bee_pipes
10-27-2008, 04:33 AM
Pt 1-of-3
I spent some years in the 1990’s as a manager of a feed store in Indiana. Actually, the business started out as a feed store, and developed into a broader business as conditions changed. The town, Michigan City, had always been a small population center for the county with some industry, surrounded by rural country with a significant amount of agriculture. As times and conditions changed it became more of a bedroom community for the Chicago area and the market turned towards homeowners. By the time I started working there, the feed store had a modest inventory of livestock supplies, but the bulk of the profits were in premium pet foods, pet supplies, exotic birds and gardening supplies. The name said it all: Brandt’s Old Fashion Feed, Seed, Garden Store and Small Animal Emporium, Inc. The owner subscribed to the theory that the name of the business should say it all and do the advertising. While the profitable part of the business had come to depend on well-to-do pet owners, we still sold a fair amount of livestock feed, vegetable seed and garden chemicals to the old-timers that lived in the area before the new suburbanites.
Spring was our busiest time of year. From February on we were flooded with old-timers that still insisted on growing their own vegetables. The greatest priority of this type of customer was to be the first kid on the block to have a tomato. With the hazard of frost continuing through the first half of June, there were many years that we sold tomato plants repeatedly to the same customers. I began to develop a genuine interest in gardening and livestock from working at the feed store. The more I learned, the more I came to admire the skills of these customers. Still, the thought of growing the biggest tomato did nothing for me. One day, after the spring flood had reached a lull, I was flipping through one of the reference books we had at the garden desk. It was Rodale’s Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening, a beefy volume published in 1959. Filled with over 1300 pages of ageless information, the book is still valuable to this day. It not only discussed organic methods of gardening, it went into great detail on modern, chemical gardening. The latter was no doubt to draw contrast to the preferred organic methods, but I found it to be a well rounded reference and have always possessed a copy since that time. That day I came across an article about beekeeping. Like most folks, I had heard of beekeeping and had seen the protective outfits worn by beekeepers. Other than that, all I knew was that the bees made honey in a waxy structure called “comb” and somehow it was removed from them so it could be bottled and stocked on grocery store shelves. After reading the article I had found an aspect of gardening that piqued my interest. The thought of watching tomatoes grow had the same attraction of watching paint dry – too slow. Now a beehive – there was activity with an element of danger. There were enough technical aspects to keep the occupation interesting, and the equipment needed was something I could nickel and dime with my modest salary until I had accumulated enough to raise the bees.
When an idea catches my interest I generally jump in with both feet. This has occasionally had disastrous results, but moderation has escaped me most of my life. I set about reading everything I could find about beekeeping. The local library had a wide assortment of books on the subject, some dating back to the 1950’s. In the course of the following summer and fall I had read everything I could get my hands on and was certain this was a worthwhile pursuit. My family and friends, long grown used to this behavior, we quite entertained and waited for my interest to wane. My wife at the time was adamant about bugs in the house. In an earlier pursuit of a correspondence course in electronics, I learned that she was absolutely neurotic about bugs of any kind. At the time we were a newly married couple, and as such, had only the dining room table for me to work on. From time to time an IC would get knocked off the table – you know - the small black chips with rows of pins on each side. Whenever my wife saw one of these ICs lying on the floor; she would assume it was a bug and have a shoe off in a flash. She would then hammer the chip while screaming “You son of a bitch!” The entire process would occur in the wink of an eye, she was so obsessed with insects. I could see having her and any unsuspecting bees, armed only with stingers, in the same building would be a disaster and come to a bad end for the bees.
That winter I began ordering and assembling equipment. My readings had furnished me with quite the education and I was delighted to find that beekeeping is one of the few things in this world that is quite straight forward. A typical hive, called a “Langstroth” in honor of the man that designed them, is a stack of boxes without bottoms or tops. These boxes are often referred to as bodies or hive bodies. Obviously, something is needed below the bottom box in the stack, a bottom board, to prevent the elements and soil-born pests from entering. Likewise, something is needed above the top-most box, a cover, to protect the contents from the weather and uninvited air-born pests. Within each box is a set of wooden frames that will hold the honey comb. Since these items are to be shipped from a supplier, the most economical means is to send them as parts, to be assembled at the destination. A typical Langstroth hive will contain two boxes, referred to as brood chambers; and two or more boxes, called “supers” or honey supers. The brood chambers provide the actual living space for the bees and rests on the bottom board. In these sections the bees will live, work and raise their young. The honey supers are the sections in which the bees will store surplus honey. I have no idea what the word super is in reference to, I had always assumed it was short for superfluous – exceeding what is sufficient or necessary – but have never cared enough to inquire about the term. The supers will be stacked on the brood chambers and topped with the cover. Remember, these boxes are filled with ten frames each and so far we have accounted for a total of forty frames. This is a minimum set-up for a hive.
More often than not, additional supers will be used – even required – to provide the bees with enough space to store surplus honey. The colony of bees living in the hive is affected by a number of circumstances: weather, nectar flow, available space, etc. From a strictly business point of view, providing additional supers makes sense. There is an advantage to giving a hive all the room they want to build comb and fill it with honey. Less frequent trips to the hive to fetch full supers results in a larger harvest. The alternative is micro-management and frequent trips for a smaller yield. Of course, this line of reasoning can be carried to ridiculous lengths, resulting in towering hives that put the beekeeper in peril when walking among them. The general rule of thumb is no more than the bees can use and no higher than you can comfortable reach. I have seen pictures of very tall hives, managed by professionals, but I was in no danger of becoming a professional.
I began assembling my basic hive; bottom board, cover, two hive bodies, two supers and associated frames. All the wooden parts were pre-cut and it was simply a matter of applying wood glue and nails. This sort of work is quite enjoyable so long as one is not in a hurry. Sunday, my only day off from the feed store, began with a pot of coffee and working in the basement assembling hives. When the frames are assembled a starter sheet of wax, called “foundation”, is placed within each frame. Foundation is made from bees wax and imprinted with a hexagonal design to encourage the bees to draw comb. The hex pattern is the design of comb the bees use naturally and has been found to be the most efficient use of space and material, resulting in the strongest structure possible. With eighty frames to assemble and in which to install foundation, the work did get a little monotonous, which induced me to build a jig on which frames could be quickly assembled.
I had read that a beginner should start with two hives to prevent disaster from bringing an early end to the season. The two hives would be placed in different locations, miles apart, so a pesticide spray or other calamity might destroy one colony and leave the other in-tact. I worked through January, assembling hives, painting hive bodies and making other preparations for the spring. I also made contact with a fellow that managed bees for a local orchard. Bees increased the yield of their fruit trees and provided additional revenue from the sale of hive products. For the sum of $30, this fellow would take two brood chambers, with frames, bottom boards and covers; and swap some of my empty frames for frames from his hives, containing brood, honey and pollen; and place a new queen in the hive. This is often referred to as a “nuc”, which I assume is short for nucleus. In mid-May I delivered my hive components to the orchard. On Memorial Day weekend I picked them up.
Funny thing about transporting bees. They do not respond well to voice commands, so there is no way to call them back to their hives. Bees, however, do schedule their activities according to the sun. To catch a hive while everybody is home it is only necessary to wait for sunset. At sunset I stapled screen across the hive entrance, stapled the hive body to the bottom board, and applied a nylon strap around the whole affair to hold the pieces together. The only vehicle I had that was even remotely suitable to this task was an old, beat up Dodge Horizon. The only reason it won the honors was because it had a hatchback, making it more appropriate than the Chevy Lumina that my wife drove. This actually worked out quite well, I would have had to use the Lumina on the sly, and she would have never gone for it. The hives were loaded into the hatchback and dropped off at their new locations. The screen was ripped free, liberating the bees, and I called it a night.
Believe it or not, you feed bees. They prefer sugar water, with a dash of cider vinegar to keep black mould from creeping into their feed. The next day I visited the hives and fed them. A new colony of bees has a lot of work ahead of it – all those frames of comb aren’t going to draw themselves. The population present in the new hive is not going to
I spent some years in the 1990’s as a manager of a feed store in Indiana. Actually, the business started out as a feed store, and developed into a broader business as conditions changed. The town, Michigan City, had always been a small population center for the county with some industry, surrounded by rural country with a significant amount of agriculture. As times and conditions changed it became more of a bedroom community for the Chicago area and the market turned towards homeowners. By the time I started working there, the feed store had a modest inventory of livestock supplies, but the bulk of the profits were in premium pet foods, pet supplies, exotic birds and gardening supplies. The name said it all: Brandt’s Old Fashion Feed, Seed, Garden Store and Small Animal Emporium, Inc. The owner subscribed to the theory that the name of the business should say it all and do the advertising. While the profitable part of the business had come to depend on well-to-do pet owners, we still sold a fair amount of livestock feed, vegetable seed and garden chemicals to the old-timers that lived in the area before the new suburbanites.
Spring was our busiest time of year. From February on we were flooded with old-timers that still insisted on growing their own vegetables. The greatest priority of this type of customer was to be the first kid on the block to have a tomato. With the hazard of frost continuing through the first half of June, there were many years that we sold tomato plants repeatedly to the same customers. I began to develop a genuine interest in gardening and livestock from working at the feed store. The more I learned, the more I came to admire the skills of these customers. Still, the thought of growing the biggest tomato did nothing for me. One day, after the spring flood had reached a lull, I was flipping through one of the reference books we had at the garden desk. It was Rodale’s Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening, a beefy volume published in 1959. Filled with over 1300 pages of ageless information, the book is still valuable to this day. It not only discussed organic methods of gardening, it went into great detail on modern, chemical gardening. The latter was no doubt to draw contrast to the preferred organic methods, but I found it to be a well rounded reference and have always possessed a copy since that time. That day I came across an article about beekeeping. Like most folks, I had heard of beekeeping and had seen the protective outfits worn by beekeepers. Other than that, all I knew was that the bees made honey in a waxy structure called “comb” and somehow it was removed from them so it could be bottled and stocked on grocery store shelves. After reading the article I had found an aspect of gardening that piqued my interest. The thought of watching tomatoes grow had the same attraction of watching paint dry – too slow. Now a beehive – there was activity with an element of danger. There were enough technical aspects to keep the occupation interesting, and the equipment needed was something I could nickel and dime with my modest salary until I had accumulated enough to raise the bees.
When an idea catches my interest I generally jump in with both feet. This has occasionally had disastrous results, but moderation has escaped me most of my life. I set about reading everything I could find about beekeeping. The local library had a wide assortment of books on the subject, some dating back to the 1950’s. In the course of the following summer and fall I had read everything I could get my hands on and was certain this was a worthwhile pursuit. My family and friends, long grown used to this behavior, we quite entertained and waited for my interest to wane. My wife at the time was adamant about bugs in the house. In an earlier pursuit of a correspondence course in electronics, I learned that she was absolutely neurotic about bugs of any kind. At the time we were a newly married couple, and as such, had only the dining room table for me to work on. From time to time an IC would get knocked off the table – you know - the small black chips with rows of pins on each side. Whenever my wife saw one of these ICs lying on the floor; she would assume it was a bug and have a shoe off in a flash. She would then hammer the chip while screaming “You son of a bitch!” The entire process would occur in the wink of an eye, she was so obsessed with insects. I could see having her and any unsuspecting bees, armed only with stingers, in the same building would be a disaster and come to a bad end for the bees.
That winter I began ordering and assembling equipment. My readings had furnished me with quite the education and I was delighted to find that beekeeping is one of the few things in this world that is quite straight forward. A typical hive, called a “Langstroth” in honor of the man that designed them, is a stack of boxes without bottoms or tops. These boxes are often referred to as bodies or hive bodies. Obviously, something is needed below the bottom box in the stack, a bottom board, to prevent the elements and soil-born pests from entering. Likewise, something is needed above the top-most box, a cover, to protect the contents from the weather and uninvited air-born pests. Within each box is a set of wooden frames that will hold the honey comb. Since these items are to be shipped from a supplier, the most economical means is to send them as parts, to be assembled at the destination. A typical Langstroth hive will contain two boxes, referred to as brood chambers; and two or more boxes, called “supers” or honey supers. The brood chambers provide the actual living space for the bees and rests on the bottom board. In these sections the bees will live, work and raise their young. The honey supers are the sections in which the bees will store surplus honey. I have no idea what the word super is in reference to, I had always assumed it was short for superfluous – exceeding what is sufficient or necessary – but have never cared enough to inquire about the term. The supers will be stacked on the brood chambers and topped with the cover. Remember, these boxes are filled with ten frames each and so far we have accounted for a total of forty frames. This is a minimum set-up for a hive.
More often than not, additional supers will be used – even required – to provide the bees with enough space to store surplus honey. The colony of bees living in the hive is affected by a number of circumstances: weather, nectar flow, available space, etc. From a strictly business point of view, providing additional supers makes sense. There is an advantage to giving a hive all the room they want to build comb and fill it with honey. Less frequent trips to the hive to fetch full supers results in a larger harvest. The alternative is micro-management and frequent trips for a smaller yield. Of course, this line of reasoning can be carried to ridiculous lengths, resulting in towering hives that put the beekeeper in peril when walking among them. The general rule of thumb is no more than the bees can use and no higher than you can comfortable reach. I have seen pictures of very tall hives, managed by professionals, but I was in no danger of becoming a professional.
I began assembling my basic hive; bottom board, cover, two hive bodies, two supers and associated frames. All the wooden parts were pre-cut and it was simply a matter of applying wood glue and nails. This sort of work is quite enjoyable so long as one is not in a hurry. Sunday, my only day off from the feed store, began with a pot of coffee and working in the basement assembling hives. When the frames are assembled a starter sheet of wax, called “foundation”, is placed within each frame. Foundation is made from bees wax and imprinted with a hexagonal design to encourage the bees to draw comb. The hex pattern is the design of comb the bees use naturally and has been found to be the most efficient use of space and material, resulting in the strongest structure possible. With eighty frames to assemble and in which to install foundation, the work did get a little monotonous, which induced me to build a jig on which frames could be quickly assembled.
I had read that a beginner should start with two hives to prevent disaster from bringing an early end to the season. The two hives would be placed in different locations, miles apart, so a pesticide spray or other calamity might destroy one colony and leave the other in-tact. I worked through January, assembling hives, painting hive bodies and making other preparations for the spring. I also made contact with a fellow that managed bees for a local orchard. Bees increased the yield of their fruit trees and provided additional revenue from the sale of hive products. For the sum of $30, this fellow would take two brood chambers, with frames, bottom boards and covers; and swap some of my empty frames for frames from his hives, containing brood, honey and pollen; and place a new queen in the hive. This is often referred to as a “nuc”, which I assume is short for nucleus. In mid-May I delivered my hive components to the orchard. On Memorial Day weekend I picked them up.
Funny thing about transporting bees. They do not respond well to voice commands, so there is no way to call them back to their hives. Bees, however, do schedule their activities according to the sun. To catch a hive while everybody is home it is only necessary to wait for sunset. At sunset I stapled screen across the hive entrance, stapled the hive body to the bottom board, and applied a nylon strap around the whole affair to hold the pieces together. The only vehicle I had that was even remotely suitable to this task was an old, beat up Dodge Horizon. The only reason it won the honors was because it had a hatchback, making it more appropriate than the Chevy Lumina that my wife drove. This actually worked out quite well, I would have had to use the Lumina on the sly, and she would have never gone for it. The hives were loaded into the hatchback and dropped off at their new locations. The screen was ripped free, liberating the bees, and I called it a night.
Believe it or not, you feed bees. They prefer sugar water, with a dash of cider vinegar to keep black mould from creeping into their feed. The next day I visited the hives and fed them. A new colony of bees has a lot of work ahead of it – all those frames of comb aren’t going to draw themselves. The population present in the new hive is not going to