What?! I'm thankful that some bees remain in their hive; I checked the comb this morning and it looks quite nice. But why separate? I moved an extra top bar into their hive after the fact, wondering if they were feeling crowded. But who was feeling crowded? Who is leading this renegade contingent?
And whoever led it clearly didn't know the rules. A swarm is supposed to go into a tree, where the eager beekeeper can carefully knock it into a box and keep it covered overnight, so the bees calm and rest. My bees sat on the ground, where I would have to move them ... somehow.
I figured long sleeves, gardening gloves, and my bee mask would be prudent. Good thing, because as I brushed the bees into the banker's box, they weren't keen on going. Stung: wrist, arm, arm, arm. Retreat.
The stingers stayed in the fabric of my shirt, so they popped out easily. Four little workers, dead, protecting their swarm from the strange yellow glove.
At first, the bees moved into the box of their own accord. But the original spot I'd noticed had not moved. I suppose the queen (or queen-like bee) remained there, as the swarm gradually oozed out of the box and back onto the ground.
Well, if the mountain won't go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. I put the banker's box on the bees. After the sun set, I picked up the inverted box and set it on the lid, thankful that the swarm didn't remain on the ground.
So now I have a banker's box of bees, waiting in my storage trailer, for me to dispose of tomorrow—somehow.
It's always something exciting on the farm!
Phil and I were pleased today to get almost all the trees in the ground. We have eight peach trees yet to plant, but we must chip our final large pile before those can go in. And we have ten crabapples to beautify our parking area. And that's it (until the next order arrives). We're really getting close.
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