beekeeping

An Update on the Experiment

experiment

This particular post is two things: an apology and and explanation.

First, an apology. I realize that blogs are particularly important to those who write them, and less so to those who read them. That being the case, I must still apologize for not being consistent, if only to myself.

Secondly, an explanation. I have embarked upon an experiment in self-sustainability that involves moving from one side of this country to the other. Such a move takes time and effort which explains my apology above. This experiment involves buying a small (22 acre) plot of land with a house, a barn foundation, and a full woodworking shop. This is the result of several years of contemplation and contrary thinking that has cost comfort and security, I hope, to a good end: to see just how self-sustaining an individual can be.

To this end I would like to invite anyone interested to visit two new sites that will be up and running this fall. First, I will have a podcast called “The Philosophy of Gardening” and at some point and time a youtube channel called Trollcastle Works. These endeavors will simply be a video/audio blog of ongoings around the property that will include forestry work, woodworking and of course gardening.

I hope to have several projects going that include: a small fruit orchard, vegetable garden, furniture making and carpentry, hops and grain fields, and brewing beer. The podcast and videos, I hope, will be of interest to anyone that might consider self-sustainability as a way of life.

I call this an experiment, because I see 100% self-sustainability as being the speed of light, and the experiment’s goal itself being to see how close to this ideal that I can get. There will be failures and there will be accomplishments, and I hope to share both.

The reason for this experiment is, of course, personal, but it stems from a belief that self-sustainability for individuals and families is the only moral option. What better way to test this belief than putting it in practice!

I hope that some of you consider following me on this adventure!

The Choices We Make

When I chose to get a dog from the pound about five years ago, little did I know of the ritual that would soon become my life. Every morning up at 5:30 and after the coffee cup hits the coffee table for the final time, a nudge (toy in mouth) and off we go for our morning walk. In the afternoon after work another walk, work in the woodshop or in the garden, and some playing in the yard until it is time to eat. Then, off to the favorite bed she goes watching the house from her favorite perch.

The choice to get a dog from the pound has obvious implications. My life has changed, but so has hers. I made a choice, and that choice has brought me as well as my dog a great deal of happiness. These are the choices we make, and we continually make. Other choices that we make do not always have obvious implications.

When I choose to go to the grocery store (the walk of shame as I call it), or to buy something at the local hardware store the choices we make there also have implications. However, those implications are not always as clear as bringing a dog into your life. There are animals that pay a high price for the choices we make. We make choices for many reasons, but those reasons should always be clear to us as well as the consequences of the choices we make.

An easy choice is not always the right choice, and those choices that we deem as difficult should not always be difficult. We can choose to do the right thing, but to simply do the right thing takes time, it is a habit that we must acquire. I believe that most of us know what the right choice is but are often tempted by the easy and swayed by the convenient. Our choices become others and not our own.

Perhaps it’s time to take our choices back, but this too is a choice; at least for now.

Simple Pleasures

pleasure

There’s something beautiful about seeing bees come out on a winter’s day. Walking out to the bee yard I noticed a few girls flying around. Although the sky was grey, it was just warm enough for a few brave hearts to venture outside. It is a simple pleasure, I know, but a pleasure nevertheless.

It is pleasures like this that make life worth living. It does not take money; in fact money alone is void of the kind of pleasure that is available if we just take time to notice. The garden, newly manured, sitting in the snow reminds me that there are worms deep under the soil. My ear up against the beehive and the scratching and buzzing that I hear, reminds me that we all want the same thing: a safe, warm place.

Perhaps it is this realization that warms my heart on cold winter days. When I realize the beauty that is nature I just have to stop and stare in wonderment. I think that it would be a much better world if we all took time to stand and stare in wonderment at the simple and often forgotten corners of our world.

In the back I hear chickens clucking away. I know that they are fussing about the snow, and perhaps feel a bit of cabin fever already. But they too venture out picking around in the snow, hoping to find a morsel, or maybe just doing it out of curiosity.

I like the smell of a kitchen that people cook in. I like the warmth of a home, and the cold against my face on an early morning walk. I like knowing that we all have a place, all animals; all living creatures. I like to think that there are places that are safe, that people want the best and are willing to work for it. I like to think that there is love in the world, and that there are those that are loved.

I know that these are simple pleasures, but as simple as they are, they are also simply priceless. And so I walk out back and stick my hand down in the dirt, I work on winter carpentry projects with the hope of the coming Spring and Summer. I put my ear up against the hive. I do these things and a smile comes to my face; just another simple pleasure to be thankful for.

For Beekeepers Everywhere

For beekeepers, fall is sometimes the time for raider bees: those bees that look for the year’s last source of food, which is sometimes a weak hive. The raiders make for the entrance en force and then raid food stores of the hive. Once in, the raiders have no problems, as the defense of the hive is limited. The raiders gorge themselves with food and make their way out of the raided hive and to their own.

Raiding is a problem for beekeepers because it often leads to the death of hives during and sometimes before winter but the issue is not that bees raid; that’s what bees do: survive. The issue is how to stop raiding bees. In my battles with raiding bees I noticed that I was approaching the problem as a human being rather than approaching the problem from the perspective of the bee.

As humans we are capable of empathy, but bees are not empathetic. As humans we approach things intellectually, but bees are not and do not respond to intellect. As humans we understand praise and penalties, but bees do not make these correlations.

With this in mind, I fashioned a screen with some scrap wire and fitted it to the entrance of the hive being raided. I did this early in the morning before the raiders showed up. In the afternoon the raiding bees were bunched up on the screen as were my own bees, but in the safety of their own hive.

I felt bad for my bees being locked in. Later in the day, in fact late in the afternoon I noticed that the raiding bees began to thin out. At that time a removed the screen until the next morning giving my bees a few hours outside and the ability to defend the hive against the few remaining raiding bees.

During this time I provided feed for the hive with a top bar feeder. I have found that after a few days, or at worst after the first freeze that the raiding bees ceased and desisted. My problem, then, was only supporting the weak hive over the winter. Some say that supporting a weak hive is not worth the effort, but after all I am only human; my empathy a weakness, my love of lost causes a fortune.

Worry, Worry, Worry

That is, the end of summer and the beginning of cooler nights and the faintest of hints of fall and eventually winter. This is the time to check the hives for health and food. This is the time that the bees begin to make the last push, sometimes swarm (and die), or begin to ready the population for the winter period.

There’s not much one can do as a beekeeper except to watch for swarms, feed if necessary, and ready the hives for winter. I usually wrap mine in black roofing paper and add a layer of insulation under the roof of the hive. I will poke a few small holes in the insulation for venting, and try not to open the hives too much from now on.

This is, I hope, my first winter with bees but I certainly hope it will not be my last. Beekeeping is an adventure and as with all adventures there is a degree of failure. As I have learned, beekeeping is no longer a simple process which (depending upon your attitude) makes the adventure loathsome or more challenging.

These are, after all, my girls and I cannot help but care for the hives that I have. As I am reminded: I have done all that I can. However, it never seems enough. Perhaps it is the human condition that makes us continue to want “more”, to do “more”. We cannot fail; so we tell ourselves. But failure is part of evolution, both the evolution of us as individuals and the evolution of beekeeping as it has become.

In fact, often adventure begins with failure. I know that my short stint in beekeeping began with failure. But the important thing, as the platitude goes, is that we must learn from our mistakes. More importantly, we must continue to learn.

Bees are a good teacher because they never seem to worry. They act. And so, perhaps adventure starts with action, with acting within the moment and not thinking about it too much. Thinking too much is a euphemistic way of saying “worrying” too much, which is what I seem to do with my bees. I’ll do what I can, and have done what I could. That must be enough, although it never is and seems to be the one thing I cannot learn. There is always ignorance, and that is enough to keep one worrying all winter long.

Listen!

I lost a beehive last year. It was a devastating experience. Everything seemed right; it was a strong hive, but alas the hive failed. I take responsibility. However, this is not about the past except that we must learn from it. The past is, in fact, useless unless we do just that. But what do I need to learn?

And so this coming Saturday I will start the process over with the experience and education that I wracked up last year. This Saturday I am starting over with two hives. To say that I am nervous is actually not accurate; I am not nervous, but hesitant. I don’t want to fail because failure in beekeeping means that lots of life is wasted.

I am starting with two hives because I am told that it is insurance, that two hives gives the keeper a way to compare; two hives will help educate me. I only hope that my education does not cost the bees their lives. I will do my best, but I know that the bees will do their best. They don’t have a choice, but I do.

The choices we make define who we are, failures and successes. The choices we make define who we will be, and who we have become. I believe that the death of last year’s hive defined who I am today, and inevitably the hives that come on Saturday will define who I will become.

Last week progress was on my mind, and progress can be defined in many ways; some bad, some actually, well…progressive. To fail and to step back up to the plate says a lot about a person. I must remember that bees do not fail in the sense that I do. They simply act; it is us that determine pathways and judge failure against success.

The simplicity of the beehive is amazing; the complications that we create are just as remarkable. In studying all winter long, with the readings and online research I need to remember that complication is not necessarily progress. Progress is simple: the recognition of the shortest, most realistic path to the goal.

Bees do not need much, and they ask nothing of the individuals who decide to “keep” bees. It is in fact not necessary to “keep” bees at all. This year I will endeavor to stay out of my own way and more importantly, to stay out the bees’ way. This year I will progress by not necessarily acting upon the bees, but learning how to act with the bees.

This sounds so simple, but simplicity, I have found, is not so simple. I can only hope that the “girls” are able to teach me to step back, give them room and not worry so much. It’s quite the advice from such a simple creature. If only more of us could listen.

Life, Death, Life, Death…Life.

As I stated in the last blog about bees, my bees had been plentiful throughout the summer, filling three boxes. However, I noticed a problem (varroa mites) and treated them dutifully. I saw the results and the results looked good. I was hopeful but eventually was horrified to find that most of the hive was empty. Rather than 30-40,000 bees I was met with 2-3000 bees!

The decision to leave the small remainder of bees to their fate was hard. However, nature rarely gives us a choice and remembering that gave me some solace, if not peace. The bees died shortly afterwards and it took me a few months before I could muster the heart take the hive apart. I eventually did, and cleaned it up even going so far as cleaning the foundation of most of the remnants of my little hive. I was left with some beautiful comb and even some honey stores. Not much, but then I was ahead of the game because my beehive had given its life to do what it had no choice in doing.

I think this is important to remember about death; that there is no choice. Life and death is not a choice and bees are no different. During the last few days the hive was robbed, the queen and her small entourage died and the hive was left empty. It sat as a reminder that it is often a mistake to expect nature to act differently simply because we have a vested interest in it doing so. Nature offers us no choices and that thought reminded me that my dead colony left me with yet another gift: philosophy.

And so I ordered more bees from my local supplier (the bees are local bees with semi-local queens). It was actually a hard decision because as a beekeeper I must accept at least partial responsibility for the death of the hive that I chose to take responsibility for. Mismanagement was almost certainly a culprit in the loss of my hive, but in more ways than one. Varroa mites were also to blame. However, even the mites that were eventually the cause of death were simply following the hallowed and harsh laws of nature. They were doing what they do best: survive. With this in mind I look forward to my new bees arriving in April.

With the arrival of the new bees I will become explicitly involved in the most natural of cycles: life and death, and I hope that my explicit involvement will somehow sway the likelihood of survival for my bees instead of the other way around. I have read that because of the varroa destructor problem that human involvement is now necessary for the survival of honey bees. I’m not sure that I agree with the argument entirely as it was human involvement that created the problem in the first place. I will certainly try to do my best and the bees will do what the bees will do. Life and death to them is simply the law of nature, but I will continue to try to be the best beekeeper that I am capable of being by continually trying to understand the nature of that law.

Two Boxes of Bugs

I have ordered two new packages of bees, and I have mixed feelings for doing so. My bees died abruptly last September, in part because of Varroa mites. It was really a heart-breaking experience. A few weeks ago I took the hive apart and thoroughly cleaned it, stored it, and have now begun building a new hive for one of the two new packages that I have ordered.

Why do I have mixed feelings? The answer is simple: I was unable to keep my previous hive alive even before winter set in; I am acutely aware of the responsibility that I am taking on. However, I believe it is important not to give up, and to do what I can to help the bee population (killing them aside) by learning about the animals and continuing to try to help them in the best way I know how.

This conclusion led me to understand that Truth is more important than fiction. The truth is: bees are going through hard times, and need our gentle help. The illusion would be to turn our backs on the problems that we are made aware of (I was made aware of last year). The truth is: human beings are at least in part responsible for the problems that bees are having. The illusion would be to pretend that we are innocent with regard to the problems that we have caused.

With all of this in mind, I am cautiously optimistic about the bees that I will receive. I will do my best (but what if my best is not good enough). I will use the knowledge that I learned from my first hive (but what if I cannot know enough). The only answers that I have are that I will continue to try to do better, and I will continue to try to know more. This is the best I have, and all that I can do. I hope the bees that I get somehow understand, and I hope they have the patience to put up with my mistakes.

Even in their death, my bees continue to teach me things that only experience can teach. This is yet another reason that I continue to be so thankful for my box of bugs. I will have two boxes of bugs in April, and will no doubt learn even more from them. I only hope that my student-ways are enough to keep them healthy, happy, or at the very least alive so that they can teach me even more.

The Armchair Philosopher

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