Lavender, Confetti and Getting down to 'Bees'ness

Spring is on the way, heralded principally by the appearance of the Almond Blossom at Finca Tres Hermanos.  It's a timely cue to begin paying a little extra attention to the garden; specifically to tidying the veggie patches and clearing them of their unwelcome weeds, and preparing the new beehives for what we hope will eventually become home to some new honeybee colonies.  

It's been somewhat of a lackluster start to our winter growing season.  A person with the remotest grasp of horticultural knowledge will know that bad growing seasons happen from time to time, and it seems that our vegetable garden is a little tired from overworked soil which in turn has given over to struggling plants.  The best way to avoid this happening of course is to let an area rest for a year.  As luck would have it, we have a good deal of space and while Scott continues to make a full recovery from fracturing his ribs last September, our good friend Antonio has rotivated some new areas in our fruit orchard and these are now planted out with peas, broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower and broad beans; better late than never we suppose!  What we've already planted in the existing beds are picking up a little bit so fingers' crossed we'll have platefuls of fresh veg for our dinner yet!

The new vegetable garden has somewhat expanded our production capacity
(as well as saving the chore of mowing by quite a significant degree!)

 

Broad beans in one of the existing beds are giving it their best shot, despite the tired soil!
(pictured left: our broad bean flowers in morning dew)

On to the subject of bees now and, sadly, things are no better there; a lot worse in fact.   A few weeks ago, our remaining hive was raided by a nearby squadron of hungry bees.  Always in the know about all matters relating to campo life, Antonio later explained the certain cause was a nearby beekeeper who regularly fails to provide extra food for his own hives during the hard winter foraging months.  His bees cannot be blamed for heading out on the rampage therefore.  Scott was first to notice the ensuing battle raging outside our hive.  At first, we mistook the scene for "bearding" (gathering around the entrance to a hive in order to cool down) since the weather was unseasonable warm for the time of year.  However, it soon dawned on us that a raid was in progress.  In just a few short days, debris formed by the dropped honey and nectar left by the overladen raiders at the entrance, and the noticeable reduction of our colony number was evidence enough that there was an inevitable sorry outcome for the hive. 

Neither of us could really bring ourselves to visit the bee terraces to check in the aftermath of the raid.  It seemed a little too hopeless a situation.  There's little a beekeeper can do once a hive is fully under attack.  Had we a little more experience, there might have been something we could have tried in order to throw the attackers off, but we've learned a valuable lesson from the experience nevertheless.  It's just so sad that it has come at the expense of our growing colony.  

So, it appeared as though our colony was doomed.  After a few days, however, we noticed some activity again and it seemed as if our bees were making a comeback against the odds.  I rallied and took steps to try and help.  I made the one entrance in use smaller (the top entrance being closed off) by stuffing it with bits of dried twigs and grass so as to make for a better defense, and quickly shoved a feeder of sugar syrup in the hive top to boost the dwindled food supplies.   Despite our efforts, alas, within a few days activity around the hive had reduced to zero.  We were left to surmise the queen had lost her life in the raid and/or new developing larvae were ruined.   All was lost.  The last remaining bees had probably died a natural death out in the field and our hive was empty.  

Cleaning out the hive and disposing of the raided frames was done with an air of melancholy.  As I examined the combs, I found within them the promise of the honey production that had begun.  It seemed that in the rush to gather up their booty and flee, the raiders had missed a cell or two.  We were nowhere near ready to start harvesting honey and neither will we do so until we have a fully established and healthy colony.  Even so, it was sad to see the early promise from all that hard work (both human and bee) go to ruin. 

Fast forward to the weekend just passed and, not to be deterred, we regrouped and have set the way forward to begin our beekeeping adventure again.  This time, we have three hives ready to welcome their new dwellers.  We might just hold the third one back for a while in case we should get a desperate call later in Spring to rescue a displaced swarm that has taken up residence in someone's back garden.   You might remember that during our first lockdown last year, and only four weeks into our beekeeping adventure, Scott didn't hesitate to do just that when the call came from a friend, and he brought a rescue colony home in a prepared hive one twilight evening.  Of course, that colony overtook the one we'd already started and it's that very same colony that we have just lost. 

It was a beautiful sunny day on Saturday and a good one to prepare the new site for our third hive and re-place the two existing and freshly cleaned hives down beside it.  As Scott trimmed the low-hanging branches from an almond tree above the third hive site, a gentle breeze blew the blossom from its boughs, as well as from those suspended from the other almond trees nearby.  As I watched the little pink and white flower petals float down and land in higgledy-piggledy fashion around the hives and beyond, it reminded me of confetti in a church yard after a wedding.  I pondered a while at the scene.  As is my wont, my mind often ambles off to seek the poetry in life and I couldn't help but imagine what this spectacle of nature might be saying.  I pictured a moment of silence and sorrow.  The joyfulness of confetti was replaced by the sadness of tears, falling quietly and softly around the silent hives, as if mourning the loss of one of natures greatest marvels.  And then my mind turned full circle and back to the beauty of it all; delicate little petals adding colour to wherever they lay.  Looking back at the trees from which it was falling, and there before my eyes was the promise of new beginnings.  I like to think of it that way.  Nature might seem cruel at times, but it is also profoundly beautiful and renewing too, especially if you look for the poetry within it. 

Elsewhere on the bee terraces, our lavender continues to bloom, as it has done all winter, thanks to the relatively mild weather and a gentle watering from the irrigation system.  I didn't have to look far for further proof that life carries on for the collective honeybee.  Pollen and nectar remains to be gathered in abundance, albeit just not by our very own little army of workers.  It hardly matters they are not ours.  One day soon, they will be.  We'll have to just try a little harder to keep the next lot safe. 

And so, we are ready.  The sun and the little Spring precipitations are already seeing to the regrowth of the citrus blossom, and to slowly bringing on the flowers that will give birth to our organic veg.  It's a good time to be out in the garden, but, it will be a better day when we see clouds of honeybees fly over and take up residence in the hives.  

Down on the bee terraces, preparing the hive sites.
The lavender is waiting

Siting the hives.  We've painted the lids white to deflect the sun.
A finishing touch: the hearts will tell the bees they are loved.

Lavender, Almond Blossom and Beehives.  A picture of new beginnings