The honey flow is in full development. For weeks now, numerous trees, shrubs, and herbaceous plants have been in a succession of blooming. And while nectar and pollen are available in such great quantities, the thousands of honey bees from our two hives have entered a period of heightened activity. Every second several bees leave the hive on purposeful flights while others return from the hinterlands, perhaps a mile or more from the hive.
When the bees are this active, I’ll always take the time on daily walks along the home trails to stop and stand directly in their flight paths, about twenty feet in front of the hives. At that location, outgoing bees have gained a certain amount of speed, and their ascending altitude is about even with my ears. So I can track individuals as they leave the hive entrance, zig zag in flight for orientation, and then put on the power as they zoom past, often mere inches from my ears. At first I was a bit anxious about doing this until realizing that the bees did not see me as a threat, just an obstacle to avoid. Returning bees—many with full pollen sacs and nectar or water stored internally—I hear more than see, as they quickly dart past and join the fray at the hive entrance.
Viburnum with honey bee, 13 May 2019.
Early morning on a clear day, the rising sun greets the east-facing hives as a beacon and signal for action. At this time, I’ll stand behind the hives, also facing the sun. From this viewpoint, each bee seems like a tiny fast-moving bundle of bright light, rapidly gaining speed and altitude until disappearing into the blue sky, beyond the ability of my eyes to detect. Some may be in a random search for rich patches of flowering plants; others may know exactly where they are heading based on information provided by previous foragers or scouts: X-number of feet away from the hive at an angle of Y degrees relative to the sun; the bees know the values of X and Y, where Y is continuously recalibrated due to the rotating earth and the sun's changing position. They also know that the available nectar and pollen are worth the trip.
Around me there are birds calling: eastern kingbird, eastern phoebe, great crested flycatcher, and eastern wood peewee; predators of flying insects, all with hungry nestlings. A honey bee would certainly be a sweet, protein-rich meal. Richard Taylor writes of this in The Joys of Beekeeping: “The kingbirds come around to my home yard, and these are officially described in beekeeping literature as enemies of bees. I suppose they are, in the strictest sense, for they eat them—they drop down and pluck them right from the air, near the hives. But are they not entitled to?…They follow their ancient patterns, as nature prompts them.” I would agree; there are plenty of bees in the hives. Even if these birds forage continuously on bees for days on end, they could not possibly have a measurable effect. On the other hand, taking the queen bee would be catastrophic. But the queen only leaves the hive for mating flights very early in her life of several years, and thereafter she remains in the hive to lay eggs; she is the only egg-laying bee in the hive, and as such is under constant protection and surveillance, as much a captive as an elite hive member.
The east-facing hives at 7:30 am.
By early June, many key plants—such as the maples, black locust, bush honeysuckle, henbit, tulip tree, red bud, viburnum, raspberry brambles—have completed flowering for the season. Even so, the honey flow will continue for a short while yet, sustained by species such as spiderwort, sweet clover, white clover, catalpa, and linden. Soon we will harvest our small share of the spring wildflower honey from the hives. Then by the middle of summer, usually accompanied by a drought in our region, rich sources of nectar and pollen will have dwindled, a period referred to as “the dearth.” Yet throughout all of this, there is unending work for the bees—comb building, hive maintenance, egg laying, rearing of young, honey production, sealing cracks in the hive walls, storing pollen, and caring for the queen—before the goldenrods bloom in late summer for a final yield of resources before the bees enter survival mode for the winter.
Showy goldenrod with honey bees and monarchs, 17 September 2018.
Days of snow and ice, though, are a long way off, and not something I wish to think about when summer has yet to begin. But when winter is inevitably upon me, I will be unable to raise a cup of tea flavored with wildflower honey without thinking of our honey bees and all that went into that drink and where it came from. I will close my eyes and savor the sweet taste and think of warm mornings in the flight path of honey bees, spring thunderstorms, and the fragrance of wildflowers in the air.
References
Taylor, R. 1974. The joys of beekeeping. St. Martin’s Press, New York.
Winston, M.L. 1987. The biology of the honey bee. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Audio extra (best with headphones):
Download Sounds at the hive entrance 7-June 2019 at 3 PM