Well here we are, back in firecracker season. It was already hotter than the Fourth of July last week, I bet it ends up being cool and rainy for the holiday. Don't think I have any supernatural weather predicting ability, I just know that I am off work for a three-day weekend. That's usually enough to tell me it's likely to rain. I can't complain overall, I have been fairly well blessed so far this year. Then again, maybe last week's heat was just a precursor of the dog days to come.

I would prefer somewhat more cool weather for working outside anyhow. I can't stand to work in the hot sun for long, I'm not as used to it as I once was. Last week, I walked outside to think about what I was going to try to accomplish and started sweating. I had to quit thinking and get a glass of ice water. There really is nothing like a tall glass of ice water fresh from a mountain spring. Of course, mine came out of the little thing in my refrigerator door, but I'm not complaining. At least it was cold.

After drinking down the water, I figured out that I had to put on my bee hat and gloves and a sweatshirt to check in on my hives. My great grandfather used to work his bees without a veil or gloves, but I'm not as brave as he was. He also often robbed wild bees in the fall. Wild bees don't really exist any more, since these mites and diseases started attacking bees. I have to treat my bees with several different things every year to keep them healthy.

As for my great grandfather, he would have on a regular old button up shirt and just go to it, smoking the front of the hive before checking in on the bees. Later in the year, he would gas the bees and take the honey out of the hive. Of course, that killed all the bees. These days, a beekeeper works hard to keep his bees alive year after year.

I don't think I could work bees very much without a veil. The thought of one of them stinging me in the face or flying around my eyes is more than I can handle. Although my bees are fairly docile and I could work them without the gear, I feel much safer with my body covered, if not more comfortable. The sun beating down on the hot gear and the physical exertion together nearly led to a heat stroke last week. Sweat ran down my nose and made the little rubber pieces on my glasses too slick to stay in place. Of course, with a veil on, it is hard to push them back up my nose. So, I just let them ride down and hoped they would at least stop before falling all the way off my face. As I worked, I wondered how these people who have numerous hives stand to be out in the sun so long? In realizing this question, I decided that I don't need any more hives. Three is a plenty.

So far I really don't have any honey to speak of in my little wooden boxes. From the look of things, I have one hive that has started making honey for me and one that has almost finished making it for itself. The other hive isn't really doing anything right now. The queen is on strike.

I figure on replacing her as soon as I can get to the bee place to buy some stuff. I wish we had a bee place here, but we don't. That's like a lot of stuff — you can't have convenience and peace. You have to sacrifice one for the other. Thinking like that makes you appreciate a little drive to pick up a few things.

One of my hives was 'created' this year when my oldest hive swarmed. In case you are as ignorant of bees as I was until I read "How to be a beekeeper," a swarm happens when the queen bee takes a bunch of worker bees and strikes out for a new home. Needless to say, I was more than a little startled when I walked outside one day and heard a loud buzzing noise. I didn't really know what the sound was to start with. Then I looked up and saw clouds of bees everywhere. It looked like I had walked into the set of a cheap horror movie. The bees were going everywhere but nowhere. As time passed, they grew more and more organized, finally forming a tight-knit little ball in a bush beside the house. I was totally unprepared. I had no extra bee hives, no nothing.

In my defense, swarms usually take place early in the year, not in June. Not knowing what else to do, I called up Larry Cox, a local beekeeper. He was not only nice enough to loan me the hive body I needed, he also brought it to me and showed me how best to capture a swarm. Sometimes the unexpected kindness of others still amazes me.

But now I have three hives and still no honey. The swarm hive and the hive it came from were both weakened by the split, right in the middle of the biggest honey flow period of the spring. The other hive is a brand new one also, having just been purchased as a package earlier this year — the one that isn't doing well. (A package is a box of bees that a beekeeper buys to start a new hive).

I don't plan on selling most of my honey like I did last time. I ended up buying a half-gallon this spring to tide me over until fall. I don't care if I make money at it or not, it isn't a business. I enjoy being fascinated by, and learning from, the bees. Learning new things is really the draw.

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