Weather is the one factor every farmer respects and fears.
Early last month, I welcomed four new packages of bees to the farm from California. The forecast called for biting winds and temperatures in the high 30s on the only day I had available, which was hardly ideal for little insects who thrive in the warmth.
I had to get creative, so I came up with a 3-phase plan.
Phase 1: Build a bee hotel.
The day before, I brought all of the equipment into the house and spread it out on the heated floor of our nice, warm cabin, including the wooden hive boxes, frames (where bees build their wax comb), and jugs of Pro-Sweet. The idea was not to waste any bee energy warming up cold equipment, make them as comfortable as possible, and encourage them to start building comb.
Phase 2: Fire up the mobile sauna.
Dawn broke bleakly with overcast skies, a 6-8mph breeze, and an on-again, off-again drizzle. Great…
To keep the bees safe during the commute to the apiary, I turned my John Deere Gator UTV into a mobile sauna. I blasted the heat, wrapped the four bee packages in towels, and buckled them into the passenger seat. These were Randy Oliver Golden West Queens from California, so I knew the Minnesota chill was going to be a rude awakening.
Phase 3: It’s go time.
I started with my new Primal Insulated Hive. These hives are designed with extra thermal protection, perfect for our climate. I had my gear ready.
Gloves? On.
Smoker? Lit.
Hood? Down.
I knelt by the hive, gave the package a gentle shake to drop the bees to the bottom, and reached for the queen cage, which keeps the queen safe from the workers until they accept her scent.
SNAP!
The metal tab on the cage broke off. Without that tab, there was no way to hang the queen cage onto the frame. "Well, this is a great start,” I said to the trees (I’ll admit, my language may have been a bit more colorful than that).
Phase 3.5: Think fast.
Much to my family’s dismay, I save everything. Everything. I knew I had an old queen cage around here somewhere.
I tucked the broken cage into my chest pocket to keep the queen warm and jogged to the shed. I dug around and finally found an old wooden cage from years prior, quickly realizing I’d have to perform a "queen transfer" in the cab of the Gator.
The cab of the gator was nice and warm, and the towels neatly wrapped over boxes provided a perfect surface for the surgical work. I pried the cork off the cage, lined up the holes of the two cages, gave a tiny puff of air, and watched her walk into the new cage. I felt like a pro.
Proud of my quick problem solving, I walked confidently back out to the shiny new Primal bee hive, expertly opened the ziplock with one ungloved hand to retrieve the marshmallow and plugged it into the queen cage hole. The silver metal tab bent easily as I formed a hook, fished it between the plastic foundation and frame and pressed it into position. Perfect!
…and then it all started happening in slow-motion.
The Primal Hive uses unique, tapered frames. As I lowered the tedious frame into place, it clunked. Next thing I know, the slightly hardened marshmallow had fallen out of the queen’s cage and tumbled into the bottom of the giant empty hive.
I panicked, peering into the box when I saw the queen scampering out and down along that frame. I pulled it out and cupped my hand around her, trying to be gentle but quick. If only I could just get a hold of her, then...
"Noooooooo!!"
She took to the cold Minnesota air as I pawed desperately into space, trying to grasp her gently. Her wings seemed to laugh at me like two tiny Benjamin Franklins I will never see again. In an instant, she was gone into the cold woods.
I suppose this was bound to happen sooner or later.
All beekeepers lose a fresh queen eventually, right? Whether you accidentally squish one or lose one to the wind, it’s a sting that hurts worse than a physical one.
I didn't let the day go to waste. I managed to successfully install the other packages without a hitch. The marshmallows stayed in place this time.
I installed the last queen easily this time into the Primal hive shook her bees in and thought the best thing to do was add the bees from the lost queen. It would have been too many for a single brood box, the Primal hive was the best place for them, so in they went. I added more syrup to the feeder, as this box now had twice as many mouths to feed.
After I put the Gator back in the garage, I decided I needed to walk this one off. I needed some time to accept this loss right out of the gate. Time on the trail always helps me clear my head. “What will Randy Oliver say when I tell him I lost one of his prized queens?” I thought. As I walked off the adrenaline on the trail the drizzle started again.
Farming is 25% planning and 75% pivoting when the weather laughs at your plans. Fortunately, our remaining hives are nice and tucked in, and that’s something to be grateful for.
Wishing you crystal clear skies as you begin waking up your own farms and apiaries!
- Mick