The bumbles and the stingers
The kids have named our two beehives. The Bumbles. And ... The Stingers.
I'd been reading in my bee books about how bees will raid another hive in a pinch, and I told them about it, which has sparked this whole idea of rival hives. (Although I am still clinging to visions of love and peace and blissful tranquility.) How the guard bees will stand at their posts at the hive doorway and escort any strange bees away. Or worse, if things get pushy. And if the interloper bees get through, they raid the honey.
Bee wars.
So now I have two pristine white bee hives painted with the names of their prospective "tribes". The Montagues and the Capulets. The Jets and The Sharks. The Crips and the Bloods. The Shirts and The Skins, my ten-year-old son, who recently played a basketball game with his high-school-aged cousins, chimes in.
This is what happens when you hand your gradeschoolers a paintbrush and encourage them to express themselves!
Well, our bees are still down south in Las Cruces, I understand as of today. The woman from whom we are purchasing two nucs (this is something like 150,000 bees total? plus 2 queens) tells me that she wants to make sure they are sturdy enough, the queen of each is strong and secure. We will be picking up our bees somewhere around the first of May, it looks like. We have to pick them up after the sun has gone done. Like hens, bees return home to roost at night. I'm still slightly worried about the transport part of this transaction. Do I put them in the back of my SUV with their little door closed? How do I make sure they are sound asleep? What if they wake up?! I have to figure that out. This will require more than crossing my fingers.
We've cleared the space, after lively discussions all winter long about where they will be located. Leveled the ground. Placed the concrete blocks upon which the hives will stand, facing southeast. They'll receive the warm morning sun on our cool mountain mornings and be shaded from the hot afternoon sun by a curtain of pinon trees at the back. My husband the nuclear engineer has this all figured out. We believe our orchard will be in full bloom prior to the arrival of the bees. Although the three inches of April snow plus what we are still receiving as I write and stoke the woodburning stove up may slow that a little. Oh well, next year, we'll get pollinated.
My smart children tell me something about whacking the fruit trees with a stick during a good wind to take care of pollination in the absence of bees. Their teacher told them that, they say with a certain amount of smug satisfaction.
Despite all of the bee tomes I've been buried in this winter, I still feel a bit scared about all of this. But I can't wait either. And we are this close. They may spawn their very own bee blog, I'm just not sure yet.
I'm already tasting honey made from the pollen of our fruit trees and the wild flowers of the national forest.
