Beekeeping during a Pandemic

Sometimes it seems like the whole world has gone mad. I’m the first one up today, wondering what the governor will decide about a stay-at-home order and whether it means my husband will be working from home this week—and what it means for friends who can’t work from home. I’m thinking about immunocompromised friends and family who need this disease slowed. I’m trying to decide whether to give my children spring break in a world that’s quarantined, or whether to keep the normalcy of daily school schedules.

Thank goodness for bees.

Caring for animals or working the soil can ground you when the rest of the world seems out of control. Feeding, watering, cleaning pens, running your hands through the earth…there’s a kind of solace there.

 

The view across the top of the frames.

I opened my hives for the first time this spring right before everything changed. It was a warm, sunny day, but there was snow in the forecast. The weather this winter has been pretty open, meaning my bees have been more active but without a nectar flow to make honey. I opened the hives to slip in some bee fondant to get them through till flowers start making nectar. (Bee fondant is basically bee candy made from sugar and water. It’s used in the winter to avoid increased moisture inside the hive from supplements like sugar syrup.) While I was in there, I poked around a little. All three hives had booming populations and had foragers out looking for pollen.

One hive had varroa mites. Seriously. Varroa mites are a major factor in failing bee colonies, and I could see them on the bees. I could see signs of some of the diseases they cause, like Deformed Wing Syndrome. Normally you have to test for mites to see how many are in a hive. How many, not “if.” These were right in front of me, which meant the hive was in serious trouble if I didn’t do something.

Full disclosure, this was totally on me. Doing nothing last fall was what got me into this mess. I should have checked and treated for mites then, but I let other things push in and take my time and attention. I put off treating for mites until the weather was too cold to open the hives.

I had to wait for the snow and below-freezing temperature to come and go before I could treat for mites. Saturday was the first truly warm day when it wouldn’t be harmful to open the hives all the way. I treated the bees with oxalic acid, using the drip method. I’ve treated with it before. I’ve also used products like Mite Away Quick Strips. It’s a good idea to switch up treatments; mites, like any pest or disease, can become resistant to a treatment that’s used to often.

Using oxalic acid stresses me out a little, honestly. It’s supposed to be a “natural” treatment because oxalic acid is already present in honey, but any chemical that comes with eye protection, rubber gloves, and a big skull and crossbones on the bottle makes me antsy. I had to take the oxalic acid and combine in with sugar syrup, which would be dripped into the brood area of the hives. The measurements had to be precise (and they were metric—ugh!) This method usually requires a syringe tube, but mine had gone missing. A turkey baster with measurement lines works in a pinch. I will, of course, never use that baster for turkey again.

Preparing the oxalic acid.

Once at the apiary, I had to open the hives one by one, taking off all boxes to allow access to the bottom brood box, dribbling medicated sugar syrup between the frames—25 ml per box—and then replacing the top box and repeating.

Two of the hives were too busy to pay any attention to me. One, the one that really needed it, was really, really angry. However, I only got stung once, which is half the damage they did last time. Once I was through with the treatment—and the angry bees—I could take the time to enjoy those marvelous little creatures.

The bottom box of the infested hive.

And I do enjoy them. Despite the stings and occasional uprisings, despite working with dangerous chemicals and having to use the metric system, I love those little critters. The steady thrum of bees at work is better than any relaxation app. The smell wafting from the hives—sweet, warm, and slightly yeasty—is heady and intoxicating. Each bee, each piece of perfect comb, each example of their social structure gives evidence to the incredible, precise creativity of their Maker. Even when the world is going mad around me, watching bees at work calms me and remind me of who is in control.

I don’t know what my point is with this post. Perhaps you’re interested in beekeeping, perhaps not. Perhaps these details bore you. Maybe I hope it will pull you out of yourself for a while and give you the same peace it gives me. Peace for the day. Peace for the week. Peace for the times ahead.

God bless you this Monday.