There is a bee legend handed down from bee generation to bee generation about the mysterious appearance of the great whiteness.
“Ooh the great sparkle,” say the bees as they see the twinkling stars and the early evening frost. “Get inside quickly before the instant freezing grips you in its icy hold.” Then they all settle down in their nice warm hives to listen to the tales about Jack Frost.
It is a fable, of course. Frost fell on the farm in Hereford last weekend. I imagined the bees belonging to the neighbours’ hives peering out at the frozen fields.
Yesterday was another beautiful winter’s day when Emily and I met for lunch in Ealing, back in London. A mushroom risotto warmed us before getting the bus to Perivale. The clear blue sky had a tinge of orange as the late afternoon sun shone through the tree tops.
Emily’s marmalade cake caused a stir among the murmur of beekeepers who had gathered for tea. “Your bees have been flying like hell,” said Stan, as I cut a slice of cake.
Another bee legend at Ealing apiary, Alan, gave Emily and I tips on insulating the hives with the foil bubble wrap. Here he is showing Emily how to cut squares around a queen excluder to fit into the roof.
Alan then helped us to fit the foil bubble wrap inside the roof of each hive. The colony will do a good job of keeping themselves warm in winter, but the foil will help to reflect the heat back into the hive. Hopefully, the bees will feel even more cosy.
Bees tucked in for winter, I got a surprise by lifting the roof off an empty hive to put away some equipment. A sleeping wasp with her wings folded neatly by her legs. A bit further along the wood was a desiccated spider and a ladybird who may have died in suspicious circumstances… What dark fairy tale had unfolded?
I gently placed the roof back on the hive to not disturb the sleeping beauty. She looks small for a wasp queen, perhaps a worker who had abandoned her dying nest? In any case, few hibernating wasp queens survive the winter, either succumbing to the cold or spiders, she’ll have as good a chance as anyone else.
The hives had become still as Emily and I got out the chicken wire to make a start on wrapping the bees for Christmas. The dusk was chasing away the day.
… As usual and as happened every year, there were those bees who didn’t heed the warnings of the legend. They got caught by Jack Frost’s creeping, sometimes sudden, appearance. The late returning foragers caught frostbite on their wings, or even worse turned into instant bee statues. Those whose wings were caught could only be saved if they happened to be on the hive, so they could walk in and thaw. These lucky bees were the ones who told the tales that were handed down.
It is a story, of course, as we left the quiet hives behind us to keep their winter secrets.