I'm running a little late in getting the honey in. I kept waiting for some rain, but it repeatedly refused to arrive, except for a quarter inch on the day of the Eclipse. I think the bees are having a rough time of it. They seem to be in a surly mood, not their usual gentle selves at all. It must be the lack of wildflowers; I don't believe they read the political news.
Off to a great harvest, with the first 27 pounds extracted. This has been my first year to sell honey. Once folks taste it, they come back for more, quarts at a time.
There were some snags getting the first super in. The dump feature on the cart wasn't secured. Chugging away from the hive on the lawn tractor, I looked back to see the full super on the ground. Visions of broken wooden hive parts and bees zoning in on the honey enticingly oozing onto the grass swam before my eyes. Shutting down Rosie, I ran back and picked up the intact super. Breathing a big sigh of relief, I continued on to the house.
Memo to self: make sure the cart latch is secured. Yet another thing to experience only once.
The extracting part is getting to be a smoother operation. This time, only one bee came in with the box of beautiful light honey. The next morning, I heard it flying against the window. I covered it with a glass, slipped a card between it and the bee, inverted all and let it fly away outside.
I explained to the neighbor kids that if a bee ever lands on them, it won't sting. The kids didn't believe that, probably just as well, since most folks don't know the difference between a honeybee and a Yellow Jacket.
It's amazing how many former beekeeper guys urge me to increase my operation. I had a husband who talked me into keeping more hives; I had to let him go.
One hive is my limit, so it remains a hobby that I enjoy.
