With the hive now on the stand I was ready to let them out. I positioned the entrance of the hive so that it was facing the heather so that the bees could fly straight out to this glorious sight. All looked good, and learning from yesterday's events, I opened up the hive with my bee suit on. Almost immediately a few bees came out to see what was going on. It was lovely to see a few fly out straight away, presumably to see where they were.
I made a quick retreat back to the car, conscious that I needed to get a shift on for breakfast, but I couldn't resist a quick admiring look back at the hive. It looked perfect there, with the white of the hive against the pink of the heather, and I got back in the car a happy man; I only hope that I am not too late. There is not much I can do but sit and wait.
AUGUST 25
I really want to go and check on the beehive today and see if the bees have settled in to their new home, but I know I shouldn't. I wonder what it was like for the bees to suddenly have all those flowers on their doorstep – it must have been magnificent. I imagine it was like a disco in the hive as all the foragers came back in from their travels and performed their respective waggle dances to inform others of where the good sources of nectar were.
The waggle dance is an amazing phenomenon which in the darkness of a hive allows bees to communicate with other workers through means of vibration. A worker will come in and perform a figure of eight movement around other bees. The angle at which they perform this manoeuvre represents the direction that the particular flower can be found, and the intensity of the waggling, which they do as they draw the middle section of the eight, implies exactly how far away it is. Apparently it is accurate to within a foot in a 3-mile radius, which I find pretty mind-boggling.
I have to refrain from going to the hive for two reasons. Firstly, I think it is common practice to leave them to get on with things for a couple of weeks to get settled; and secondly, and perhaps more pertinent, I am off on holiday for a week.
I did manage to call the bee inspector, however, who sounded far nicer than I expected, following on from his email which was rather abrupt and to the point. I explained my hive move and that I only had one hive but he said it was no problem and was more than happy to come over anyway and check the single hive. He said it was just as important to meet up with beekeepers as it was to see their hives, which I thought sounded like good enough logic. I was confident that I didn't have a problem and from my descriptions of my hives, he was too. He again alluded to the fact that I was using 'fresh comb' and this is usually a good thing. We made an appointment for early September.
SEPTEMBER 2
I have just come back from a mad weekend with Dad and the morris dancers. It has been a tradition for the last forty-five years that my father has returned to the same campsite on August bank holiday after he got lost trying to find Wales with his mates. They made it as far as a pub called The Kings Head in Withington, and he and his morris men have been going back ever since to commemorate the occasion with the same landlady, who is now in her eighties. Amazing, hey?
I have come to the conclusion that beekeepers are now a little cooler than morris men and in fact I have decided that beekeepers are not as fat as morris men nor are they as drunk – shame on them – but I always have an entertaining weekend with them, where we stay up far too late, sleep in tents and generally have a wonderful time.
As I returned back to normality I realised that tomorrow is my 'bee inspection'. Oh Christ.
Despite the bee inspector sounding nice on the phone I still have images of this rather traditional, stickler-for-the-rules beekeeper coming round to my house to inspect the bees. I can see myself now, standing to attention beside my hive: fully suited up, veil on, hive tool ready to go and smoker lit as he inspects my outfit first. Something similar to the way that Prince Charles inspects the troops while on parade; one hand behind his back while the other pinches a bit of fluff off the uniform. Engaging in polite chitchat, the bee inspector will then make small talk in a rather formal, very English manner. 'So then,' he will say, 'you think you are a beekeeper do you?' Oh Christ, I will be thinking. 'What is your opinion of the new Bailey Comb Change method?' I would faint rather than offer an answer.
On a more serious note, I will be interested in what he thinks of the Beehaus. I wonder if he has inspected one of these before. I am sure he must have done but I am also not really sure what he will be looking for. It will be nice to see if he thinks I am on the right track, and not fundamentally screwing everything up. He arrives at 10 a.m. tomorrow. Must go and prepare everything and make sure it is all in order (tea and biscuits a must, I would say). Fingers crossed.