I didn’t think it would hit me this hard.
Yesterday, because it was slightly sunny, and an unseasonable near-50 degrees here in Michigan, bee-buddy Rose and I visited the hives to see what was up with our sisters of the sting. (For what bees doing in winter, a synopsis is way below.)
As we neared the hives, we were DELIGHTED to see bees. At one hive, the golden insects were lined up for take-off just outside their door, not unlike the line outside the women’s bathroom at a sporting event. At another hive there were 20 or 30 bees hanging out on the front step, no doubt inhaling fresh air and joyfully remembering what light looks like. At a third hive they were taking short, slow, clumsy-shake-out-the-muscles flights and high-fiving each other. Many of them landed on us, stumbled about a bit, flew to the other sleeve. We laughed in delight that they were alive and enjoying the day. Inter-species connectivity is so cool.
And at three other hives, there was no action. Nothing.
With trepidation, Rose and I opened each lid ever so slightly and see what we could see.
What we saw wasn’t good — or was good — depending upon your perspective. We saw dead bees, and lots of moisture, and lots of untouched honey. Sigh.
The bee books say such attrition, while perhaps high, isn’t unusual — especially for first year hives. There was no evidence of disease, vandalism, breaking and entering, or substance abuse in these hives. Upon talking with my bee pimp Jane, I think these hives (that were weak entering the winter) just couldn’t survive the inevitable moisture build-up they create inside … compounded by living by a swamp.
Rose and I thought we were OK with the inches-deep dead bees. Trying to find the positive, we had three hives still frolicking; we’ve learned alot (and are going to move the new, replacement hives to higher ground); there is beautiful honey the others have left behind to jump-start the new bees coming in April. We try to find the blessings in things, and yesterday, with the slight sunshine and sweatshirt weather, there was the scent of spring and hope in the air and losing three hives of bees didn’t seem so bad.
That was yesterday. Today it is below freezing with snowflakes spitting from the sky, a frigid, brisk breeze … and no sunshine, externally or internally. I learned last week that some aspects of Tommy’s estate aren’t locked and loaded as I’d been led to believe, and that our (now ex) attorney hadn’t bothered to inform me of some key issues and deadlines. I’m not the first widow to stupidly let her spouse handle everything and assume it was OK, and I’m not real angry at Tom about it. First, because he’s not here and that doesn’t do any good, and second, because golly — he was spending all his energy fighting cancer and trying to make a quality of life under severe storm clouds. With the storm gathering, I’m not blaming him for spending his final months planning his fantasy football strategy, reading Robert Parker books, and laughing with me. It was my fault for trusting in a marvelous mind that had unfortunately already lost grasp of some important things.
So today, I cried about the bees. I’ve had enough death in my life lately: I really didn’t need 18,000 little bodies — whom I cared for and had great plans and hopes for — to clean out of their perfectly drawn honey comb. What does one do with 18,000 dead bees anyway? (BTW, they’d probably fill 3 gallon jugs, if you were wondering what 18,000 dead bees look like.)
I suspect the ample tears were for other things as well — other great plans that will never be, the estate document I thought was locked and loaded, and my own carefully crafted honey comb house full of stuff to be cleaned out … because my husband loved to buy things on Amazon, and could never throw anything away.
And I still have more blessings than dead bees — like a job, a car that starts (actually, two of them!), a house over my head, lots of caring friends and family. Unlike the Haitians, much of my family is still alive and I think I know where my kids are, or at least I’ll assume they’re at the same colleges to whom I write the tuition checks. Compared to so many other people, I have no problems. But compared to so many other people, I probably had a lot more tears today — which happens.
And I think I have a lot more dead bees!
Background on wintering bees: They form a cluster in their hive which keeps the queen at 92 degrees. The cluster ever-so-slowly feeds and moves across the stores of honey throughout the winter. Bees are freaks about cleanliness, so they hold their waste in until spring, or until they have a chance to fly out (like yesterday) and relieve themselves. There isn’t much a beekeeper can do to assist them over the winter, other than keep their doorway clear of dead bees so that airflow through the hive can happen — otherwise humidity builds up in the hive, and the dripping cold water kills them. (Natural aging / bee death just happens throughout the winter. Additionally, bees are fairly quick to escort any elderly, waning hive members to the chilly outdoor to preserve resources. ) I’ve been brushing dead bees from the doorways a couple of times a week since winter began, and keeping the bees’ front doors snow-free to ensure ventilation.
