In fact it's become a bit of a regular question now on a Monday lunchtime. As soon as I arrive, Joe and Gareth, the two guys who run the shop, and David ask me how the hive inspection went at the weekend. Recently they have been met with a rather glum face and I was probably answering much like a teenager with a shrug of the shoulders and a grunt. It must have been obvious to them that I had lost a little bit of interest as I wasn't really in the mood to discuss the bees but I hadn't mentioned that I was not expecting the jar this year – more out of pride than anything else.
Three large slurps of coffee – and several crazy thoughts on how to get my hive to a heather area – later, David popped back with a blue plastic bag containing a small, unobtrusive parcel. He had been down to Cornwall on holiday, had seen this and thought of me. How very strange, I thought, as other than discussions about his outrageous gambling habit and my on going beekeeping obsession, we hadn't really spoken. In fact, I had only worked out his name two weeks' previous.
Over another slurp of coffee I unwrapped the parcel, only to unveil a rather plain-looking box. When I opened it up, though, and dug through the tissue paper to get to what lay within, I was speechless. David had only gone and bought me a honeypot with a honey spoon! It had a rather quaint design but it had a very nice bee on the lid. I was really touched by this gesture and there and then I made a pledge to him and the cafe owners, Joe and Gareth, that I would now raise my game. Come what may I would get that jar of honey. I would then come into the cafe, buy them all a coffee and toast, demand Joe and Gareth to take a break and we would sit there together and enjoy the honey.
Spurred on, I have spent this evening planning. There hasn't been much success from my social media following. I was offered a few fields of heather up in north Yorkshire but I don't think that is feasible. However…
I have conjured up a plan to contact the National Trust to see if they could help. I have fond childhood memories of going for walks every Sunday with my father and our dogs but I am not sure whether it was the walks that I enjoyed or the warmth of the pubs we frequented when we had finished. Occasionally we would walk over a patch of National Trust land that was covered with heather. I have no memory of where this was exactly but it couldn't be too far away. I could have hit on a goldmine here; a light bulb had lit above my head.
I have tweeted the National Trust PR team, who have recently signed up to Twitter (@nationaltrust), to see if they can help and I will also call the regional office tomorrow to find out if they can put me in contact with the right people who may know where this land is. Given they are well-known supporters of the beekeeping movement, as I know some of their properties currently have beehives, I have my fingers crossed. Surely placing one of my beehives in an expanse of their heathland cannot be too much to ask, although I suppose an organisation like that would require lots of health and safety regulations. That could be a headache. Let's hope not.
AUGUST 17
As I logged on this morning there it was, a tweet back from the National Trust: 'Hi @surreybeekeeper, we would love to help you if we can', and they then proceeded to email me the number for their regional office and the name of the person to speak to.
I phoned the office and having got passed around a couple of times I ended up speaking to the head gardener of Polesden Lacey, a most beautiful property not far away, with gardens designed by Capability Brown. I knew that they had just put a hive in the gardens there and we started out talking about that. He sounded fascinated by the project and was obviously enjoying having the hive in the gardens. I took my chance and explained my predicament and it was obvious from the outset he had some sympathy for my cause and stated he was keen to help if he could. However, he did not have any control over that particular area of the National Trust. He thought it sounded like Frensham Ponds, which rings a bell with me and is in the area that Dad and I used to walk – I must check this with him later.
He offered to email the head warden for that area, which I was really thankful for and, as luck would have it, he is apparently a very keen beekeeper. I also managed to get his phone number. I couldn't believe my luck; this was looking better and better. I just hope he will allow me to put my hive on their land.
Perhaps, just perhaps, there may be a way I can get this elusive jar of honey.
AUGUST 18
'What a Difference a Day Makes' was the first dance at my wedding and it is rather apt here too. I have gone from literally being unbelievably down in the dumps to being excited once more. This is all to do with the prospect of my one jar of honey.
Having waited twelve hours for the head warden to email me, I decided to take matters into my own hands and call him up as I wasn't sure how much time I had left. The last thing I wanted was to get the OK, to move my hive and then to realise that the heather had finished flowering.
I got through immediately and introduced myself. Fortunately he hadn't been ignoring me; he just hadn't checked his emails for the last twenty-four hours. What a way to live your life; I have become far too dependent on them and it takes someone like this to jolt you out of your little world.
I started to give him the quick précis of what was going on as I had done yesterday but I reckoned I had now got my pitch down to a T, keen but not too desperate, and tried to big up the National Trust for helping me. I even got to the point of saying he couldn't refuse on the principle of helping a fellow beekeeper – OK, perhaps that did sound a little bit desperate.
Once I had got through my five-minute diatribe on why I needed help, he simply responded, 'What a fabulous idea! I am sure we can help.' I LOVE THE NATIONAL TRUST!!! He then proceeded to tell me not to think about the original area I had considered for various reasons but another area, which I was familiar with but not aware of its heather credentials; the Devil's Punch Bowl near Haslemere. The reason he knew this to be such a good area was that he lived there, and just a short walk away from his home were several hectares of flowering heather. My heart was beating far faster than usual and I felt on top of the world.
Until this moment I had kissed the jar of honey goodbye and now the door was back open again to hopefully get something out of the year. I had genuinely never thought I would get this reaction from the National Trust and had feared it being a little bureaucratic in its outlook. Here I was however, with not only an answer but a positive answer at that and all within a ten-minute phone call.
We talked further about bee-related things and then got down to the subject about what would be flowering at the moment. Apparently the heather isn't always a great harvest but thrives in wet summers – hence the last two years have been pretty good. This did mean that this year wasn't looking great as it has been so dry but the last two weeks of wet weather may have helped me out. He did state that the heather had been flowering for a little while and he only hoped there would be enough nectar left for the bees to utilise.
He pointed out another flower which I should look out for, which is apparently going great guns at the moment, rosebay willow herb – I have never heard of it but if it helps then I promise to plant it in my own garden next year.
We talked about heather honey for a bit. I knew it wasn't like any other honey but I hadn't really considered that you need to extract it differently. Usually, when you extract honey you have to spin it around at high speeds and it all shoots out of the frames easily. Heather honey is quite different and it simply won't do this. It will stay in the frames stubbornly refusing to move. Removing heather honey is a lot more labour intensive and involves pressing and squeezing it out of the frames. Great, just my luck, I thought – but then again I only need a jar of it.
The head warden then started talking about a mate of his, however, who had designed a contraption that was made out of an old tumbledryer drum and spun at some ridiculous speed; enough to defeat the reluctance of the heather honey and throw it out of the frames. I suggested that this guy sounded like some sort of engineer. 'You could say that,' was the reply. 'He designed the engine for Co
ncorde!' I nearly dropped the phone. I have to meet up with this guy, I thought. What a fantastic way to extract my honey under the direction of a Concorde designer. I made it a personal goal to meet this guy if I was in time for the heather nectar flow. This would be a far more entertaining way of extracting the honey than manually squeezing it out of the frames.
Having taken all of this in, it just left a few moments to get things arranged and work out exactly where the head warden lived. Looking at the map, I thought I lived in the middle of nowhere but this guy took that to a whole new level.
Saturday it is then. I will be moving my hive like a commercial beekeeper in America. I will literally be chasing the honey. Morally I know this isn't great as travel puts stress on the bees but I am only talking about one hive and a forty-five-minute drive. This is hardly the 3,000-mile journey the American bees make on the back of huge lorries, which usually takes two or three days. No wonder they get stressed out.
AUGUST 20
My preparations began today and I wanted to take a look in the National hive and assess the state of play before the move so that I could plan ahead. I was also interested to see whether there was any more honey in the super, just in case I was being a bit premature in this honey chasing.
I lit the smoker as usual and took off the hive roof. There seemed to be a lot more bees than usual up in the super which I took to be a good sign. Taking out the best super I could see that only a little bit more honey had been collected since my last inspection. However, it was really nice to see that about five or six cells had been capped over, which means that the consistency of the honey was right. Five or six cells, though, is hardly enough, considering the other frames didn't really have anything on them at all. This just confirmed that I am doing the right thing.
Stupidly, I was rushing a bit today and so was putting the frames back into the super quite quickly. This soon backfired as one frame, ironically the better frame with some capped honey, fell out of my hands. It was similar to watching toast fall from your hands at the breakfast table, spinning around in slow motion on its way down to the floor where it annoyingly lands butter side down. The same happened here but this time there were quite a few bees on it as well. I couldn't believe it. What had I done?
On picking it up gently, I realised there was no damage done except a few displaced bees who were a bit perplexed, as moments ago they were on a lovely yellow smooth frame and now they were fighting with long green stems of grass. I replaced the frame a little bit more carefully this time, relieved that I hadn't lost what little honey had been collected.
I lifted off the super and started to look through the brood box but no sooner had I done this than I felt a sensation like a mosquito bite on my leg. I couldn't believe it, especially as I was midway through lifting out a frame of bees. I calmly put the bees back down into the hive and then as a precaution I swatted at my leg. Walking away from the hive, it dawned on me that it was highly likely to have been a bee sting, especially as I was standing on the ground exactly where I had dropped the frame earlier.
As I lifted up my trouser leg there was indeed a little sting hanging out of my leg, just above the ankle. In fact it wasn't just one sting, there were two little stings pulsing poisonous fluid into me. I was somewhat perplexed as it really didn't feel like a sting. However, the tell-tale sign was the long yellow stain going down my leg – this must have been the poor bee that got squashed as I swatted at what I thought to be a mosquito.
I was no longer tucking my trousers into socks so this time the bees must have crawled up underneath my trouser leg to attack. There seems to be no option but to look into buying a full-on boiler suit next year. They just seem to like my lower limbs and there is no way of guarding against these ankle biters.
I got back to the inspection, but decided only to check the National hive today as I was a little pushed for time and I was only really concerned about planning for the move. I was really pleased, though, as I saw the queen for the first time in weeks, but stupidly I didn't have my marking equipment with me. (I say this like I would have thought about carrying this out; there is no way alive I would have been able to mark her on my own.)
I went back home, had a cup of coffee and concocted a plan for tomorrow morning. I think I have decided on the following:
1. Go up really late this evening and put a gauze over the entrance to stop the bees flying out.
2. Tie a ratchet around the hive to enable me to move it all in one piece.
3. In the morning lift it into the car and drive to the new site.
It all looks so easy when you write it down over a coffee; but having done a move before I now feel a lot more at ease with it all.
AUGUST 20 – evening
OK, the move is underway. I first of all needed to test whether the hive would fit in the car as a complete entity, as there would be a problem otherwise! It was already obvious that the roof of the hive would have to come off but with the cover board in place, the bees would be safely inside. Before I walked to the allotment I took a tape measure and measured the height of the boot and then once I was standing behind the hive, I measured that as well. There were literally millimetres in it – too close to risk doing it early tomorrow morning and failing to get the hive into the car. I decided I needed to do a dummy run on getting the hive into the car just in case.
I went back to the house, drove the car up to the allotment and reversed rather gingerly until I was about 10 feet from the hive. I tried to secure gauze around the hive entrance before securing the hive using the ratchet. I didn't fancy lifting up a whole hive of bees for them to come pouring out to see what was going on; that wouldn't have been pretty. My first attempt didn't go particularly well and the hive wasn't secure; the bees found it very easy to navigate around my drawing pin secured gauze. They must have just thought I was a complete fool. I left them alone for a moment hoping that they would lose interest as I went to the Man Shed to find some gaffer tape.
I entered the messy oasis of the Man Shed, but none could be found and my hope for electrical tape was also in vain, so I had to put up with layering the rather feeble masking tape. I wasn't too concerned as it was only a temporary measure tonight to just move the hive into the car, but I would need something a little more robust for the actual journey.
Back at the hive, the bees had indeed popped back inside and so I secured the gauze with the layered masking tape; it did look a bit of a mess but I wasn't overly concerned. I started using the ratchet to secure the hive together and all was going well, having watched someone using one on YouTube earlier for good measure. They are amazing little bits of engineering and my hat is docked to whoever designed them.
The ratchet was secured and I started to lift the hive. I did everything right and bent my knees, not my back, but none of this was going to help. OH MY GOD. As I strained to lift the hive, I could not believe how heavy it had become since I moved it there nearly three months ago. I could hardly move it. I had no option, though, as there was no one else around and so I had to have another go; I only needed to lift it about ten feet to a car boot.
I lifted and stumbled my way to the car, all the while listening, rather too closely, to the bemusement in the hive. I rested it on the lip of the boot and as I levered it forward a little, it dawned on me that I was correct earlier on. It was very, very close to fitting in and there were millimetres in it but not in the right direction. To be honest, now that I looked at it very closely, the hive should actually have fitted in given its measurements but it was the angle in which it had to go that was causing the problems, so I didn't feel too much of an idiot. There is a small lip on my boot that I had to ease the hive over first before sliding it in and this was causing the problem.
It wasn't the end of the world. I just had to remove the hive stand on the bottom, which would give me another 10 centimetres to work with. Off I stumbled back to the hive area, and off came the ratchet to let me prise it all apart.
This was where it got tri
cky as I tried to break the stand away from the hive. Even using the hive tool it was practically impossible. I couldn't get any purchase on lifting up the hive except with the stand. Because the super and brood box were filled with bees I couldn't be too heavy-handed, because they weren't fixed together. The last thing I needed was to force it and to dislodge the super from the brood box, and thus let countless bees out of the hive that probably wouldn't be too happy.
It must have taken about half an hour of nervous and scary manoeuvres to create a small gap between the bottom of the hive and the stand. As I was fixing the ratchet I was literally putting my ear right up against the hive and all I could hear was the noise of 50,000 bees hemmed in, trying to work out exactly what was going on. I tried not to think what might happen if I dropped the hive off the stand. Just as I managed to get the ratchet in place, the stand wobbled and the hive moved about one inch off the hive stand, onto its dodgy and rather weakened leg – the one I had put the misplaced nail into all those months before. I saw it wobble, knowing this one leg couldn't take the weight, but fortunately managed to grab it in time. I had a very, very tense moment or two. The sound of the bees was terrifying, as it must have felt to them like an Italian Job moment, when the bus is precariously placed over the side of a mountain pass. I started to breathe normally again as I realised all was OK.
From A to Bee Page 21