The Lord woke me at 4:07am. The alarm was supposed to go off at 3:50am and didn't. That 17 minute delay meant that I arrived at the airport and walked onto the plane. No wiggle room, but a little extra sleep. Travel mercies.
On the second leg of the trip, 3 1/2 hours, my heart sank. I was in the middle seat, between a shrinking man and an irate large lady, with a tall, sturdy 21-month-old lap baby who had slept enough and was ready for action. But, amazingly, across the aisle was a woman with no one in the two seats next to her. She issued a general invitation to anyone who needed more space, and I jumped at the opportunity.
It turned out that her daughter is a missionary in a Middle Eastern Country, and we had a pleasant trip talking about the food chain and how we came to know the Lord and hiking and such. She helped entertain Joe a bit, making a paper person out of a torn piece of paper and a boat out of a napkin. Travel mercies.
Back in Colorado: it's brown. There's no trees. The mountains have snow. It doesn't feel like nine months since I stepped into my parents' house. Joe and Natalia, his 12-days-older cousin, have been having a cheery visit, both being happy children.
Isaiah, when I talked to the boys this evening, said, "Guess what Dad saw today down in the woods: a koala, a bear, or a deer." Sadly, the answer was not a koala (which would have been a great surprise), nor a deer (which would have been obvious), but a bear. I suspect the bear will come after my bees. That would be a bummer.
Some time ago someone wondered how I chose the fruit trees I did. Good question. For the apples, I read a couple books. One highlighted fifty top varieties; the other mentioned a few varieties by name. I did my best to choose types that sounded good and ripen over a few months. I probably went overboard choosing about 30 varieties with less than 300 trees, but since i haven't tried many, it's hard to know what will be good. Maybe this is a test orchard, in a way. Semidwarf apples don't usually last much longer than a decade anyway.
For the rest, I asked the orchard what they would recommend. It's a challenge to read fruit grower catalogs, because most everything sounds so delightful, so it was good to have a grower pick ten plums and pears with a variety of uses (prunes, canning, fresh eating, unique appearance, good keeping). Since my tastebuds prefer sweet, the cherries and peaches are all for fresh eating, but not all of the cherries are super sweet. I guess some of them are Hungarian cherries, that have a good sweet-tart mix.
So if you find Hungarian cherries somewhere, try them. I hear they're good.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Continued Adventures of Mixed-Up Bees
While Ken and Cheri took the three older boys to Whole Foods, Chipotle, and the laundrymat, Phil and I planted the ten crabapple trees. I had originally purchased them for pollination, but they didn't fit well into the orchard, so we're using them as decoration, more or less. Eight peach trees left to plant, plus 20 trees on their way. We have to chip the final large brush pile before those peaches can go in the ground, so Phil spent a few hours doing that, until his arms vibrated of their own accord. (Well, maybe not quite.)
Yesterday's sting on my wrist caused my whole forearm to swell. In the future, I'll remember to scrape the stinger out, not pinch it (pinching pushes more venom into the skin). And I'll hope to have any stings through clothes, since I think they are less intense.
I spent a good bit of time trying to figure out how to help my poor bees. The banker's box of bees was humming aggressively when I picked it up this morning. After much thought, I wondered if the bees swarmed because they had chosen too small a section of hive for the doubled amount. I decided to expand the section where the bees had stayed, and then dump the swarm in the opposite end of the top bar hive, with two dividers between them, and an open section with the entrance. I hoped that would allow the bees to gradually become friendly again before combining entirely.
I dumped the swarm in, and checked in occasionally. At one point, I almost despaired, as the bees that remained had abandoned their perfect comb altogether, to advance to meet the returned swarm.
At another point, a smaller swarm of bees clustered on the outside of the hive.
But after much prayer, and a bit of patience, I think that all ends well, at least for today. Some bees returned to the comb. Some bees stayed in the newly opened section. Will they combine? Peacefully coexist? It remains to be seen.
Yesterday's sting on my wrist caused my whole forearm to swell. In the future, I'll remember to scrape the stinger out, not pinch it (pinching pushes more venom into the skin). And I'll hope to have any stings through clothes, since I think they are less intense.
I spent a good bit of time trying to figure out how to help my poor bees. The banker's box of bees was humming aggressively when I picked it up this morning. After much thought, I wondered if the bees swarmed because they had chosen too small a section of hive for the doubled amount. I decided to expand the section where the bees had stayed, and then dump the swarm in the opposite end of the top bar hive, with two dividers between them, and an open section with the entrance. I hoped that would allow the bees to gradually become friendly again before combining entirely.
I dumped the swarm in, and checked in occasionally. At one point, I almost despaired, as the bees that remained had abandoned their perfect comb altogether, to advance to meet the returned swarm.
At another point, a smaller swarm of bees clustered on the outside of the hive.
But after much prayer, and a bit of patience, I think that all ends well, at least for today. Some bees returned to the comb. Some bees stayed in the newly opened section. Will they combine? Peacefully coexist? It remains to be seen.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Unexpected Swarm
My bees, after merging on Sunday, apparently decided that they couldn't live in peace, and so one group swarmed.
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Abigail Goes Home
Phil saw frost this morning. Wow. Good thing I'm behind on planting beans and corn! No worries about Jack Frost killing all the little seedlings.
When I went to check on the bees, I first figured they had gone missing, they were so quiet and still. I can see inside the hive if I'm agile enough to bend low and look up through the mesh covering the bottom of the hive. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could hardly believe what I was seeing: perfect, white comb peeking out below the thousands of tightly packed workers. I figure they have built down six inches of comb since they arrived five days ago. My beekeeping notes say that each comb takes between half a million and a million tiny flecks of wax, excreted from the bees' abdomen. Each bee can produce eight flecks a day. The volume of production makes me more certain that all the bees combined into one hive.
After Abigail took one last look around, she said her goodbyes and we drove her to a meeting place with her Dad in southern Virginia. During the 28 weeks she lived with us, she laughed and cried; she played with my boys and deeply missed her sister; she played with the goats and chased the chickens; she looked for eggs and climbed trees. She showed no fear of bugs or animal corpses. She watched the hiving of the bees and saw a sheep give birth to a little black lamb. She learned to enjoy the beans and rice at Chipotle, and always amazed us with her enthusiastic consumption of oatmeal.
She ran out of our car and buckled herself into her own car before we were even done unloading all her stuff. She was ready to go home and greet her family!
After we dropped her off, Phil and I had a good time of vision conversation for what should maybe happen here in the next few months. After the rest of the trees are in the ground, Phil will focus on the perimeter fence. When that's done, we'll start grazing the animals, who are currently more-or-less enjoying life in the drylot with lots of hay and supplemental minerals. It is easy to feed them, but pricey, too.
Then we think it is time to buy the long-considered sawmill, and saw lumber for our yurt. We decided a yurt is the housing structure we want, without a basement for the time being. Maybe if (when!) the farm starts to be profitable we can add some square footage, but for now, we'll focus on getting a yurt up before winter.
With the sawmill, we hope Phil can clear the lower pasture more rapidly and easily. (It's easier to move a board than a tree!)
We talked more about the classes we attended last week, and theology, and giving. We each came away with a list of things that must be done. Really a helpful day of connection for us before I leave in a couple of days. The three older boys enjoyed visiting with Grandma and Grandpa Super Far Away; Phil and I enjoyed a meal at Chipotle before we went to Costco.
And because the boys weren't all in the van, we fit a chest freezer in the van. Now we can kill the undesirable animals, and have a place to keep the meat! No more freeloaders on this farm!
Some days feel like a gift. This was one of those days.
When I went to check on the bees, I first figured they had gone missing, they were so quiet and still. I can see inside the hive if I'm agile enough to bend low and look up through the mesh covering the bottom of the hive. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could hardly believe what I was seeing: perfect, white comb peeking out below the thousands of tightly packed workers. I figure they have built down six inches of comb since they arrived five days ago. My beekeeping notes say that each comb takes between half a million and a million tiny flecks of wax, excreted from the bees' abdomen. Each bee can produce eight flecks a day. The volume of production makes me more certain that all the bees combined into one hive.
After Abigail took one last look around, she said her goodbyes and we drove her to a meeting place with her Dad in southern Virginia. During the 28 weeks she lived with us, she laughed and cried; she played with my boys and deeply missed her sister; she played with the goats and chased the chickens; she looked for eggs and climbed trees. She showed no fear of bugs or animal corpses. She watched the hiving of the bees and saw a sheep give birth to a little black lamb. She learned to enjoy the beans and rice at Chipotle, and always amazed us with her enthusiastic consumption of oatmeal.
She ran out of our car and buckled herself into her own car before we were even done unloading all her stuff. She was ready to go home and greet her family!
After we dropped her off, Phil and I had a good time of vision conversation for what should maybe happen here in the next few months. After the rest of the trees are in the ground, Phil will focus on the perimeter fence. When that's done, we'll start grazing the animals, who are currently more-or-less enjoying life in the drylot with lots of hay and supplemental minerals. It is easy to feed them, but pricey, too.
Then we think it is time to buy the long-considered sawmill, and saw lumber for our yurt. We decided a yurt is the housing structure we want, without a basement for the time being. Maybe if (when!) the farm starts to be profitable we can add some square footage, but for now, we'll focus on getting a yurt up before winter.
With the sawmill, we hope Phil can clear the lower pasture more rapidly and easily. (It's easier to move a board than a tree!)
We talked more about the classes we attended last week, and theology, and giving. We each came away with a list of things that must be done. Really a helpful day of connection for us before I leave in a couple of days. The three older boys enjoyed visiting with Grandma and Grandpa Super Far Away; Phil and I enjoyed a meal at Chipotle before we went to Costco.
And because the boys weren't all in the van, we fit a chest freezer in the van. Now we can kill the undesirable animals, and have a place to keep the meat! No more freeloaders on this farm!
Some days feel like a gift. This was one of those days.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Nine Months and One Day
Yesterday marked nine months from the day we arrived on our land. It's been a growthful time for us all.
Phil worked on a proposal for work. He shoveled a truck load of wood chips and spread them around the animal's pen, so they would have a more pleasant lot to live in.
I dug holes and grieved. We planted eight trees (34 in house to go). The apiary owner called me, because vanishing bees right away like that is unusual. He left a message, because I was away from the phone. I don't know that I want another queen and the trauma to the hive of dividing whatever bees remain. That almost seems mean.
The remaining colony appears to be well. That Queen Esther is one smart cookie. I think that bees don't much like wind. It's been a breezy few days, and the two door holes opened into her living space. I had a horrible moment yesterday where I feared she, too, had vanished. But no, she had moved into the corner of the hive without any openings. No wind reaches her now! Brilliant.
The beautiful bees fly around the red clover, pollinating. They eat the sugar syrup. I hope they do well.
Abigail's Easter butterflies are doing well. As they emerge, we briefly hold them, then let them fly away.
Phil and I rolled a round bale into the animal pen this morning, rather than tossing forkfuls of hay over the fence. The animals enjoyed it. But rather than eating through a round bale in three or four days, I think they'll finish it by tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours for 1200 pounds of feed seems a bit quick to me.
Today was a day of visitation. Our friend Faith (below, in red) came to visit one last time before she goes to get married, and she brought our friend Jenny (below, in green), from church. We had bacon and eggs and vegetables from the farm, and picked some tiny Alpine strawberries growing wild on the land.
They helped me plant four peach trees. Thirty to go (plus the 20 on order, making 50 trees altogether).
When they left, I climbed on the wood chip pile in our parking area, and waved goodbye while I sang a blessing over them. That felt like the right thing to do. I think that would be good to do whenever someone comes to visit.
While they were here, Phil's parents arrived in their motor home for a projected stay of several weeks.
As Faith and Jenny left, our friend Mollie Bush came to see the farm for the first time since the day we arrived. Funny: the day we arrived was the last time Phil's parents were here, too. How fun to show what we've been up to for the last nine months.
Among other errands, Phil redid the electrical wiring in the barn. He added a light switch and outlets. I've been working off of a plastic work light. This evening, I simply had to flip a switch and the barn was ... illuminated. Amazing.
Phil worked on a proposal for work. He shoveled a truck load of wood chips and spread them around the animal's pen, so they would have a more pleasant lot to live in.
I dug holes and grieved. We planted eight trees (34 in house to go). The apiary owner called me, because vanishing bees right away like that is unusual. He left a message, because I was away from the phone. I don't know that I want another queen and the trauma to the hive of dividing whatever bees remain. That almost seems mean.
The remaining colony appears to be well. That Queen Esther is one smart cookie. I think that bees don't much like wind. It's been a breezy few days, and the two door holes opened into her living space. I had a horrible moment yesterday where I feared she, too, had vanished. But no, she had moved into the corner of the hive without any openings. No wind reaches her now! Brilliant.
The beautiful bees fly around the red clover, pollinating. They eat the sugar syrup. I hope they do well.
Abigail's Easter butterflies are doing well. As they emerge, we briefly hold them, then let them fly away.
Phil and I rolled a round bale into the animal pen this morning, rather than tossing forkfuls of hay over the fence. The animals enjoyed it. But rather than eating through a round bale in three or four days, I think they'll finish it by tomorrow morning. Twenty-four hours for 1200 pounds of feed seems a bit quick to me.
Today was a day of visitation. Our friend Faith (below, in red) came to visit one last time before she goes to get married, and she brought our friend Jenny (below, in green), from church. We had bacon and eggs and vegetables from the farm, and picked some tiny Alpine strawberries growing wild on the land.
They helped me plant four peach trees. Thirty to go (plus the 20 on order, making 50 trees altogether).
When they left, I climbed on the wood chip pile in our parking area, and waved goodbye while I sang a blessing over them. That felt like the right thing to do. I think that would be good to do whenever someone comes to visit.
While they were here, Phil's parents arrived in their motor home for a projected stay of several weeks.
As Faith and Jenny left, our friend Mollie Bush came to see the farm for the first time since the day we arrived. Funny: the day we arrived was the last time Phil's parents were here, too. How fun to show what we've been up to for the last nine months.
Among other errands, Phil redid the electrical wiring in the barn. He added a light switch and outlets. I've been working off of a plastic work light. This evening, I simply had to flip a switch and the barn was ... illuminated. Amazing.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Grace Louise Lilly: April 16 to April 26, 2010
Jonelle called me this morning after she and Dave spent an exhausting night in the hospital. "We asked God that this would be the day of decision. Either he would miraculously heal her, which would be so wonderful, or take her home. She is so tired, and the machine wracks her body, and I want her to be at peace. Before we felt we were praying against darkness, but now we don't feel like that. We are at peace."
Soon after we spoke, she went to Gracie Lou and told her daughter that Gracie Lou could go to be with Jesus if she wanted, that the Lillys left on earth would be okay, though they would miss her so much.
Then they took her off all machines, and in the sudden quiet, Jonelle and Dave held their daughter for a precious couple of hours until Gracie Lou fell asleep, after an earthly stay of about 240 hours.
From mother's heartbeat to angel's song. From the face of earthly parents to the face of the heavenly Father.
"It was as beautiful as it could be."
But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.
Soon after we spoke, she went to Gracie Lou and told her daughter that Gracie Lou could go to be with Jesus if she wanted, that the Lillys left on earth would be okay, though they would miss her so much.
Then they took her off all machines, and in the sudden quiet, Jonelle and Dave held their daughter for a precious couple of hours until Gracie Lou fell asleep, after an earthly stay of about 240 hours.
From mother's heartbeat to angel's song. From the face of earthly parents to the face of the heavenly Father.
"It was as beautiful as it could be."
But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Absconded Queen
I drove down to Floyd, Virginia on Saturday morning for a workshop on beekeeping with Gunther Hauk. What a fun day it was! I took six pages of notes. At the beginning, Gunther asked us to tell our beekeeping experience. When I said, "I got my bees yesterday!" he said, "You cannot see it, but she is aglow." I felt aglow.
And I listened to Ralph Vaughn Williams' Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis on the way home, perhaps the most sublime piece of music ever. I turned up the volume and felt like the top of my head was removed. Ahh, so good. (Do a web search: my internet is too slow today to link directly.)
I returned after dark, and the hives were quiet.
I woke at 6:30am and my first thought was, "The bees are hungry." It rained through the night, and Phil said that the bees hadn't eaten much yesterday. I spent the next hour or so trying to make them food. I was supposed to make a sugar candy with sugar and water cooked to the soft ball stage. Unfortunately, my candy thermometer must be packed, and I was misremembering my candy-making experience, so I cooked the five pounds of nasty white sugar almost to the hard ball stage. What should have been easily formable balls were hard little rocks.
But we needed to get ready for church. Queen Esther's hive was abuzz with purposeful activity, but the Queen of Sheba's hive seemed ominously quiet. I put some sugar candy in their hive and left, hoping for the best.
We talked for a long time after church, and we drove a couple hours out of our way, looking for a John Deere Gator that Phil had seen for sale a few days before. But since he didn't remember quite where the Gator was, the trip took a good long time.
Back home: I found the Queen of Sheba absconded. No bees left in her hive. She wasn't dead—she was out of the queen box, and I sifted the dead bees on the floor of the hive to try to find her.
Our sermon this morning was on Matthew 6:25-34, summarized as "Do not be anxious." Bill said that he usually has a point of testing about whatever he preaches on, to see if he's actually believing what he says. I think this was my first little test.
I had hundreds (thousands) of bees crawling on the outside of Queen Esther's hive; all these lost Queen of Sheba workers, in need of direction, in need of hope. But the Queen Esther bees carefully guarded their home; they only wanted the appropriate phermones.
I remembered Gunther's words of yesterday: "If my bees are too aggressive, I tell them, 'If you do not get nicer, I will have to requeen you.' And nine times out of ten, it works."
So I said, "Queen Esther, there are a lot of bees out here who need a queen to guide them. You should take them in. They will make you stronger; they will work hard for you. Let them come in."
Then I walked away.
The usual thing to do when a hive is queenless is to get a new queen from a local keeper. Each hive grows multiple queens in a year, so a good beekeeper can have some extras. Sadly, it's too early in the season for queens to hatch. And the internet had absolutely no help on queenless new hives.
Bill said this morning, "You do the best you can, and then leave the results to God." That was a helpful reminder today. I called all I could think of. Rachel Bush (whose bees arrive tomorrow) said that she'd learned that you can combine two (normal) hives, just by putting a piece of newspaper between them. By the time the bees eat through the paper, they are used to each other's smell.
I found a few sheets of newspaper and went to the hive, only to find: no more bees crawling and circling. No need for the newspaper.
Which was really just as well: how would i have caught and introduced thousands of bees into a hive? It's one thing to dump them from a container, another thing altogether to catch them in flight.
I checked the trees and didn't see bees swarming anywhere. I hope Queen Esther let them join her. I suppose I have no way to know whether she did or not. Be anxious for nothing. (Or is that, BEE anxious for nothing?)
The apiary's guarantee is that they'll resend once, if the queen is dead on arrival. The queen definitely wasn't dead, but she wasn't thriving. And since the hive was over $100, I will call tomorrow and pray for favor. That's a big financial hit to sustain in a day. Especially when the vigorous hive continues healthy and well. (Thankfully, at least in this case, I'm pretty sure this wasn't a management issue.)
Gracie Lou: not a good update. After a close call last night, the doctor told Dave, "I've never seen such bad lungs in such a young child." Jonelle called tonight as they headed up to a summons from the hospital. Gracie Lou's blood pressure was plummeting.
And so we wait. Without anxiety, trusting in a God who cares for his children. His child Gracie Lou; his children Dave, Jonelle, and Natalia.
And I listened to Ralph Vaughn Williams' Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis on the way home, perhaps the most sublime piece of music ever. I turned up the volume and felt like the top of my head was removed. Ahh, so good. (Do a web search: my internet is too slow today to link directly.)
I returned after dark, and the hives were quiet.
I woke at 6:30am and my first thought was, "The bees are hungry." It rained through the night, and Phil said that the bees hadn't eaten much yesterday. I spent the next hour or so trying to make them food. I was supposed to make a sugar candy with sugar and water cooked to the soft ball stage. Unfortunately, my candy thermometer must be packed, and I was misremembering my candy-making experience, so I cooked the five pounds of nasty white sugar almost to the hard ball stage. What should have been easily formable balls were hard little rocks.
But we needed to get ready for church. Queen Esther's hive was abuzz with purposeful activity, but the Queen of Sheba's hive seemed ominously quiet. I put some sugar candy in their hive and left, hoping for the best.
We talked for a long time after church, and we drove a couple hours out of our way, looking for a John Deere Gator that Phil had seen for sale a few days before. But since he didn't remember quite where the Gator was, the trip took a good long time.
Back home: I found the Queen of Sheba absconded. No bees left in her hive. She wasn't dead—she was out of the queen box, and I sifted the dead bees on the floor of the hive to try to find her.
Our sermon this morning was on Matthew 6:25-34, summarized as "Do not be anxious." Bill said that he usually has a point of testing about whatever he preaches on, to see if he's actually believing what he says. I think this was my first little test.
I had hundreds (thousands) of bees crawling on the outside of Queen Esther's hive; all these lost Queen of Sheba workers, in need of direction, in need of hope. But the Queen Esther bees carefully guarded their home; they only wanted the appropriate phermones.
I remembered Gunther's words of yesterday: "If my bees are too aggressive, I tell them, 'If you do not get nicer, I will have to requeen you.' And nine times out of ten, it works."
So I said, "Queen Esther, there are a lot of bees out here who need a queen to guide them. You should take them in. They will make you stronger; they will work hard for you. Let them come in."
Then I walked away.
The usual thing to do when a hive is queenless is to get a new queen from a local keeper. Each hive grows multiple queens in a year, so a good beekeeper can have some extras. Sadly, it's too early in the season for queens to hatch. And the internet had absolutely no help on queenless new hives.
Bill said this morning, "You do the best you can, and then leave the results to God." That was a helpful reminder today. I called all I could think of. Rachel Bush (whose bees arrive tomorrow) said that she'd learned that you can combine two (normal) hives, just by putting a piece of newspaper between them. By the time the bees eat through the paper, they are used to each other's smell.
I found a few sheets of newspaper and went to the hive, only to find: no more bees crawling and circling. No need for the newspaper.
Which was really just as well: how would i have caught and introduced thousands of bees into a hive? It's one thing to dump them from a container, another thing altogether to catch them in flight.
I checked the trees and didn't see bees swarming anywhere. I hope Queen Esther let them join her. I suppose I have no way to know whether she did or not. Be anxious for nothing. (Or is that, BEE anxious for nothing?)
The apiary's guarantee is that they'll resend once, if the queen is dead on arrival. The queen definitely wasn't dead, but she wasn't thriving. And since the hive was over $100, I will call tomorrow and pray for favor. That's a big financial hit to sustain in a day. Especially when the vigorous hive continues healthy and well. (Thankfully, at least in this case, I'm pretty sure this wasn't a management issue.)
Gracie Lou: not a good update. After a close call last night, the doctor told Dave, "I've never seen such bad lungs in such a young child." Jonelle called tonight as they headed up to a summons from the hospital. Gracie Lou's blood pressure was plummeting.
And so we wait. Without anxiety, trusting in a God who cares for his children. His child Gracie Lou; his children Dave, Jonelle, and Natalia.
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