Sucking up to survivor bees

A couple years ago, an old friend of mine had the good sense to acquire some lands. From his comfortable country home, he watches his children play happily in the grass, listens to coyotes howl under a blanket of stars, and strolls with his wife along streams and tree-lined trails. The best part, he said, is being able to scratch yourself whenever you like, and not worry if anybody is watching. Every spring, in an effort to keep the estate from being totally overtaken by nature, he organizes a work party to clean things up. Later in the summer, he always rewards his workers with a bonfire, featuring the roasted flesh of an assortment of animals, and no vegetables unless they are, at some point, deep fried. He calls it the Man Bash. A Man Bash is different to a man and woman. While a woman might think it is an invitation to gripe about how men have faltered over the past year, men use it as an opportunity to smoke, drink, swear, belch, and do all those other things you can’t get away with in church. This year’s Man Bash involved an old driving shed, and removing the colony of bees that now call it home. Some people enjoy having honey bees around. I knew a frugal farmer who allowed a swarm of bees to live in the south eave of his farmhouse for years. Every winter, he would climb up and steal the honey for his family. The way I see it, those bees were only paying a little rent. My friend had the same idea this summer, but his project ground to a halt when the first board was peeled back and revealed about 20,000 angry honey bees. End of the day, boys. No point in getting over our heads here, when we could be getting into a cold beverage instead. A bee expert was called, and the first question out of his mouth was “are they furry, or are they shiny?” It seems, when honey experts get called out to check on hives, they often wind up looking into a misidentified hornet’s nest. And this is serious business, because a lot of honey bees are dying off, and no one has been able to figure out why. Upon further questioning, the bee man estimated a total of 40,000 to 60,000 bees, perhaps a possible 80,000, would be living in the shed wall by the time fall arrived; and he was ecstatic, muttering something about “survivor bees.” The expert was thrilled the bees were not only surviving on their own in the shed, but thriving, and he wanted to mix them in with his own colony to bolster its numbers. When he got to the wall, however, he realized the swarm overmatched his skill and experience, and pulled the plug. End of the day, boys. No point in getting in over our heads. The last I heard, the bee expert had promised to come back after he had invented a bee vacuum. Invented a bee vacuum. Incredible. I could just picture the man, working over an old electric motor, trying to get the speed and suction just right in order to collect bees by the thousands without harming too many of them. It won’t be easy, and I wish him the best of luck. They say necessity is the mother of invention and, if those bees are as important as he thinks, they deserve to be saved. I just hope I’m there when it gets tested in the field.