My bees are doing so well, with their tightened hive and honey feeding. The Celadon hive ate one cup of honey water today, and the Celestial hive at three cups!
Phil called me early this morning: "Look at your bees forage!" He had noticed some tall weeds, grown up along the trailer, and thought, "I should really cut those down." And then noticed that they were covered with honeybees, earnestly stuffing pollen into their saddlebags. Maybe we'll leave those weeds for now: the honeybees can use all the food they can get!
I headed down for the second time, and found a drone underneath the hive, probably snacking on the bits of dropped pollen. This is the season when the drones are forced out of the hive, so I took this one. Drones, without stingers, are perfectly harmless, and I learned on Saturday that they alone of all bees can go between hives with impunity. Because they have no weapons, the guard bees do not guard against drones, but allow any and all to enter.
My little drone buzzed in my closed hand, tickling me a bit. I came to Abraham and mentioned that I had a bee in my hands that wouldn't sting me. "Because it's dead?" asked Abraham. And then he guessed correctly: "Because it's a drone!"
Isaiah soon grew sick of holding the little insect, and so he made a special house for him out of a folded piece of paper and about 100 stapes.
When dinner was done, I held my little drone. He licked the residual lemon juice off my finger, and gripped tightly, exhausted, however I chose to hold him. Such a beautiful little creature: fuzzy on the thorax, shiny and striped on the abdomen, iridescent wings, sensitive antennae, bulbous bug eyes.
I like that even the bees offer a bit that can be handled and admired, a bit of the colony intended only to be the eyes and ears of the hive, the sense organs, gentle.
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