I had got some quotes before Christmas from local tree surgeons which were extortionate for what I saw as a small job: reduce the willow by a third. Looking back on the day, I now realise why they charge so much money. In my infinite wisdom I instead called on Bob, my next-door neighbour, a legend of a man who all men strive to be like. Every weekend he is outside with his chainsaw cutting up wood and alternating every so often with his gigantic axe. His downtime is spent fixing his equally humongous Land Rover with a V58 engine or maybe just tinkering with his runabout tractor (he doesn't own a field but just loves tractors). He goes to the pub for a Sunday afternoon pint at 4 p.m. every week and is the genuine article: a 'bloke'.
He very kindly offered to help me out as he knew a bit about trees and so he would do the difficult bit – climbing it and chopping it back – and I would do the easy bit, the clearing up down below. It all started well, though Bob started to get 'wobbles' three-quarters of the way up, which put me at ease a bit while doing the real job of raking up the fallen branches.
Anyway we made good progress and got most of the job done before Bob could go on no more and it was getting dark. He did work ridiculously hard. So 90 per cent of the tree is now cut. If the bees are quick, they might still get something. I put some money behind the bar at our local pub for Bob's 4 p.m. pint by way of a thank you and now I just have to finish all the tidying up.
Willow is not the easiest thing to tidy up. As soon as it sees a bit of open, bare skin, it decides to whip you – invariably across your cheeks. Not exactly a pleasant experience especially as there is so much of it. I hope I survive the clear-up without too much pain. Bob, chainsaw in one hand, other manly equipment in the other, sloped off to the pub and a nice open fire. I gently put my rake in the shed, sat in its doorway, looked up at the stump of tree and, while having a cup of tea, contemplated the honeybee and the fact that I had just said goodbye to their spring forage. Sorry, bees.
It was only then that I saw Jo carrying Sebastian out of the front door, woolly hat firmly in place as it wasn't exactly warm outside. As she turned to walk towards me sitting there with my cup of tea, I could see Sebastian wildly gesticulating towards the front gate. It became apparent given the very evident noises of a chainsaw that he was making, along with his frantic waving as he approached the gate, that it was Bob he was after as he walked down the road in the general direction of the pub. Fathers with rakes just don't cut the mustard against neighbours with chainsaws, even to toddlers. Having my last, slightly cold sip of tea, I went to join them bidding Bob farewell.
FEBRUARY 16
It was a proud moment for me today. I returned home from work and as I opened the door to the house I could see Jo and Sebastian waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Jo had a lovely smile on her face and just said, 'Go on Sebastian, what noise does a bee make?' Sebastian looked up at Jo a little bemused as if not sure what was being asked of him. You could then see a little light bulb moment as he turned to face me. A little discernible 'buzz, buzz, buzz' came out of his mouth and his face lit up with a gigantic smile. Funny, isn't it, how small things can make a parent so proud; here was my sixteen-month-old son making a buzzing noise and no matter how bad a day I might have had I now felt on top of the world. I rushed up the stairs to give him a great big slobbery kiss and a longer tickle than normal.
Something else happened today: Steve Freeman wrote back to me, and I now feel incredibly guilty for hounding him. The reason he wasn't getting back to me was because his eldest child was in hospital and it's also the reason why he wants to give up his bees. Despite the fact there was no way of me knowing this, I still feel terrible and I have to take my foot out of my mouth. I apologised as I think Steve took my enthusiasm (and looking back, frustration) the wrong way. My naivety has shown through like a beacon of light especially in the online world of Twitter where all your comments can be seen by everybody and 140 characters doesn't give you a lot of time to explain your comments! I don't suppose messages like 'Hello Steve, are you there? I am dying to hear from you' or 'Hello Steve, have you disappeared?' are too rude but when you put them in context with what he is going through, it probably wasn't the most sensitive of things to write. I think I can rule out getting bees from him now as I could tell from the text he had written that I had really annoyed him. I didn't dare ask him if I could still have his bees.
Even so I go to bed a very proud father.
FEBRUARY 18
One of the lessons I was taught during the beekeeping course was to speak to your local beekeepers. At some point, because of the fact that your bees will be flying up to 3 miles to collect food, there will be the inevitable mid-air collisions, turf wars and bees getting jealous of each other's queens being prettier than theirs. Perhaps, more seriously, speaking to local beekeepers is out of politeness, communication and support networks. However, the most important reason is to know the local issues that may affect your bees and what their bees are doing – whether there are any local diseases, what the honey flow is like – and simply to avoid any surprises. I might also ask them to tell me about the local crops to avoid another field spotting road trip.
I know of two beekeepers near me who I feel I should make contact with. Both are probably within half a mile of where I am planning to put my bees. One lives in a fantastic house in the heart of the village, apparently runs seven hives and sells his honey to villagers. The other beekeeper is situated at the fabulous farm shop at the bottom of our small, bump-ridden, car-killing road. He runs several hives at the shop and sells the honey there. I originally thought it was the lovely lady at the shop who always takes a shine to Sebastian who made the honey, but when I asked she informed me that it was in fact a commercial beekeeper. Yikes! Was this guy really going to want to talk to me? He was obviously a very serious, experienced and commercial beekeeper; a far cry from my humble beginnings with no hive yet to speak of. She gave me his number to call.
It's funny but I felt quite nervous about trying to get hold of them as I simply didn't know what to expect. Here was I, this young, enthusiastic, naive, new guy trying to say hello (wasn't sure what else to say!) to these super-human beekeepers who have probably been doing it for years.
Anyway, this afternoon I spent some time drafting a nice, polite letter to the owner of the big house in the village, complimenting him on the fact that I noticed he has a nice garden (I couldn't really think what else to say) and just saying hello. I felt writing a letter was more polite than just turning up on their doorstep, so we will see. I popped it in the postbox. Derek was the name given to me by the lady at the farm shop and, as I had no address for him, I felt I should probably call him. Tentatively I tried this evening, not really knowing what to expect. The phone rang and a polite but firm voice answered, and so I responded. 'Hi Derek, my name is James,' I said, 'and I would like to have some hives near the farm in Newdigate, please.'
Though I nervously blurted it out, he was very nice about it all but admittedly he was worried at first that I just had this crazy idea to start beekeeping. This isn't too far from the truth, but he was relieved to hear that I had done a course and was obviously serious about it all. I suppose if a local beekeeper is inexperienced or doesn't tend his or her bees well it affects everyone locally so I can understand his reaction. After the initial awkwardness and inquisition, it was quite enlightening to speak to a beekeeper that had thirty hives, and it once again makes it all feel a little bit more real. He invited me to see his hives when he checks them in April – how exciting.
FEBRUARY 21
I have become used to sitting in front of a roaring fire, drinking either red wine or home-made cider, to write my diary. Tonight, however, it is being rudely interrupted by an airport lounge in Newcastle. Corporate life has taken me away up north where it is very very cold.
Having been stuck here for a couple of hours now, this post is being written while I wait in a lovely, colourful, inspiring departure lounge, not a drop of alcohol in sight, full of happy people f
illed with smiles from ear to ear – can you tell the hint of sarcasm here? We have just been told by a rather large man in a fluorescent jacket that they 'are currently assessing the runway to see if it is safe to fly due to the snowy conditions'! Everyone has their heads stuck firmly into books or devices which look suspiciously like iPhones (wish I had one), or devices that wish they were iPhones.
Due to my current situation, I thought I would just reflect on something that happened yesterday and today.
(Just been told we can board – hurray!!)
Yesterday was the day to finish the final 10 per cent of the willow haircut (or massacre). Bob, the man mountain, joined me in the afternoon and we got on with the job at hand. My God, I had forgotten how hard it is to keep on bending over and picking up willow.
(OK, well, I have boarded, am sitting on a seat which, being 6 foot 5 inches, means my knees are by my ears and the computer is somewhere under my nose, and have just been told that with the snow coming down we may not be able to fly… Ho hum.)
Anyway, so the man mountain and I finished the job of cutting the willow. I have to say it is lovely to end up with some fantastic willow poles which I shall make use of this year. But it was also a reminder that the gardening year hasn't really started yet. This is where it all started to go wrong and I found it quite tough. I haven't had time to tidy anything up; last year's geraniums are still looking dead in their pots – I must remember to bring them in next year to overwinter; the grass is all a little bit uneven, wanting a cut and needing to be rolled flat once more. I can't tell you how sad it is to walk on waterlogged grass.
Then, while I was in Gatwick Airport this cold, damp, typical February morning milling around WH Smith, I looked in the garden magazine section and in amongst them all was the friendly face of Alan Titchmarsh advertising an exclusive magazine, The Gardener's Year. I had a quick thumb through it, looking at some lovely pictures and my good mood was restored. They had some appealing photos of what gardens will be looking like in just a month or so, plus step-by-step plans to reassure you that the waterlogged grass, messy-looking pots and weed-filled beds are all normal, and instructions for what you should do about them. I felt the day had taken an abrupt turn for the better, knowing that it wouldn't be too long until the daffodils started to open, and after them the tulips, and after them God only knows.
If spring is coming, it must mean the bees will be too. It's getting closer – but I must now work out where to get my bees from.
FEBRUARY 22
I feel a little strange: I have just ordered my first hive. It feels a little bit unreal, perhaps because it was so simple. I had a good look around and felt from the information and pictures supplied by Nicholas at Peak-hives.co.uk that they were the best people to go with. I got onto the website, bish, bash, bosh, one hive ordered, which will make its way down here to Surrey from the foothills of the Peak District.
What a moment.
I decided, in the end, to opt for the slightly cheaper hive using red deal instead of the preferred cedar wood. I suppose the only real difference, aside from the price, is weight (deal being a little heavier I think) and the fact that cedar probably looks a little bit nicer with far fewer knots in the wood, which despite a few coats of paint will still show through.
So I now have to go and buy the frames to go inside the hive and then, hey presto, my first hive will be born! Whoopee!
Something else quite bizarre happened to me today. One of my Twitter contacts sent me a direct message about my question about which hive to get. @conchdraig, or Trevor as he is known in the real world, told me rather randomly to watch out for bears, deer, racoons and skunks when placing my hive. Gladly I soon ascertained that he is over in the States and so Trevor was justifiably more concerned about such predators than I am. I believe we only really have to watch out for the green woodpecker. A far cry from the troubles they have to go to! It looks like they literally build bee enclosures surrounded by electric fences or barbed wire to keep them all out. Thank the lordy that I may only have to consider some chicken wire around the hive in winter time if I have the slightest concern.
FEBRUARY 24
It's coming up to midnight and I have just got settled in front of the computer after an evening of corporate life. I feel exhausted and it couldn't have been further removed from my evening yesterday spent sowing sweet peas and chilli peppers. Having spent hours talking and incentivising I feel quite tired now and ready for a rather cold bed (as Jo is staying at the mother-in-law's tonight, along with Sebastian). I cannot wait for my head to hit the pillow though; it's funny, when you are tired, the words just don't want to come out particularly fluently but I just really want to get my thoughts down before the night-time displaces them elsewhere and the dawn chorus wakes me with other thoughts…
A lot of people seem to be taking an interest in my beekeeping exploits and my quest for just one pot of honey. There is such a nice community surrounding bees and beekeeping that it is lovely to say that I am becoming a part of it. Everyone is so keen to offer advice that it can actually be quite confusing, but I have to remember that they are doing it out of kindness and their passion for the bees. I get the feeling beekeeping is really about trying to understand all the information you can and then making your own conclusion about what feels right. It's good to know there is support at hand, though.
I was obviously excited about having bought my first hive, and mentioned it to a few of my beekeeping friends. There then followed a barrage of questions which included the following:
What floor are you using?
Did you get the crown board?
Have you thought about what foundation you are using?
Which frame type will you be using?
Are you using a stand?
All of a sudden there is a barrage of other, very important information to take on board and study. How did I know there were different hive floors and foundations? Why do I need a stand? To use the analogy of buying a car, I have basically picked the car body shape but nothing else. I now have to pick all the seats, the radio and the gear stick; not to mention the engine (let's say this would be the bees – and that is a whole different ball game!).
Adam, one of my regular online helpers, really showed me what a few years' experience will give you: the ability to reel off all the technical information, which I have only read about in books and still have a complete lack of understanding about how it all comes together! I look forward to the day that I can speak with Adam's authority.
I am continually getting asked the question about what bees I am going to get. I really must look into this as I am still only really aware that they are yellow and black. I am vaguely aware that some are from Africa and some are from Europe but I have no idea which bees are local to me around here; it doesn't help that I have not heard anything from the beekeeper in the village that I am sure could answer most of my questions. Is there an English bee or even better, a Surrey bee? I am quite looking forward to finding that out. I am also learning a lot about solitary bees at the moment, and the importance they also have on pollination, which has been interesting. Apparently they are a hundred times more prolific at pollinating than honeybees but, as their name suggests, they work on their own.
I must go to bed… These thoughts are not really making too much sense and another long day awaits me tomorrow.
FEBRUARY 27
It has been an interesting couple of days. First, there was the compelling event of our lovely neighbours moving out, who hadn't started packing until the day before. Imagine trying to empty a four bedroom house, with no professional help, while trying to look after two kids aged ten and three, two dogs, three cats, three chickens and two gerbils. It was never going to be a relaxing twenty-four hours for them and it certainly didn't look like a relaxing final hour either. As the removals company for our new neighbours, Nicky and Jo, arrived and just parked patiently outside, poor Duncan and Jane were literally throwing their lifelong belongings into the back of a
small horsebox – yes, a small horsebox. Heaven knows why they left it so late but I should imagine their respective blood pressures have hit new highs.
We went to see them this morning in their caravan, which is only just big enough for them, let alone their menagerie. I also got to see the task ahead of them – building a four bedroom house from scratch. Their predicament looks pretty bleak, and when you consider that they couldn't fit much of their belongings inside the caravan it looks even worse. Last night they left it all outside under a loosely fitted tarpaulin, just in time for a pretty terrible rainstorm. Off flew the tarpaulin and needless to say most of their things are now sodden and unusable. It is not often I feel sorry for people, but I have to say this morning was one of those occasions as I stood in the abyss of a huge hole ready for foundations, which resembled a swimming pool after last night's downpour. I walked away pretty pleased with my own domestic arrangements but wishing them all the luck in the world.
From A to Bee Page 6