To Swarm or Not to Swarm- Beekeeper’s woes
Beekeeping
Four Days With a Swarm
Beekeeping, the way it’s usually presented, makes you think of happy bees, saving the planet, flowers, spring, and of course the sweet golden goodness. We beekeepers tend to make it look easy. So when our honey seems expensive next to the supermarket’s, here’s why: cheap honey is cheap because of where it comes from and how it’s made. Much of it is imported, often blended and cut with things that aren’t honey, and produced on a scale and with practices that wear down more colonies than any backyard keeper ever would. A smaller producer’s honey costs more because it comes from healthy colonies, and keeping them healthy is the job.
Today isn’t a defense of our prices, though. If it were, we’d probably be on a ballot somewhere.
A beekeeper’s work really is year-round: when it snows, and when spring is just starting to bloom. We’ve had a series of challenges this year that would almost be comical, unless you’re the beekeeper. This year’s champion was a high-tension power line that came down in a storm and swept two colonies all over the ground. That took two days to handle, the first one without power, and pushed everything else on the schedule. The stands didn’t budge (whew!). We’ve also had wild dogs terrorize colonies, plus the losses that hit colonies across the nation late last winter. I think that was nature’s way of cleaning house a bit, like the farmer who burns his fields, or rests one field and lets another pasture produce.
Most of the work is hive management: checking behavior, watching for signs around the colonies, reading the bees. Colonies have personalities, and they vary. They also vary with silly things, like the great clouds that BUZZ right before a summer shower, or when it’s too hot. Beekeepers spend their time building the colony around what’s best for the bees, and of course doing the glamorous inspections you’ve heard so much about.
Sometimes the bees decide to do things differently. In spring and early summer you’ll hear plenty of “don’t mess with the bees” and “they’re not dangerous, it’s just a swarm.” Merely say the words “I have a swarm” and every beekeeper within earshot is grabbing a veil: “I’ll be there in two minutes!” Getting bees naturally is exciting. It’s also an apiary-saver when it’s YOUR colony that swarmed.
Why do they swarm?
Usually because conditions in the colony have changed. The two main reasons are lack of resources (out of honey, out of feed) and overcrowding. For beekeepers, overcrowding is often neglect, so the bees do what they’ve been doing longer than humans have existed: surviving.
The queen reads the room, and the word goes out: “Mama’s moving!” Before she leaves, the workers raise a new queen from an egg she’s laid. The old queen leaves with part of the colony, and that’s the swarm. Back home, the new queen takes her mating flight, mates with several drones, and returns. She won’t leave the hive again for the rest of her life, about two years, unless conditions change.
Meanwhile, the scouts have been out searching. They bring back the intel and hold an election to pick the new spot. On swarm day there are beenados and crazy flying, and eventually the bees settle while they prepare. That’s what you may have seen: a huddle of bees on a branch, an eave, or something similar.
My first swarm
I had never had a swarm. I had never seen my girls swarm.
Monday happened to be an amazing day:
- Overdue checks finally arrived in the mail.
- My wife skipped a blood transfusion for the second week in a row. That’s a big deal.
- I moved up to #3 in the Top Host competition.
Since she didn’t need a transfusion, it was an unexpectedly short day, all on a Monday. Mondays are usually the most stressful day of our week. My wife needed a day to relax, and with this unplanned free time, that’s what the doctor ordered.
Before we settled in, I walked the property and eventually landed in the apiary. The girls were particularly happy (a sunny day after a lot of storms). Then I looked over and saw a ton of bees going crazy up at “the height,” and realized: oh goody, I have my first swarm!
I tried to get them that day, but my ladder wasn’t tall enough, and I didn’t have the energy to haul the big ladder up there. The next day was busy, and I managed to get the ladder about halfway there. On the third day, I got it in place. They were still building the swarm, and I didn’t want to climb into it before the homebound siblings and mommy bee had joined, so I decided to wait until morning. The next morning came, and I still hesitated.
For four days I got ready, and I never took the swarm.
Partly that was concern, and partly I was fascinated. The concern was that they were so small, and at this time of year I didn’t think their odds were very good. I debated merging them back where they came from versus starting a new colony. Merging may have been the safest option, but I didn’t want to take chances doing something I’d never done.
Why it matters
Bees don’t hibernate. In winter they pack into a tight ball called a cluster and shiver their flight muscles to make heat, rotating so everyone takes a turn on the cold outside edge. They burn stored honey to do it. A colony that swarms in October has just split its workforce right before winter. Fewer bees means a smaller cluster, and a smaller cluster can’t hold as much heat or move across the frames to reach its honey. Colonies like that can starve with food just inches away. On top of that, the new queen back home still has to mate, and this late in the year there are hardly any drones left. If she doesn’t mate, the colony turns on her, and with no queen to replace the workers it dies out. That’s the crop: honey comes from healthy colonies, and one bad October can cost a whole one.
What the girls taught me
The swarm itself was fascinating. They’ve since moved on (or gone back to the colony). As I watched, they landed on a clump of dead leaves at the end of a branch, and it looked like they were actually trying to make it home. I watched for four days, morning, noon, and evening, and saw the same behaviors I see in a colony in the apiary. The bees were doing what biology told them to do: survival, less for the colony than for the species. Humanity has a lot to gain by learning from the bees.
In the colony, every bee has her job:
- She may be the queen, laying eggs.
- She may be a nurse bee, caring for the newborns or attending the queen.
- She may be a forager out finding pollen and nectar.
- She may be a guard bee, the colony’s bouncer.
They know their job, they do it, and they live for their purpose. Against all odds — mid-October, weather cooling, food sources minimal — they swarmed. It was an act of fortitude and trust in one another. I tend to fall into the camp of “yes, that’s what we’re supposed to do, but this is what these girls are doing.”
I was content with my decision, even if it showed up as a pause. In the end, I trusted them more than I trusted me.
So I let them BEE.
Bee-You-Ti-Full.
