This past week it was all about grass, chicks and bees. Before someone decides I'm talking about some late 60s song, I better clarify. The grass was green, the chicks were cute and there was a buzz in the air, but it definitely wasn't the summer of love. Yes, last week marked a few firsts of the year for me: the first mowing of the lawn (I use the term loosely, since it more resembles a field), the first hatching eggs and the first bee attack.

I'll start with the bees, since they left a mark to remind me of our time together. I went out to check the bees one evening, which I realized was a fine time to find out I had a hole in my veil. In case you don't know about such things, a veil is the screen that protects the beekeeper's head and face from bee attack. I'm not sure why, but bees are drawn to attack the head when they are upset, probably because that is the most effective place to sting their natural enemies like skunks and bears. Trying to get through a bear's hide to sting wouldn't work well, but popping him on the nose, eyes and tongue probably gets his attention.

It's also very effective on humans, I might add. The bees tend to get angry when you accidentally smash a few while checking frames, something I do most every time I work on them.

Ironically, I had a beekeeper's meeting last Tuesday night, which prompted me to go ahead and get busy with my bees. I think I am the slowest of the local beekeepers, based on the feedback and the meeting. Unfortunately, there is no award for such an honor. As you might know, bees are very astute learners. As a case in point, they can generally find a nectar flow source and then tell other bees where it is located. Much in the same way, they quickly learned exactly where the hole in my veil was located and told all their friends. Three got through before I could figure out what was happening. I smashed two that fell around my neck, but a third stung me on the head.

Since there were at least 100 other angry bees in the air around me, I had to walk off from the hive to try and get out of the cloud before I could do anything about it. By that time, all the poison that was going to enter my head had done so.

Honeybees are very efficient at causing great pain with their stings. I generally suffer swelling and soreness for two or three days after a sting. Luckily, naproxen sodium seems to help. Ibuprofen also works well.

At the time, I didn't know the hole was in the veil, but you can rest assured that I made a good inspection of my equipment as I sat in the living room with my head pounding while searching for the remains of the stinger in my scalp.

The hole in the veil screen was tiny and appeared to be caused by the veil coming in contact with a sharp object, like my hive tool or frame lifter. If there's a hole, there's a bee that can find it.

The bees weren't in a very good mood that day, despite the fact that I had just told the fellows at the beekeeper's meeting what gentle bees I had. See, no sooner is a bragging statement made and the next thing you know, your head is swelling. Sadly, in this case it was literally swelling.

Anyway, after that reception, I opted to wait for another sunny day to check back in on the bees. I managed to get to it on Saturday, at which time the bees seemed to be a different breed. The weather was no better—in fact, it was more overcast than before. But I don't think I'll ever understand everything about bees. Maybe it was just because I put some duct tape on the veil. I just hope the bees don't figure out how to remove duct tape.

As for the chickens, I had one hen that went ‘broody' and opted to sit on a clutch of eggs. Since I hadn't hatched any in a good while, I decided I would let her try to raise them herself.

However, once the first three eggs hatched, the little diddles jumped out of the nest and started running all over the place. This led the mother to abandon the eggs to tend to them.

The other chickens acted as if they were afraid of the little ones, which charged here and there with impunity, causing the others to leap back like a housewife beset by mice. In fact, they scampered about in much the same way. Once I saw that the mother hen was going to neglect the other eggs, I moved them inside and placed them under a desk lamp, setting the distance so as to keep the temperature at about 100 degrees at all times. I went out to check on the three first born and found one alone outside in the rain and the two others huddled together in the coop after dark. Apparently, the mothering instinct wasn't all that. Diddles must be kept warm for their first few weeks of life or they will not survive. I took them in and added them to my new ‘collection.' After three days, all the other eggs had hatched and I ended up with a small box of about 10 diddles.

I promptly gave the little fellows to a friend who expressed an interest. It'll be his start in the ‘chicken business.' It's odd to call something a business when it is guaranteed to not make money. Perhaps it's a chicken charity.

I may try to raise up another generation of laying hens in the future, but for now, I'm more than content with the small flock of adult birds I have now. When serving as a chicken charity volunteer, it's best to stay small.

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