Hi, Welcome to For F*ture’s Sake! Apologies for the delay sending this week’s post. Lockdown = no school = kids a constant and menacing presence = no free time for Dad.
Reading time: 2 minutes
I started that beekeeping course I mentioned a few weeks back.
When I signed up for it, pre-lockdown, it was supposed to be like this…
In reality, I had to settle for that…
In fairness, the class was still the bees knees.
I learned of brood chambers; the part of the hive where up to 1,500 baby bees emerge, from their wax-capped, honeycomb prisms, everyday!
I marvelled at a bee colony's sophisticated caste system, where the promiscuous queen bee is top dog. That is, until her “come hither” pheromone wears off, and her underlings — the worker and drone bees — oust her for a younger model.
Man, I couldn't wait to get a beehive.
I waxed lyrical at the thought of watching — on my wooden box at the end of the garden — a daily, minituarised soap opera. The honey would just be a bonus.
But there was a sting to this burgeoning, beekeeper's tale.
And it came at question time.
Me: “Where would you recommend placing a hive in a city garden where kids play?”
Beekeeper: “I wouldn’t. The children would not be safe.”
I didn't move. I didn't speak. The beekeeper thought my screen froze and so fielded another question.
Like a scout bee foraging for nectar, I too needed a drink. My eyes darted back and forth, combing the brain for answers. Surely there had to be a way.
Surely my apiary aspirations haven’t swarmed already, I wondered. I’m hardly an hour getting started.
It occurred to me; I've a flat roof at the back of the house. I could put them up there. Wouldn’t that be safe? Yes, definitely! I concluded.
I even did the math:
60,000 bees + 2 children in a confined space = What could possibly go wrong?
I drew up a document. I got the kids to sign it and continued making plans.
Until next week, take care - Scott