What Jedi mind-type trickery is this madness? Do they finish the job, turn quickly grab a top hat and wand and with a quick and ever so smooth slide of hand, jar a little with some comb, produce it from behind their back, and exclaim "oh but this is MAGIC HONEY" and then sell it right back to the person who called to get rid of it in the first place? This is either PURE stupidity, or evil genius. The jury is still out.
At any rate. These bees were "in a tree", different from a camper but still, I did a "fast forwarded" play by play of the last extraction's events in my mind and quickly decided a very strongly unanimous NO. Besides, to get the queen, I would need to cut the tree down. To which I then picked up the phone and readied myself to relay all of this to the person on the other end. Enter Mr."C".
He cussed like a sailor, and rightly so I suppose, I mean he DID run a beachside maritime shop. I identified myself as the "person you called about the bees in the tree." I believe that the "Oh yeah!" would have been the only PG words that I could draw from the weaved and very colorful one sided conversation that then followed. However, somewhere in the midst of the "offensive" language, he mentioned, in passing, that these bees were not actually INSIDE any tree. Merely swarming around a branch. He muttled on, but, as if placing one finger to his quick-to-offend lips and whispering "shhhhh" he had me at swarming. Suddenly my tone, and approach changed.
He happily agreed to send pictures of just what I might be dealing with, and I decided, Valentines day or not, to not get my heart set on actually being able to do this so soon. The pictures came through and they were glorious! The comb was pure white, the colony nestled at the bottom of their masterpiece like collected water droplets and the best part was, this was all in fact on a very thin, very accessible looking branch! Realizing quickly that it was already Friday, and supposed to be perfect weather to do this sorta thing Saturday, I agreed.
So here it is, Valentines day, and after we finished the routine farm chores, my son, our dog and I hopped (well, 2 of us "hopped" Callie, being the odd dog who doesn't like car rides that she is, was lifted and gently placed) in the car and away we went. A little over an hour's drive took us to a tucked away little marina lined with palmettos, palms trees and boats. My son had explicit instructions to "STAY IN THE CAR" no matter what. He was plied with snacks, an ipad and our very protective dog in order to ensure that he did just that. I pulled the car around to the over hang of a thin tropical looking tree and followed the gaze and hand gestures of Mr.C up to near the very top. Sure enough, there it was, rippled and layered not unlike a white flag waving against the deep blue of the cold Florida morning sky.
He had mentioned that it was about 12 feet up or so but assured me that there was no need to tow a ladder along as he had a lift readily available. One he said he would raise and then step a safe distance away from while I did my work. Smart man. I assembled the tools that I would need, got the hive box situated at the base of the tree and watched my son play with the dog inside the car as I waited for him to pull the lift around. And then, out of the corner of my eye I saw it coming. Yes, it was in fact a "lift". A FORK LIFT to be exact. Mr.C stopped directly underneath where it was I would be elevated to and I stared on somewhat in disbelief, and somewhat in horror, as I watched him then slide an empty wooden pallet over the prongs of the lift and then turn and ask me with a toothy little grin, "think that'll hold ya?" Funny, I was just about to ask the EXACT same thing for reassurance. So much for that.
I guess I must have nodded because he took his seat behind the controls. I de-sheethed my wimpy handsaw and motioned for him to lift er' up. And up I went indeed. I always try and find the silver lining, and in this case, it was that being up this high, I had a very clear view of my son (now honking the horn repeatedly) in the car. The downside... being up this high. On a pallet. Rigged to a forklift.
I began sawing one of the branches that needed to be removed in order to get at the hive and attempt to extract it all in one piece, every now and again checking my son as well as just how much room I had left for maneuvering around the pallet before I plummeted to my death. One such "check" I turned a little to far to get a good eye line of the car and a bee that had come close to inspect my face and had landed on my protective netting got his chance and took it, stinging me directly on the top lip. While it ended up being the ONLY sting incurred during this entire adventure, it was a good one. Kinda like free botox but for only one side of my face.
The initial assessment had put me cutting down the entire branch that the hive lingered on and placing it as one piece inside the hive box. But, with the tiny handsaw that I had, I quickly rethought my plan of attack and decided to use my hive tool to detach the comb in it's entirety (as much entirety as I could anyway). I began to chisel, and on-lookers began to gather. Apparently it's not everyday that you see a woman in a bee keepers smock and galoshes (cute ones I might add) standing on a wooden pallet attached to a lifted forklift and removing an active beehive. I tried to make as much small talk as one could, while maintaing balance and a sense of calmness in handling the bees.
I was IN IT now, in the brood comb (where the queen hides and lays her precious eggs). I wanted to keep this piece as MUCH in tact as humanly possible. It kinda meant life or death for these bees, and in turn, success or failure for me. It was snagged on a twig, they had "webbed" tightly around and they were around it GOOD. I held the comb from the bottom, amidst the busy swarm of bees, as gently as possible with one hand . Planted my feet in a balanced stance as best I could 12 feet in the air and yanked. And just like the one little thread holding a garment together, the comb bent with all of its weight and came to rest gingerly, and in one piece, in my glove. I placed it and its buzzing little tenants softly inside the hive box which I had taken up with me after I had been lowered to swap the saw for the hive tool.
I had her. And if I had her, I had them. The whole hive.
I cleaned the branch and rid it as much as I could of all remaining comb as to entice any stragglers to come looking for their family and new abode. After finishing loading up the car, I looked around to see how many "casualties" we may be leaving on the battlefield. Far less than expected! The loyal colony had faithfully followed their queen to their new home, and now rested snuggly in the trunk of my car.
I handed Mr.C a jar of comb and some of his very own, extremely fresh honey, thanked him, and pulled away with a trunk full of bees and even better than that, a sense that I just may finally be figuring out what it is exactly that I'm doing. At least a little bit anyway.
Whaaaatttty???? How is your lip????
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