You know how the saying goes. But in this case, it’s “the best-laid plans of bees and men.” And women.

     If you’ve been keeping up with the Horse, you know we tried our hands at creating a split of honeybees this spring. As you might have guessed from the title, it didn’t work out so well.

     Wet weekends and torrential Saturday downpours have made inspecting this fledgling colony a wee bit challenging. When we finally got in this week, we were disappointed to find no new comb, no worker brood, and few bees. Closer inspection showed pollen, honey, a lot of drone brood. This means one of two things: we either have a drone-laying queen (not good); or a laying worker situation (also, very not good). Either situation leaves you with a hive of drones and no workers…and, to be dramatic, a hive of drones is doomed.

     To further complicate the matter, we couldn’t simply introduce a mated queen - they’d inevitably kill her, thinking their hive was just fine. In the case of a laying worker/drone laying queen situation, you can do one of several things:

1. Remove all the nurse bees from the hive by shaking them out into the grass far from the hive site. Because they can’t find their way back, you’ll remove the problem worker/queen to the big wide world. I didn’t like this option because it kills a lot of bees.
2. You can combine the “problem” hive with a thriving hive by the newspaper method: place a sheet of newspaper between the two hives and allow the “problem” bees to gradually adjust to the new queen’s pheromones as they work their way through the newspaper.
3. Do Option #2 with a nucleus colony instead of an established colony.

     Option #1 was out of the question because it’s a bit unpalatable to me to leave bees to die. Option #2 didn’t really suit us because I didn’t want to risk our single, remaining thriving colony in case we royally screwed this up (they’re doing well, putting away a lot of Tulip Poplar and Blackberry honey, and don’t want to interrupt them!).

     Though costly, Option #3 was a winner. We get more bees, and another opportunity for a hive to build up through the winter. Plus, I just got paid on Friday.

     Tapping into the ever-gracious, always knowledgeable beekeeping community in our county, I called up a few “beeks” and got what we needed. Jon Christie, of Wild Mountain Apiaries, never fails to be kind, supportive, and generous. He gave us a great deal on an 8-frame nuc, bursting at the seams with one of his fabulous survivor-stock queens.

     Here she is on top of our nuc at home (the bottom two boxes), using the newspaper combination method:

     You can see the bees clustered at the edge of the two hives - they can “smell” their queen and are trying to get back in. What you can’t see are the bees just under the cover, fanning their scent glands (called nasanov glands) so everyone can find where home is. Don’t worry, we left the top entrance open so everyone can climb back inside. We’ll do a quick check in about 4 days to see if they were able to chew through the newspaper and get settled into their new home. Sticky, honey-covered fingers crossed. Wish us luck!

(Source: wildmountainbees.com)

     What a perfect spring day it’s shaping up to be.

     First, we checked on our nuc over at Ashley’s - we found some good signs of a possible mated queen laying. We spotted several little eggs, and even a few eggs in one cell. That can be the sign of a “laying worker” (never a good thing, as she’s not mated and will only lay drones). When that happens, a colony is doomed unless you re-queen. BUT - I consulted with a bee mentor of ours, and he said new queens take some time to get their laying apparatuses in good working order (that sounds familiar. It’s not too different from young pullets laying tiny yolk-less eggs in their early weeks). So we’re not worrying yet. We’ll give that new Peach queen another week and see how she does.

     We also hit up the tailgate market for the first time this season and went nuts. Beets, chard, asparagus, arugula, spinach, and - yes! - strawberries (yesterday was pay day after all). I’ve been dreaming of strawberry season for months, and this time last year, when I was slaving over endless jars of strawberry jam, I promised myself I’d eat strawberries until I was sick and they were out of season. They were just that good. And thus begins the strawberry binge of 2012…

     You know I’m an impulse shopper when it comes to homesteading goodies, right? I just can’t help myself. I want to be surrounded by lush growing, fruiting things, always. Though I’m jumping the gun on the 2012 Herb Festival (oooh, just you wait), I couldn’t resist this little guy, another tailgate market find. Say hello to our Desert King fig:

     We’ve got thunderstorms on the horizon for the rest of the afternoon, but our hive and garden chores and taken care of and we’re curled up inside. Me, I’ll be spending the rest of the day writing a feature article on canning for the September/October issue of Hobby Farm Home, and catch up on a few more pieces that could use a head start. Bees, fruit, and writing about the things I love…can’t think of a better Saturday.

      My poor Meyer lemons. In just a week of having them, I’ve already almost killed them - twice.

     First, in an effort to allow them a slow transition to our temperate Western North Carolina climate, I kept them indoors on a south-facing window. I did my best to protect them from the inevitable swoosh of the Big Dog’s tail, but that was a losing battle, too. Despite my efforts, quality organic soil, and Italian-made pots, they soon started dropping all new growth. The floor was littered with tender, young leaves. My research told me it was caused by lack of light, so outside they went.

     But in the sun, they didn’t recover. In fact, they got worse. And now leaves were turning a sickly mottled yellow color.

Great.

     So after emailing the grower, joining gardening forums and scouring citrus threads in attempt to find the answer, I concluded (and adjusted) the following:

• Use a loamy soil and amend it with 1/3 part cedar hardwood shavings (the kind they sell at supermarkets or pet stores for dogs). It lightens the soil without using perlite, which I’ve come to learn, are non-biodegradable, styrofoam balls that contain various metals that soak into your soil (and thus, your food)- yuck.
• For those that tend to over water (like yours truly), stick to terracotta pots. They allow the soil to breathe and help prevent root rot. They’re heavy and cumbersome, but citrus love ‘em. The caveat? Terracotta can sometimes suck the moisture out of the roots when they NEED it, as was happening with ours. Which is why the next tip is so important…
• Buy a moisture meter to read the soil and learn when to water.
• Give citrus lots of light, and if sunlight is at a premium, get creative. The hubs was absolutely genius when he suggested we use his bounce board (above) to offer more light to the lemons when they’re inside.
• Finally, when you find what works, leave them the hell alone.

     I have yet to master any of these tips (not to mention fertilizing, but that’s another subject entirely). I did change a few things that were going wrong with my lemons and have adopted these as my new Citrus Saving mantras. A quick repotting with some cedar shavings and a good soak, and lo and behold, the very next day they answered me with the opening of a few buds! We’re not out of the woods yet, but it’s a good sign. I’ll take it.

     With the loss of one of our hives this year, the hubs and I have been eager to expand our apiary, so it was only natural that we tried our hands at splitting our surviving hive.

     Splitting a hive, or creating a nucleus colony (“nuc” for short), is a way of creating two colonies from one.  It may sound aggressive, but really, splitting can be an effective way to stave off swarming tendencies.  Swarming is the natural means that a hive splits itself, sending half of the bees and the old queen out into the world in order to propagate the species, while the remaining bees raise a new queen and stay in the hive.  Though swarming is a clear indication of a strong hive, it may leave the remaining hive smaller and weaker, and less apt to create a surplus of honey that year.  If you’ve been keeping up with us, we guessed that a very early spring or very late fall swarm is most likely what weakened our Georgia Peach hive, ultimately leading to their death. 

     So we’re determined to build anew.  When we inspected our Sweet Cream hive a few days ago, we discovered some serious swarm cells — that peanuty-looking thing at the bottom of the frame in the photo above.  Once you see those, there’s no turning back.  The hive’s put the wheels in motion, and swarming’s gonna happen.  Ours is a strong hive, made of the best survivor stock around, and I trust their instincts over my own.  Still, they had a few frames of brood to spare, and we made our split, taking 3 frames of capped and uncapped brood (like the one above) and a frame of pollen, crucial for raising young bees.  We gave them some frames of capped sugar syrup and honey that we salvaged from the dead Peach hive, closed it up and locked them in.

     Next came the hard part.  We had to transfer our newly made nuc to a friend’s apiary so that our queen (when she hatches) will have drones of a different lineage to mate with (we couldn’t very well leave her here to mate with her brothers…this isn’t Game of Thrones or anything.  They’d all turn out looking like that creepy Joffrey kid). 

     The always-generous, always-gracious Ashley English, of small-measure.blogspot.com, came to our rescue.  With less than a day’s notice, she opened up her apiary, and her unbelievable 4 year old survivor stock, to our little nuc’s needs (not to mention, the Englishes fed us an unreal meal of local morel mushrooms.  Healthy drones, local morels, good company and conversation?  Seriously, what else does a girl need?).  Ashley and her family live just about 4 miles away…far enough that any forager bees in the new nuc won’t be able to find their way back to the “mother” colony, but close enough that we can all ride in the car together safely.  This might just work.

     There were some literal bumps in the road along the way (the Englishes live a mile down a dirt road), so yes, bees got loose in the car.  No, they didn’t sting us (poor things were just really confused), but we did schlep that little hive halfway up her driveway and into her apiary.  There they’ll live for at least 21 days — enough time for a new queen to hatch, fly out to mate, return, and begin laying eggs.  We’ll know within a month if our little (Candler) Peach hive will make it. 

     I’ll keep you posted, of course, but in the meantime, please send lots of love and prayer to the bee gods our way — they may not need it, but we certainly do!

Ah, Spring. 

By far, the most superior of all the seasons, Spring is hopeful, beautiful and exciting and with it comes the relief from yet another Winter.  It’s busy, buzzing, and new life is sprouting everywhere.  I can’t get enough of this season.  It simply makes me happy.

Spring is especially exciting this year around the Urquhart farm - we have a brand new, Amish-built rabbit hutch for those spoiled bunnies, plans for a top bar hive in the apiary, and new, thrilling varieties of fruits and veggies to grow.

Here’s to a little more spring in your step!

Radishes are still growing on me culinarily, but I can’t help but put them in the garden year after year.  Their tenacious, early sprouts always encourage me to get through the last of the winter cold.

“Sunshine Blue” container blueberries are turning green with a hint of pink.  Those blossoms are stunning and the blueberries taste even better!

Round two of growing garlic in pots…round one belongs to the bulbs.

Heirloom sweet peas, soon to be a snack…

Last time I checked, these were silver slivers pushing up through the mulch… now they’re iris buds??

The new rabbit hutch and the girls getting settled…stand by…more on this later!

     What we suspected for a week now was confirmed today: we lost one of our hives this year.

     For the past couple of weeks, we’d been concerned that there wasn’t much activity happening at the entrance to Peach, the hive with a queen from Georgia.  But I hefted the hive and nearly broke my back - so I knew they had enough honey stores to make it through spring (with concern, in fact, that they’d have too much!).  Compared to their sister hive, Cream, Peach just wasn’t active enough.  Eventually, we stopped seeing bees come and go from the hive’s entrance altogether.  And then it was quiet.  And we knew.

     Upon inspection today, Peach remained quiet, and when I popped the lid, I was certain.  Of the three supers it had, the top one was filled to the brim with honey stores.  So they hadn’t starved.  No moisture in the hive means they had good airflow, so they probably didn’t freeze (in the traditional way).  But in the second super is where we saw the cluster: dead in place and just about the size of a softball …when it should have been bigger than a football.  This colony was too small to survive even above-freezing temps. 

Above photos: the cluster frozen in place.

     Going frame by frame, we investigated to see if there were any signs of disease (there were none), or swarm/supercedure cells, which are created when the hive needs to make a new queen either in preparation for a swarm, or when a hive is queenless (none of those either).  Then we had to break apart the cluster and get to the grisly work of cleaning out dead bees. 

     But in the center of the cluster, we found something extraordinary: a queen cell.  The bees had instinctively clustered around the cell, which tells me she hadn’t hatched yet.  They were doing everything they could to keep her warm - after all, a hive can’t survive without their queen.  Just inside was a gnarly little half-developed queen bee …confirming my suspicion. 

     It appears that Peach, our “strong” hive, had been so strong late this winter that they prematurely swarmed.  When a colony swarms, half of the bees leave with the old queen, seeking out new housing.  The half of the colony that remains makes a new queen from an egg their old queen laid, which would explain the cell.  It looks like Peach swarmed too early, leaving too few bees to withstand the cool temperatures.  They just didn’t have the numbers to stay warm.  Chances are, the swarm died somewhere out there too.

     It’s a hard lesson for this new beekeeper, but I take solace in the fact that it was out of my control and when we could do something, we did everything right.  I mean, everything.  They had plenty of food, mouse guards and ventilation.  But like a Greek tragedy, in the end, their strength was their weakness. 

     Thank you, honeybees, for your hard work, endless dedication and invaluable lessons.  Rest in peace, Georgia Peach.