I had said in a past post that bees were a constructive kind of mid life crisis for me. Something of me. For me. Totally new. Beyond my comfort zone and outside my experience. A challenge to prove I am still equal to things. But a good one. A positive one. One with concrete, meaningful benefits. One that helps rather than harm things. Something to show me I can still do new things.
I worked hard in the early spring. My cack handed carpentry put to the test. My new, incredibly cheap table saw. My old, incredible cheap circular saw. I had built two half size African Top Bar Hives with the kids in the first lockdown. When the sky was blue, and deep, and the sun was hot, and we had so little idea of how long things would happen for. A thought and hope for a better future and the worth it would be to invest in it.
I built full size Top Bar hives too. And bait hives. Small size, 40l capacity blue painted ply boxes, which the kids helped with too. Glueing. Hammering. Holding. Painting.
Both the kids hives have swarms. My daughters houses a cautious swarm who poked and probed the farm for days. Before choosing hers. Nestled on a fenceline by the quarry field. The flag iris as tall as the entrance there. The beech trees behind it loud with the torrential buzzing of thousands of bees collecting beech honeydew in the evenings. My sons hive, perched in an ash tree has another cautious swarm in it. We picked up a heavy swarm from a friends stable. And a final swarm from an old Scots pine tree in a neighbours garden where swarms have often been before. The hive heavy, loud, and hot to the touch in the evening sun. The breath of wax and honey filling the air.
There is some hugely special, for me, in bees swarming to hives I have made with my own hands. I’m not trying to claim any kind of superiority here. But I came to making and carpentry late in life. I’m gammy, cack handed and amateurish (all of which I say with a stubborn kind of pride) but the fact that colonies have decided to take up residence in the hives the kids and I built means a ridiculous amount to me. It’s immensely satisfying.
I’m also aware that the bee, and their honey, are a direct connection to and reflection of how I farm. Sure they forage far and wide. But the farm is filled with hazel and alder, willow, poplar, and tens of species of wildflower. There are brambles, rosa rugosa, and hawthorns by the dozen. Ivy towers uncut adorn the hedgerows. It is a good place for pollinators. A good home for bees. The heavy bars of honeycomb I have held are a product of how we, and my neighbours farm. Its a strange and wonderful thing to hold something like that in your hand. And feel your stewardship has, in some small sense, operated in partnership with the colony to create this bounty.
It’s been a hard year. This feels like some small success. A happy moment. And something which draws me back to a happier future.
For that, blessing that it is, I am grateful.
