I Am Not A Beeman

Unlike me, Jonathan is a real beeman. He knows stuff.  He knows useful stuff about the weather, bees and plants, whilst I have a couple of theoretical GCSEs in Geography and Biology. He’s got dreadlocks.  I’ve got a short back and sides with designer stubble.  Not waxing is my token gesture to manhood.  He picks bees up by their wings.  I stare at bees and wonder what to do.  He gets the smoker started in less than a minute.  I just stand and stare uselessly wondering “how did he do that”?  He uses his bare hands to wipe the floor board clean which has quite a few varroa mites on.  I cringe and think “I need to man-up”.  He casually knocks bees off the frames.  I knock 1 or 2 off when I try the same technique.  He is a beeman.  I am not a man.  I am not even a fish (to quote an Apprentice episode).  When will I be able to strut proudly in my beesuit?  I had better read “Status Anxiety” again.

My new-to-me hive:

Major U-turn!  I have a confession to make!  You may have noticed from the photo that it does not look like an urban setting.  The plan to be an urban beekeeper has changed as an opportunity came up to buy a National hive full of bees in a countryside allotment.  Beekeeping is not cheap and this seemed a good way to start.

Despite my ineptitude and lack of beemanliness, Jonathan was fine about selling me his bees.  I am not sure how the bees feel about it.  I will introduce myself properly when my beesuit arrives, but I am guessing my arrival might not be welcome.  If I was them, I would rather be looked-after by Jonathan.

As I write this post from my flat in Bristol, it feels strange to think that there is a hive out there that I am responsible for.  It feels a bit overwhelming.  Where’s Jonathan?  Can I send him another text?  Did the cost of the beehive include dealing with an anxious, novice beekeeper?

 “There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don’t know we don’t know.” United States Secretary of Defence Donald Rumsfeld”, 2002

My fears – the known knows:

1. The Queen is unmarked. How am I going to find her amongst 30,000 other bees, when I artificially swarm them in a few weeks time?
2. Will I be able to handle the bees, or will they terrify me?
3. Will I be able to reduce the varroa and remove the ants?
4. Will I be able to build a hive from a flat pack (I am so unpractical)?
5. Jonathan says the bees are “swarmy” – a technical term for the fact that I might not have any bees next week and risk annoying lots of neighbours

My ignorance – the “unknown unknowns”:

Despite my Geography and Biology GCSEs, I know little of practical use about the environment and animals.  Whilst Rumsfeld might have been coy about what he knew, I can honestly say that when I look at the hive, it is the great unknown to me!

To manage my fears I have a plan: 

1. To deal with the varroa: order some Hive Clean (natural treatment for the varroa)
2. To deal with the ants: get some cinnamon and vaseline (more in a future post)
3. To deal with the “swarminess” – buy another hive and when the bees start creating Queen cells, get Jonathan over, find and mark the Queen and do an artificial swarm into the new hive.  (I will then have 2 hives! Am I multiplying my problems?  The expression “out of the frying pan and into the fire” comes to mind.)

I think it’s gonna be alright.

Post script: As a beekeeper, this was the first time I realised I had some manliness issues to deal with.  The next time they cropped up was when buillding a flat pack beehive, Manliness – Learning to use a hammer at the age of 39.

Author: Roger

regaining my sanity through beekeeping View all posts by Roger