When I started in the spring of 1998 I had read eleven books on beekeeping. I want that on the record, because it makes the following list even more embarrassing. Reading about bees and standing in front of forty thousand of them are not the same thing. Here, in roughly the order I made them, are the mistakes of my first year. Some I made more than once.

1. I wore my navy blue sweatshirt. Bees are much more interested in dark clothes than light ones. The old explanation at the club is that a dark, fuzzy thing coming at the hive looks like a bear or a skunk. Whatever the reason, that sweatshirt got a lot of attention. Now I wear one of Robert's old white dress shirts with the cuffs taped.

2. I opened the hive on a cool, cloudy, windy day. When the weather is bad the foragers are all at home, and they're in a mood. The best time is a warm, sunny late morning or early afternoon, when a lot of the older bees are out working. Fewer bees at home, and the ones there are busy.

3. I stood right in front of the entrance. That's the front door and the runway at the same time. Stand to the side or behind the hive, and you won't have bees bumping into your veil trying to get home.

4. I lit the smoker after I took the lid off. Light it first, get it going well, puff a little at the entrance, wait a minute, then open up. Also, it will go out at the worst possible moment. Mine burns dry pine needles and a little burlap, and I keep a coffee can of extra fuel next to the hive.

5. I wore sneakers and no socks. One bee went up my pant leg. I'll leave the rest to your imagination. Tuck your pants into your socks, or wear boots. You'll look silly. You won't care.

6. I opened the hive every other day for the first month. I was just so curious. But every time you open a hive you set the colony back a little: you break the seals the bees made, let the warmth out, and get everybody upset. Once every week or ten days is plenty for a new colony, and less once they're established. Have a reason before you open it.

7. I didn't know where the queen was, so I decided she was dead. I called Buford in a panic. He came over, pulled one frame, tilted it toward the sun and showed me eggs: tiny white specks standing up on end in the bottoms of the cells, like grains of rice. An egg hatches in about three days, so if you see eggs, you had a queen in there within the last few days. You don't have to find her. You just have to find her work.

8. I squashed bees putting the boxes back together. Set the boxes down slowly, and slide them a little so the bees get out of the way. A crushed bee gives off the alarm scent, which smells for all the world like bananas, and it gets the others riled up.

9. I swatted. Once. It makes things worse. Move slowly, breathe, and if you've had enough, close up and walk away. They'll be there tomorrow.

10. I put the honey super on too early. In June of year one I proudly added a honey super, and the bees ignored it all summer, because a new colony is busy building up its brood boxes first. The super just gave them more space to defend. Wait until they've nearly filled the boxes they have.

11. I left frames sitting out in the yard. I set two frames on the grass while I looked through the rest, and inside of ten minutes bees from who knows where, and a couple of yellowjackets, were all over them. That's called robbing, and it can turn into a real fight at your hive's front door. Keep the boxes covered, work quickly, and never leave honey sitting around.

12. I fed them in an open pan. Same problem, plus some drowned bees. Sugar syrup goes in a feeder inside the hive, where only your own bees can get to it.

13. I thought they were swarming. Twice. On warm afternoons the young bees come out and hover in front of the hive, facing it, to learn where home is before they start foraging. It looks like a commotion. It's just orientation flights. And on hot summer nights a lot of bees hang on the front of the hive in a big beard to cool off. That's called bearding, and it's normal too. Edward across the road was very entertained by my phone calls about both.

14. I waited until September to count mites. I knew better. I'd read about it. I just didn't do it, because the bees seemed fine. Bees can seem fine for a long time while the mites build up. The count was higher than I wanted, I treated, and they came through, and I was lucky. This year I counted every month.

15. I didn't write anything down. This is the one I'm most ashamed of, as a librarian. By the end of June I couldn't remember which week I'd seen what. Now I keep a hive notebook in a plastic bag on top of each hive: the date, the weather, what I saw, what I did. It's the most useful book I own on beekeeping, and I wrote it.

I'm sure there will be a list for year two. It will probably start with "I had a book fair."

back to Two Hives and a Hundred Questions
Made a mistake I didn't? Tell me about it at [email protected].