My intention Sunday was to harvest Honey from all my hives. After coffee, I suited up. While the bees are fairly docile most of the time they get testy when you start fooling with their honey.
I can't imagine why. It takes 60,000 bees a month to collect a super of honey. OK, just reading the previous sentence makes me feel a little bad...but I digress.
When I put on my coveralls, a long-sleeve shirt, my bee suit and leather gloves I headed in. By the time I popped the top of the first hive, I was pouring perspiration. Did I mention that bees are tidy insects? The only thing they dislike worst than sloth is a beekeeper that's sweaty. They were NOT happy with me.
The suit keeps me safe from stings but I thought I could hear them talking bad about my parents as I worked.
When I lifted the first super from the beehive, I grunted. It was heavy. Setting the super onto my cart, I went about some hivish routines.
I looked inside a second box, but instead of frames of amber honey, these were almost black. I was freaked. I imagined all kinds of disease, locusts, pestilence, and other maladies.
Closing the hive, I knew my internal thermometer was telling me the fun was over.
I pulled the cart back toward the house with hundreds of angry bees buzzing BRING BACK OUR HONEY YOU SCALAWAG.
When I pulled the frames from the super (the box that holds the frames) they were all filled with capped honeycomb. This is a beekeeper's dream.
When I harvested all the frames, I weighed the bucket. The scales showed 30 pounds.
Today, Jilda sterilized all of our jars and I drew six quarts and four pints of honey from the bucket and there is still a gallon left.
When I called the old beekeeper about the black honeycomb, he laughed. He said that all the honeycomb turns that color as it ages. I smiled when I heard those words.
Hopefully, it will be a little cooler this weekend so I can harvest the other hives.
I'ma loving this work.
I can't imagine why. It takes 60,000 bees a month to collect a super of honey. OK, just reading the previous sentence makes me feel a little bad...but I digress.
When I put on my coveralls, a long-sleeve shirt, my bee suit and leather gloves I headed in. By the time I popped the top of the first hive, I was pouring perspiration. Did I mention that bees are tidy insects? The only thing they dislike worst than sloth is a beekeeper that's sweaty. They were NOT happy with me.
The suit keeps me safe from stings but I thought I could hear them talking bad about my parents as I worked.
When I lifted the first super from the beehive, I grunted. It was heavy. Setting the super onto my cart, I went about some hivish routines.
I looked inside a second box, but instead of frames of amber honey, these were almost black. I was freaked. I imagined all kinds of disease, locusts, pestilence, and other maladies.
Closing the hive, I knew my internal thermometer was telling me the fun was over.
I pulled the cart back toward the house with hundreds of angry bees buzzing BRING BACK OUR HONEY YOU SCALAWAG.
When I pulled the frames from the super (the box that holds the frames) they were all filled with capped honeycomb. This is a beekeeper's dream.
When I harvested all the frames, I weighed the bucket. The scales showed 30 pounds.
Today, Jilda sterilized all of our jars and I drew six quarts and four pints of honey from the bucket and there is still a gallon left.
When I called the old beekeeper about the black honeycomb, he laughed. He said that all the honeycomb turns that color as it ages. I smiled when I heard those words.
Hopefully, it will be a little cooler this weekend so I can harvest the other hives.
I'ma loving this work.
