To bee or not to bee; the adventure continues

We were digging post holes for a clothesline this afternoon, when the bees from the newly-hived swarm suddenly boiled out the hive and left, apparently in quite a hurry. I followed them through the upper meadow and then they crossed the neighbor's oat field and were gone, headed east.

We were sad to see them go, and so were a couple dozen or so forlorn bees left behind. We opened the hive and saw they had started drawing out comb. We were puzzled, but chalked it up to the mysterious ways of bees, though we continued to speculate about possible reasons.

We finished putting up the clothesline, and then I started some laundry. I had just managed to wash exactly two socks -- non-matching -- when a neighbor to the east called.

"Hey, she said, "we've got a swarm here, and it's settled on a low-hanging branch. We thought you might be interested."

We abandoned the laundry, located a cardboard box, a saw and some clippers, and hopped in the pickup. Our neighbor was waiting next to the tree. The bees had settled on a branch not more than a few feet off the ground, and their weight dragged it down. An easier location one could not ask for; not a blackberry cane or wood rat nest in sight.

The bees were not pleased to see us. I can't reasonably say I blame them.

They are polite bees, however, and so despite making their feelings clear in song, they refrained from stinging. This was a relief, since DH is still sporting a horribly swollen hand and wrist from a sting received Thursday evening. He has another one right under his chin, of all the awful places, and was not looking forward to more.

This did not deter him; it never does. He held up the branch while I tipped the box and slid it in under the swarm, and then we cut the main branches they were sitting on, while bees swirled around us singing their insults.

"Can I run away now?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, and so I backed off and watched him finish carefully clipping more small branches, gathering as many bees as possible, even scooping up a mass that had fallen on the ground in his hands and adding them to the box, too.

A brave man, my husband. Me, I'm a proponent of that famous Milton quotation, "They also serve who drop things and run quickly away." Or something like that.

We rushed the bees back to their abandoned hive, leaving behind, I was very sad to see, another collection of those still flying around in circles. This hiving is a brutal business.

DH poured the bees back into the hive, and this time, the ones left outside gathered around and then marched inside, as it was too late in the day to resume their rudely interrupted flight just then. We will see what tomorrow brings.

Deciding the laundry could wait, we went home, washed the dishes, and made supper. Afterwards, I picked up an old favorite book to read; "The Art & Adventure of Beekeeping," by Ormond Aebi, who grew up not too far from here, and his father Harry.

And in the pages of his book, I found a possible answer. Do not, he wrote, look inside the hive of a newly-caught swarm before six days are up, or they may take offense and leave. We had looked inside; it took us a bit of time to get the hastily-assembled hive properly aligned and covered. So here's hoping that if we refrain this time -- the hive now being properly covered and weighted down -- they will reconsider their decision.

Aebi had other practical tips, too -- like sliding a sheet of cardboard under the swarm first, so that any bees who fall will land on it, and can be gathered up with relative ease. Why didn't we think of that?

And so, the adventure continues. What will happen next? Will the bees stay? Will they fly away at first light? Will they get so exasperated they decide to sting us to death on their way out? Stay tuned for another installment of As the Bee Swarms.