Since this is my first post on the topic, let me start by saying that beekeeping is a year-round enterprise. There are always things to do related to keeping honeybees after the last drop of honey has been harvested and the bees have been winterized for safekeeping over the colder months. On the east end of Long Island, our honeybees begin to hunker down in late October and reappear, at first slowly, sometime in March.
The fact that I am posting my first entry in early spring, the beginning of the active beekeeping year, is entirely coincidence. Here at Oystercatcher Farm, we have already accomplished a lot of spring beekeeping chores: new colonies have been ordered, new hives are under construction, early feeding has begun, and reversing the supers has occurred. We have checked for seasonal problems, and on the health of the queens, and as of this writing things are looking good. That is always a welcome experience.
All of it has amounted to a great deal of work, and we have only three hives. This year, however, we are increasing by twelve, for a total of fifteen colonies, when we return from Betterbee in Greenwich, New York on April 25th (see www.Betterbee.com). Traveling to the area of Saratoga Springs in New York has become an annual journey for John and me. Usually we go to replace colonies that have perished over the winter. This year, after much thought about the work involved, we decided to substantially increase our efforts because we believe in the work we do, and the rewards (not financial) we reap from keeping bees.
Imagine this: on a warm, windless evening in late June, you are sitting on a bench opposite your bee yard. There is a cherished bottle of Channing Daughters Winery Rosato di Cabernet Franc sitting on ice nearby. Your glasses have been filled, and you sip silently as you watch the bees return from their day’s labor. It’s their final return for the evening. Various bird calls can be heard, some nearby and others distant, and a resident catbird watches you as you watch the bees. The evening light softens the outline of the landscape, and a peacefulness, from just sitting there, descends on your shoulders. You could sit there, and you just might, until the very last honeybee enters its hive, and the last candela of light disappears. Oh, and until the last drop of wine has been sipped.
