Page 46 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
Amos peered closer, nodding. ‘So, this is going to sound like a stupid question, but I’m going to ask it anyway… How do you get the honey out?’
Grace rested the bar on the top of the hive for a moment. ‘I’ll give you a clue…’ She grinned. ‘It’s very sticky!’ She picked up the metal hive tool and pressed one corner of the blade into one of the wax-covered cells. Immediately honey began to ooze from it. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Stick your finger in it…’
He pulled off a glove and did so, finding he wasn’t concerned about the bees at all, and brought his finger to his lips. He nodded at Grace. ‘God, that’s good.’
‘The harvest is different every year,’ explained Grace. ‘And depends on the condition of the hive. The bees need the honey to survive the winter and so I only take the excess, judging what that is, hive by hive, and year by year.’ She smiled. ‘I think this year’s going to be a good one, but the honey won’t be ready for another month or so yet.’
Amos looked up, the unspoken sentence framed in the air between them. He would be gone by then.
Grace began to slide the bar back into the hive. ‘The hardest part is getting the bees to relinquish their honey, as you can imagine. The comb is literally cut from the bar and put in a bucket before it’s taken, mashed up, and sieved to strain off the wax, leaving clear honey. Although the bucket has a one-way valve on it so that the bees can crawl out but can’t get back in again, it doesn’t always work; I always end up with a few passengers.’
She frowned. ‘I love my bees, but they can break your heart. Harvest time is wonderful, but it’s tinged with sadness too, well, for me anyway.’ She sighed. ‘It reminds me how opportunist the human race can be. Always looking to see how we can profit from a situation. I might lack the mercenary streak that some beekeepers have, but essentially I’m no different. I still sell honey.’
Her face was partially hidden by the folds of her veil, and Amos couldn’t quite see her expression, but he could tell how she was feeling.
‘Grace, the fact that you even think that way is testament to your true character. Your bees are lucky to have you.’
She smiled then. ‘We’re lucky to have each other,’ she said. ‘And I always feel inordinately proud and honoured that they choose to stay with me. Because, make no mistake, they do choose. I have three full hives but even if you provide the ideal conditions, there’s no guarantee that the bees will accept them.’
She tilted her head to one side, looking across to Amos. ‘Perhaps that’s why I like them so much. When other things in your life seem so transient, or uncaring, at least I have the bees’ validation.’
Amos badly wanted to hug her. To reassure her that everything would be okay but, apart from the fact that their beekeeping suits would make it next to impossible, he wasn’t sure he could even provide that reassurance. It wasn’t his to give.
‘Well, I’m sure I’ve heard you say on more than one occasion that your bees know everything, and they are obviously an exceedingly good judge of character.’ He touched a hand to her sleeve where a solitary bee was still crawling, hoping that it would climb on board his finger so that he could relocate it back to the hive.
‘Come on, little one,’ he said. ‘Back you go.’ To his amazement the bee complied, causing Grace to laugh.
‘Well, would you look at that. I think you can now add Bee Whisperer to your list of many talents.’
Amos waited until the bee had crawled from his finger. ‘Thank you for showing me your bees, Grace,’ he said. ‘I’m honoured to have met them. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll be in a position to offer a home to some bees myself.’
Grace’s face lit up. ‘Do you really think you would?’
‘Well, I’d like to; so really I’m already halfway there.’ He was fudging the issue slightly. They both knew that for Amos to keep bees he would need to stop travelling…
Conscious that he wanted the mood to remain light, Amos looked back at the hive. ‘So do we need to look at anything else?’
Grace began to prise loose another bar. ‘I usually check a few combs at this time of year to see how the honey production is going and the overall condition of the hive. If everything looks okay, I’ll leave them for a few weeks to get on with things. The brood bees have mostly hatched now and, although this hive is full, the risk of a swarm is probably passed.’
She looked at the new comb she had just removed, pointing at an area lower down where the colour of the wax capping the cells was slightly darker.
‘See these, here? Those are brood cells, but as you can see the vast majority is capped honey. It’s all looking just as it should this time of year.’ She replaced the bar. ‘I just keep a check on the numbers of dead bees as well,’ she added, scouting the ground around the hive. ‘Bees are very tidy, and any dead bees are simply dropped outside of the hive, so to find a few each day is normal. Large numbers would indicate something’s wrong.’
‘So what’s killed them then?’
Grace smiled. ‘Old age, the same as the rest of us. The worker bees born early in the season have the busiest lives. They’ve got lots of hungry mouths to feed plus new comb to build and they only live for six or seven weeks. Bees born later in the season, through into autumn, can live much longer.’
The more Amos learnt the more fascinated he became. He was also beginning to become aware of something else, a growing feeling that was sneaking into the back of his mind, but he wasn’t ready to accept what it was just yet.
Grace replaced the lid of the hive. ‘We’ll just check the others quickly and then, sadly, I think we’re done. Here endeth today’s lesson.’
‘Well it was worth waiting for,’ replied Amos. ‘Everything I hoped for and more.’
‘You’re a good student. I didn’t see you flinch once.’
Amos grinned. ‘I thought about it, several times, particularly at the beginning, but then I just got lost in the whole spectacle.’
‘Well mind you’re on your best behaviour with this next hive. They’re not quite so even-tempered…’
