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  FROM A TO BEE

  Copyright © James Dearsley, 2012

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publishers.

  The right of James Dearsley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Condition of Sale

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

  Summersdale Publishers Ltd

  46 West Street

  Chichester

  West Sussex

  PO19 1RP

  UK

  www.summersdale.com

  eISBN: 978-0-85765-721-3

  Substantial discounts on bulk quantities of Summersdale books are available to corporations, professional associations and other organisations. For details telephone Summersdale Publishers on (+44-1243-771107), fax (+44-1243 786300) or email ([email protected])

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book is dedicated to Mum and Dad for their unwavering support over the years and to my sister Emma, to my lovely Belle-Mère and also to Peter who is sorely missed but never far from our thoughts. However, my darling Jo deserves all the credit for putting up with my crazy plans and ideas – for which I am eternally grateful. I am proud to be her husband each and every day. Finally, this book is dedicated to my beautiful boys, Sebastian and Edward, with whom I look forward to a lifetime of adventures and mischief.

  I ran a social media competition to name the title of this book and so I must personally thank everyone that suggested a title. The winner, From A to Bee, was suggested by Henrik Cullen, but I also have to extend my thanks to my good friend Rob Hoye, who was beaten into second place by a mere seven votes. Another good friend, George TC, came joint third with Liz Bennett. It was great fun and thank you to all that took part and thank you to Summersdale, who allowed me to run this rather madcap campaign and have been supportive throughout and a joy to work with.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  James Dearsley, the Surrey Beekeeper, started The Beginner Beekeepers page on Facebook, one of the largest online communities of beekeepers, and is on Twitter (@surreybeekeeper). His site www.surreybeekeeper.co.uk started as a blog, so others could learn from his mistakes, and expanded into a shop and general online resource for beekeepers. He has written for a variety of publications around the world including The Ecologist and has recorded a DVD, Beekeeping for Beginners, with Charlie Dimmock, which is now on general release. He lives with his wife and two sons in Surrey.

  CONTENTS

  Diagram of a Beehive

  Introduction

  Diary

  Resources

  INTRODUCTION

  Beekeeping… Oh my, what have I done?

  I am thirty years old, have been married for three years and am a new father to a fantastic little boy. Surely there are things that I should be doing at this age which do not involve little yellow and black insects that can hurt you if you are remotely clumsy – which, at 6 foot 5 inches, I have an amazing ability to be. My wife, Jo, thinks I have lost my mind, and my little boy looks at me rather strangely when I start running around the living room making buzzing noises and flapping my arms frantically as I try desperately to make him laugh. I think maybe my wife is right. My mother has somewhat disowned me and blames my father for my eccentric ideas – he is, after all, a morris dancer. My colleagues think I have simply lost the plot; they take a wide berth around my desk and no longer engage in conversation, knowing that it will end up with me talking about bees.

  It is no surprise, therefore, that I should reflect on precisely what it is that I am about to undertake. Especially when, a) I have spent my whole life running away from what I have always felt to be frightening insects, and, b) I don't particularly like honey. And yet regardless of these two small issues, I have started to learn the simple – or so I thought – art of beekeeping.

  My decision to become a beekeeper started in the middle of the year on one of those fantastic summer evenings when the light is beautiful, resting on the garden, and I was there, glass of wine in hand, watering the flower beds. It was one of those moments to treasure until I realised I had completely drenched a poor bumblebee trying to seek shelter in the flower of a gladioli. The poor little thing did not look too happy but just bumbled along onto the next flower. I was transfixed, and sometimes it takes just a moment for me to become obsessed. This was a glorious creature just going about its duty when a great beast of a thing (me!) came along to interrupt its vital role in the great world we live in.

  That moment got me thinking about the whole bee world and it was then that I started reading about the plight of the honeybee. I hadn't even considered that there was more than one type of bee (I now know there are over 200 different types of bee in the UK alone). It sounded as if they were having a hard time – and I mean a seriously hard time – and not just from the likes of ambitious and competitive gardeners watering their plants. Honeybee populations are dropping in considerable numbers due to a multitude of factors which have collectively been termed 'colony collapse disorder' and not a lot was being done, it appeared.

  There were also other reasons why bees were starting to appeal. I was becoming increasingly fascinated by elements of the self-sufficient lifestyle and I love growing vegetables on the allotment. The old romantic in me had idealistic notions of taking my little boy up to the allotment, and each Saturday going to check the bees with him just to teach him about the world and where everything that ends up on his plate comes from.

  In order to turn my idealistic thoughts into reality I had to start to learn the art of the beekeeper, if only to help the bees in my area. Maybe I could make a difference and cause a butterfly effect in the UK which would spread throughout the world and save the humble bee…

  I made it my mission to learn everything I could about bees. I would get a couple of hives, bore my friends and family (even my morris-dancing father) with my new-found wisdom of the bee world and have a simple aim. Despite established hives being able to produce upwards of forty jars of honey per year, I only wanted to produce one pot of honey this year. Yes, that's right, just one jar of honey. It might not sound an awful lot but I have heard it can be rare for first-time beekeepers starting from scratch to get any honey in their first year. I hope you enjoy the journey.

  SEPTEMBER 23, 2009

  My beekeeping career started today with the first of ten two-hour classes. I found the beekeeping course by performing a Google search and discovering that there were beekeeping associations that ran evening classes. I was already starting to feel old even thinking about beekeeping, let alone thinking about attending evening classes.

  I was feeling quite nervous as I drove to the local school where the course was being held, as I simply did not know what to expect. I was pleased to be earning brownie points as well as learning a new skill because, should we ever win the lottery, Jo and I would love to send our son to this rather grand school set in the heart of the Surrey countryside. Therefore, I reasoned, this was to be a reconnaissance mission as well as an evening class.

  While driving along on this miserably dark autumnal evening, I was wondering how beekeeping could possibly take ten weeks to learn. Surely these little black and yellow insects would be easy to look after. I was more interested in what the fellow enthusiasts were like, let alone the teacher. I had a very clear vision, probably gleaned from
my knowledge of morris men: usually old, with beards, red cheeks and noses, well-rounded tummies and generally a fondness for drinking ale. I felt that beekeepers and morris men would be cut from the same cloth. I wondered if being beekeepers-in-the-making, beginner beekeepers would only have partial beards, slight tummies and merely a hint of reddening of the cheeks and nose. The teacher, on the other hand, being fully qualified, would have all the attributes of the morris man.

  As I drove into the school's vast driveway I was immediately in awe of the beautiful building in front of me, softly lit by floodlights. It was Gothic in appearance with impressive stonework and the most imposing arched windows and doorways dotted around its facade. I could just imagine Sebastian coming here. I approached the door of the classroom (which was one of the outbuildings and not so impressive, having probably been built in the 1960s!) with my heart beating slightly faster than usual. The strange nervousness of a new situation was dawning on me – as well as the frightening thought of a room full of morris-dancing beekeepers.

  I opened the door and walked into the classroom. In fact, everyone looked pretty normal. Only about 40 per cent had beards – none of the ladies did – and there were only a few rounded tummies. They all said hello to me, which was nice. The classroom had desks laid out in two horseshoes, with a desk at the front. Having only just got there on time I was the only one sitting in the smaller, inner horseshoe with everyone else behind me. I felt like a naughty schoolboy having to sit closest to the teacher and voiced this point to the others to subtle smiles.

  So the most difficult bit was done. Nerves gone, I just had to sit down and enjoy the next two hours. David, the teacher, was incredibly informative and immediately likeable. I hadn't spotted him straight away as he was standing off to one side. He was also the slimmest of the lot and had no reddening of the cheeks either, putting him way off my stereotypical beekeeper, though he did have the tell-tale beard. I later found out that he was one of the top beekeepers in our area. How do they measure this? Honey production? The beekeeper with the most beehives? Who knows, but I was certainly fortunate to be learning from him.

  This first session covered the basics and gave an insight into the world that I was about to enter. Within ten minutes I realised why these courses were ten weeks long. There was so much to learn. I drove home from the session utterly in awe of what I had just learned. I now know what honeybees look like (they are not the fat, hairy bees which are so obviously bumblebees but in fact look similar to wasps but with not so harsh colouring) and realise just how important they are to the world in which we live. I got home, offloaded a load of (what I believed to be) useful information to my wife, and then remembered about the reconnaissance mission. I told her about the school: brownie points duly earned.

  I can't sleep but I know I'm hooked on becoming a beekeeper.

  SEPTEMBER 25

  It is now two days on from the first day of the course that changed so many of my ideas about the honeybee and I find that I cannot stop thinking about them. One fact on my course amazed me and I feel I have to look into it a little more. Doing this will introduce me to the practical side immediately and make it all feel a bit more real.

  I learned during Wednesday's session that bees can forage up to 3 miles away from the hive. This fact astounds me. Imagine the journey these little bees do, just in the search for nectar and pollen!

  I am truly desperate to look at a local map but I don't want to rush into this. I have a notion of sitting down with a nicely brewed cup of coffee with a map spread out in front of me. I will locate where my hives are to be based (have not got a clue where yet) and get a pair of compasses and plot a nice circle around my hives to the tune of 3 miles. There is a side of me imagining a World War bunker-type operation, complete with the map sprawled out over the table, low-level lighting, cigarette smoke hovering overhead and me manoeuvring little bee models around the map with funny-shaped sticks.

  I know I have a 1:25,000 map of the local area somewhere so I reckon this will be enough to tell me all I need to know. How many farms are there around here? How many fields for foraging and what types of crops are grown? This is obviously of utmost importance for the bees – I've heard that oilseed rape, for example, produces a very early honey harvest; if you leave it too long it goes rock hard apparently. I hope I don't have too much of that nearby. I feel fortunate to live in the country with lots of room for them to forage. I wonder if there's a difference between urban and rural bees and their respective honey…

  SEPTEMBER 27

  After a short trip away with work, which meant being out of the house at 4 a.m. and only just arriving home at 11 p.m., I have had enough of my corporate world for today and am very tired. I have worked in the overseas property business for four years now and it involves a lot of international travel. For the first couple of years it was fantastic but now that I can even tell when Gatwick Airport WH Smith has restocked its shelves the travelling has lost its appeal. However, with map in hand, I feel that now is the time to see where my little ones might fly to.

  Jo and I get into bed and I bring with me the map and a glass of wine; who says romance is dead?! I also bring a pair of compasses ready to draw a nice circle around a proposed hive location to see just how far my bees will fly. I think this an ingenious plan though perhaps not the best implement to take into the marital bed. I then notice to my utter dismay that we are located right at the bottom of the map; I can therefore only see the top of the 3-mile circle.

  Even though I can only see half the story I still know this is a huge area for my bees to forage – a total area of nearly 19,000 acres after some quick mathematics. I immediately realise why they say that bees literally work themselves to death. As I view the area I also realise just how little I know about my local landscape and, due to the fact that I live in pretty much the middle of nowhere, how little I know about the farming and agriculture around me.

  I feel that I have to know more about this 'bee fly zone', and that I need to have a drive around to familiarise myself, not least because in that compass half-circle I count about five public houses. Imagine what I might find in the other, more populated half! As I am drifting off to sleep I feel it is entirely justified as maybe, just maybe, my bees might fly into the gardens of the public houses at some point and I might need to go and see what they are like. What a lovely excuse to go and investigate. A job for the weekend I think.

  SEPTEMBER 30

  It's the second session of the course tonight and again I come away with a great appreciation for the 'humble' honeybee. For such little insects they are unbelievably sophisticated. Essentially the topic for this evening is the colony itself and its structure, but I can see that David is itching to tell us all some amazing facts:

  • In just one hive there can be up to 60,000 bees but just the one queen (!).

  • To make one jar of honey (you know, your regular 454 gram jar from the supermarket) the bees from a beehive would have made at least 25,000 flights to gather enough nectar to convert into honey.

  • The average worker bee, in their lifetime of only six weeks, despite flying for hundreds upon hundreds of miles, will only make one twelfth of a teaspoon of honey.

  • At all times of the year, regardless of the outside temperature, the hive is kept at a temperature of between 32 and 35 degrees Celsius. It doesn't matter whether you are in the Arctic Circle or in the Sahara Desert!!

  For someone who has been around bees for most of his life, it's inspiring to see that David's passion for them remains strong. So are his concerns. Though I understand that we are going to discuss bee diseases at a later date, he obviously can't avoid the elephant in the room: the problems bees are facing. I have read a few articles about the problems but I genuinely didn't realise their extent.

  Currently bee colonies are being wiped out at a rate of at least 30 per cent per year, David says, every year. In some cases, beekeepers in the US have been seeing losses reaching 70 per cent in some years. The almond
plantations in California are already having to ship in beehives to help pollination as there simply aren't enough bees to do the job locally. Considering this is an 800 million dollar business there is a serious dependence on bees: can you imagine manually pollinating thousands of acres of almond trees? I have heard about a situation in the deepest depths of China where people are employed to walk around orchards all day with feathers on long sticks to manually pollinate fruit trees. I can't quite see this happening in America somehow. Meanwhile, shipping thousands upon thousands of hives could be contributing to the problem, with the bees getting stressed on long journeys.

  What is also interesting is the breakdown of the colony. Of the 60,000 bees in the colony, 90–99 per cent of those are the daughters and these are termed the worker bees. The name is particularly relevant when you consider what these bees do in their lifetime:

  • Clean the hive and other bees

  • Feed the larvae, young bees and the queen

  • Deposit the pollen and nectar brought in by older, flying bees into cells and start the conversion to honey