behind the front door, in stasis, until my mom lay down on the coach to watch Day of Our Lives. I tiptoed to the kitchen and set the bottle on the spitting radiator, let the heat and steam and kitchen smells wake the bees, and saw wings start to vibrate, small sticky feet start to shake, until the jar was a rumbling bumble hive of summer. I snuck it to my room and slept that night to the snoring sound of busy insects on my windowsill. The next morning I bundled up in long underwear and turtleneck sweater and snow pants and red knit mittens and grabbed the reins to the old wooden sled. I placed the rumble bees, bottle wrapped in a towel, on the peeling paint and pulled through new snow, across the driveway, the yard, into virgin white field. By the time I reached the hives, the bees were already back in winter slumber, silent and static like fuzzy bitter popsicles. I poured them on top of the hive, knew they would wake once again, and padded off to Johnson's Hill. My life is like the bees these days. I'm in stasis, waiting for sunlight, ultraviolet rays of knowledge and understanding and rest. I'll wake up on some good radiator, reborn, life begins again.
This was lovely, thanks so much. One small correction, though - it is the drones (male bees) which don't sting. When winter approaches, the drones are kicked out of the hive, and no longer fed by other bees, as their job is done. They live only to fertilise newly-hatched queens, usually in spring or early summer.
Thank you so kindly for the nice words and the bee information! I miss those hives. I would love to keep bees, I think I would be good at it. They are fascinating creatures, all shimmer and light. I'm looking forward to hearing more about your bees. And the mead! I've never had it!
I have made a number of batches, but none for a long time. Late 1990's would have been the last batch I made.
Do you make sweet or dry? Sparkling or still? With fruits, or spices? I've done all these at least once. I prefer dry, still plain mead, although the best thing I ever made was a dry still prickly-pear mead.
I've done very dry before and very sweet. Mostly all straight mead, some with apple juice instead of water. The current batch has oak chips. I went to a local brewing supply place for the first time and, lo and behold, outside was a guy doing free tasting of his many home made meads (one of two days a year that he does that--we were that lucky). I got to try out the whole gamut of meads with pretty much every fruit and mix, all of which were excellent. So I guess I'm not too picky with what's in the mead.
One year. It's okay to try it earlier, but you must let some age at least one year if you can. It only gets better.
a stanza from a poem "Last Night As I Was Sleeping" from Antonio Machado "Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures." - the power of bees!!
Your uncle still in the bee biz? How's he doing?
That's a bummer. I recall thinking he seemed like a really interesting and happy dude. I'm sure he still is.
I love these updates, and am looking forward to your update on the mead making! It really puts into perspective how much work goes into honey, which is something I never put much thought in prior to reading these posts.
I'm drinking a cocktail I made with honey, gin, elderflower liquor, lemoncello, muddled ginger and lime juice. -mmm. But without the honey it wouldn't be drinkable. Honey is an amazing food/sweetener. Anyone know why you're not supposed to give it to infants/babies? [edit] in case anyone is interested, apparently in babies under 1 year old honey is ill advised because it can be a carrier of botulism.
I use honey in my pasta sauce along with jalapeño to give it and awesome sweet heat. I saute fresh garlic, onions, summer squash, couple tomatoes and a jalapeño in some olive oil, then add a can of these: http://www.digregoriofoods.com/shop/dei-fratelli-chopped-ita... to round it out. Criss cross the top of the pan with honey a couple times and you're good to go. Just be careful not to make it too sweet. The honey-jalapeno character of the sauce is really tasty.
Sounds nice ecib. I've always used sugar and garlic in my pasta sauce but never honey/jalapeno. Jalapeño can be such a versatile pepper. It's got just enough heat to make an impact but still mild enough so that just about anyone can eat what your making. Looks like I'll have some applications for my honey when briandmyers sends it my way. (I'll pay shipping handling :))