Yours is Bigger Than Mine.

When I first started beekeeping, twiddly-umpty three years ago, there was this strange chap who turned up at every meeting, expensive SLR always at the ready and talking the talk; I was never sure if he rated as a bee keeper, but his wife produced the most fantastic apple pies for the picnics. Over the years, I’ve got to know him, he’s a decent bloke but I still didn’t know about his bee keeping proficiency. Today, we had a visit to his apiary where he had a Glen hive. It’s that enormous bugger in the foreground; big just doesn’t get near to describing it. The design was intended for heather honey production which begs the question, how do you get the bloody thing up onto the moors (and back again) for the month for six weeks that the heather is in flower.


The first extra is of the big, black and beautiful lady that rules the community inhabiting this mansion, the blue label on her back signifies that she is two years old (blue means that she was produced in a year ending with either a 5 or a zero), she is incredibly fecund to fill this hive with bees and the colony, despite its size, is docile while still being industrious. Next year she will be retired and Tom is intending to use her for raising queens to stock his own colonies and, perhaps, to sell on -  though he normally gives such favours away rather than asking for reward. In fact, two of our number went away with ripe queen cells in match boxes in their pockets as souvenirs of their grand day out.
 
So, now I know; Tom does cut the mustard as bee keeper – both in the practical and the ethical sense; and Eleanor still bakes a mean apple pie.