Inside the Bee Hive

Preparing our Hives for the Colder Days Ahead

Welcome to Our Winter Beehive

Now that snow covers the ground where we live, I know that even though I can’t see them, the honeybees are still working hard within the hive’s four walls. Up until now, on any day warm enough to do so, they continued to collect and store food for the winter, and utilized propolis to fill in any cracks or openings to minimize the potential for drafts and cold air getting in. During this time, the colonies also downsize, determining who stays and who goes, reining in their numbers for the colder days ahead.

Foresight, I think, is something the honeybees know all about, thinking always and planning for the future.

Bee Hive with snow

In efforts to try and help keep our honeybees alive, after two consecutive years of losing them to the Varroa mite, we are hopeful going into this winter. The Varroa mite, which hadn’t been introduced to North America until the 1980s, has been an ongoing problem for most beekeepers in our area. This parasitic mite feeds on the honeybee, attaching itself to the honeybee like a tick, until it overcomes them.

Varroa Mites

Most beekeepers use thymol-based products, which are said to help keep them at bay. However, our first year of beekeeping we thought this seemed unnecessary, giving notion to the idea that they have long since survived without the use of our man-made chemicals. We discovered the following Spring the little red spots, which at closer look, we knew to have been the mite we had not done anything to prevent. That being said, still being new to beekeeping, we looked at this unfortunate circumstance as a learning opportunity, a way we could look into the hive more closely than we could have, had they survived. The second year, we used the recommended strips, but again the Varroa mites got the best of them.

Inside the Bee Hive

This year, we thought we ought to do something different. In the process of trying to learn as much as we can, we came across the works of Michael Bush and Leo Sharashkin. In addition to speaking to local beekeepers and a good friend, Bella Donna, after some time and a little leg work, we built a second hive.

“…each little thing you can do makes a difference”

Our second hive works horizontally, as opposed to the traditional Langstroth hive, which stands tall, vertically stacking boxes, the type of hive you will most often see, driving by farms and down country roads. In contrast, this new hive we built in the spring sits honeycomb filled frames side by side, in a long row. With two-inch thick walls, as opposed to the 3/4“ walls, we hope to better insulate the hive without having to add any exterior casing. Some other modifications we made were creating only one entrance, hence reducing the potential for invaders and allowing the bees to more easily guard the opening. Our hive sits roughly two and a half feet off the ground, helping to prevent small mammals from sneaking their way in and stops us from needing an entrance reducer – a piece of wood which you’d typically insert into the opening of a traditional hive that spans the width of the box. Our frames, where the bees build and fill honeycomb, also have had their plastic backings removed, as it was suggested to us that the size of these molded plastic pieces is the ideal size for Varroa to lay their eggs in. It has been said that each little thing you can do makes a difference, if only increasing their odds by a percent at a time.

Wide view of the Bee Hive

So in preparation for winter this year, we prepared our old hive the way we always have, reducing the size of the entrance, again preventing invaders and decreasing drafts, insulating the top of the hive with wool and surrounding the hive with its reflective winter casing. As for our new horizontal hive, all of the preparations were done in the process of its build. Making these changes we hope will not only will prevent the mites, but keep the honeybees warm enough all winter long, In both hives, we decided to use Thymol, one of the major constituents of essential oils of thyme (Thymus vulgaris L., Lamiaceae), hoping to keep the mites at a distance with its strong aromatics.

In hopes of giving them a better start going into winter, we also give them the opportunity to collect what remains off the frames we’ve extracted honey from. By the end of Fall, when the weather’s still warm enough for them to fly, there isn’t a whole lot for them to forage from, so giving them back these trays allows them to collect whatever they can to use again. This is also the case for trays where the honey has crystallized and can no longer be extracted. This year we had been so busy, we didn’t get around to our honey harvest until late October, and unfortunately by then a large amount of our honey had already turned. Typically, this would be a great opportunity to keep the comb intact, storing the honeycomb as is, in jars. However, since we removed the backings from all our frames, we want to keep the newly constructed honeycomb intact to strengthen for next year’s use. As we’ve been told, the honeycomb hardens over time, and through the seasons.

“As we learn, we hope to always do right by the bees”

All this to say, we certainly aren’t experts in the matter of beekeeping. But as we learn, we hope to always do right by the bees, doing the best we can to give them the best chance to survive the days to come. We are hoping that by the time Spring rolls around again, we are gifted with the hum of our honeybees, a sound we always look forward to hearing as the ground turns from white to green.


Blog photos provided by Chelsea!


Moon and Grass

A Herbal Apprentice's Journey: Season's Turn

December, 2021.

Look at this one.” My mother says to me, extending her arms toward me to display her treasure. A bouquet of gemstones, iridescent and gleaming even in the scant light of the overcast day.

Look at THIS one!” I respond, placing another treasure into her bouquet.

“Wow.”

We stood under the layers of clouds, rotating fresh corn in our hands and marveled at each new pattern and colour. One by one, revealing a story beneath the husks. I wasn’t certain of the kind of corn we had planted. It was an unmarked seed package that bestowed upon us what seemed like a million colours. A million gemstones. Rich in the palette of autumn.

We sunk digging forks into the soil in search of our next treasure; potatoes. This summer was my first time growing them. The relationship I gained while doing so was surprising. Witnessing their blooming was utterly charming. Witnessing their decay was similar. Trusting that they would continue to grow under their little mounds, out of sight.

We ate lots of early potatoes as the summer waned. I watched my partner one morning from the window as he stepped out to the garden in the fragile light. Barefoot and squatting in the greenery, choosing one plant that may be willing to offer our breakfast. Clearing away a little mulch and soil to retrieve just enough for our meal. Stopping for a moment of thanks before bringing them in to clean in the sink.

Now I stood in an empty garden bed, a bucket of potatoes unearthed. Autumn feels like that to me; an abundance and an emptiness. A direct example of reciprocity. An opportunity to recognize how we collaborate with the earth in such a clear and tangible way. Where once there was soil, now has returned to soil, and, miraculously, I carry this bucket of potatoes.

 

It was spring when I began my apprenticeship work with Penelope. While we spent time in the sanctuary, our conversations would whirl with personal anecdotes and philosophy. For some time, death was our muse. For days, nearly everything we did seemed to shine with the beauty of death and, in effect, start a passionate conversation. How death is a portal, a ceremony, an honour. If we can imagine that Winter may represent death, Autumn would be our chariot to take us there. There’s something mournful about the slowness of the Autumn months.

Come Winter, a season of inward incubation. Maybe a return to the womb, to emerge in spring reincarnated. That’s how I like to see winter, though it may be daunting. I always know that after months of a dark, deep freeze, I begin to daydream longingly of touching plants, swimming in water, feeling the sun. And yet I trust, as I trusted the potatoes to grow out of sight, that come spring the world would transform into lushness again. Truly a miracle, for the earth itself to be resurrected.

Socrates said “death itself may be the greatest of all human blessings”. While his friends wept for him in his dying he asked them to not cry, for he was at last meeting the greatest mystery of all.

 

What mystery are you meeting this winter?

I read a wonderful passage written by Italo Calvino in his book The Complete Cosmicomics. I’d like to leave you with it and hope that you may savour it. I do think that winter is our time of implosion.

 

To explode or to implode -- said Qfwfq -- that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to expand one's energies in space without restraint, or to crush them into a dense inner concentration and, by ingesting, cherish them. To steal away, to vanish; no more; to hold within oneself every gleam, every ray, deny oneself every vent, suffocating in the depths of the soul the conflicts that so idly trouble it, give them their quietus; to hide oneself, to obliterate oneself: perchance to reawaken elsewhere, changed.

Changed... In what way changed? And the question, to explode or to implode: would one have to face it again? Absorbed by the vortex of this galaxy, does one pop up again in other times and other firmaments? Here sink away in cold silence, there express oneself in fiery shrieks of another tongue? Here soak up good and evil like a sponge in the shadow, there gush forth like a dazzling jet, to spray and spend and lose oneself. To what end then would the cycle repeat itself? I really don't know, I don't want to know, I don't want to think about it: here, now, my choice is made: I shall implode, as if this centripetal plunge might forever save me from doubt and error, from the time of ephemeral change, from the slippery descent of before and after, bring me to a time of stability, still and smooth, enable me to achieve the one condition that is homogeneous and compact and definitive. You explode, if that's more to your taste, shoot yourselves all around in endless darts, be prodigal, spendthrift, reckless: I shall implode, collapse inside the abyss of myself, towards my buried centre, infinitely. “

 

Moon and Grass


Photos provided by Serena Mor