Schrodinger's Beehive

-Posted by Isaac

I was a freshman. About 30 years ago, sweating in Ms. Riley’s typing class, frustrated with life in general, but particularly stifled at that moment with the damned keyboard. No AC, dripping sweat on the keys… and I was a horrible typer. I had a window seat, which only helped to further distract me. So many times I would lose contact while the class clattered on. I’d sit and stare. About a mile in the distance stood a lone tree. It was down the long lane leading back to the Knecht farm, and I remember feeling proud that I knew it was a catalpa. No Ms. Riley, I’ll never reach 40 words per minute… but I by God, know my trees!

On the coldest day of the century thus far, the one with -30 wind chills, I drove down my parents’ long lane to check on things. I’ve probably passed that tree a thousand times without ever remembering, but this time, for whatever reason, there it was: the lone catalpa from Ms. Riley’s typing class.

Out there just laughing at the cold.

I hope that it’s standing out there for my grandkids’ fleeting memories.

We hit a benchmark this week, didn’t we? A benchmark for cold.

I know that it’s pretty bad when people are texting their worries and concerns about the bees. No less than five people contacted me with inquiries over how the bees were faring. Jayne got a few questions also.

My less-than-reassuring response: Don’t know. I guess we’ll find out this weekend.

But I do know this- It was a very slow week at the farmstand.

C’on man! Are you guys going to let a slightly below average wind chill keep you from your honey?? Toughen up!

Like it or not, this week we got to experience the nastiest of the nasty. It lived up to the hype. Cold and snow and wind that would take your breath away. Full days of negative temps. Double digit wind chills. How could anything, a tree, a human, much less a honey bee survive through this?

School was closed, of course. Three days. I guess I’m thankful for the distraction. It’s hard to worry over bees when you’re required to serve up chocolate chip pancakes.

Looking back, I think I handled the record lows surprisingly well. I shrugged. I put on my work clothes…

…and went skating.

The bees could be dying in mass, but oh well, there were more pressing things to worry about…

…like falling down.

Jayne and I got to play the role of entertainers.

Katie and Lafe held the fort down.

But continually in the back of my mind was the gnawing thought over the plight of the bees. Would they pull through? What will I find when I start popping lids? Will it be a percentage thing? A war of attrition?

In the winter of ‘13/’14 it got bad. Before the warm days finally came around, we had lost 70%. And that winter I don’t think it ever quite reached the nastiness that we saw this week. Granted, this was a short time, but still… how bad was it going to be?

Most of the year, in fact I’d say about 99% of the time, you can look in a beehive and pretty much know what to expect. As in, you know that you’re going to see living bees.

Not the case after a polar vortex.

There’s just no telling what you’re going to see. I remember stomping through snow, popping lids in the cold of 2014. I thought about Schrodinger’s cat. Hmm… let’s try this one… alive or dead?… Is it even 50/50? This one is alive, but oh, here’s a dead one… Maybe this one is alive and dead…. What if I wait a few seconds? Will it change the outcome?

If I’ve lost you, if you’ve somehow forgotten your particle physics, here’s a short refresher:

Confusing, isn’t it? I know. And I used to talk about this stuff daily. To my freshmen in fact, right across the hall from Ms. Riley’s old room. The point being, in beekeeping, much like quantum mechanics, it can at times look like a crap shoot.

However, as the years roll on, I have noticed one trend with this post-polar vortex popping of lids— I’m doing better. The universe is conspiring in my favor. Meaning, I’m seeing many more living hives. In fact, yesterday, taking the kids to the sled hill, I couldn’t help myself. I pulled into a bee yard and started checking. We had ourselves a little intermission. It was in the yard pictured above. 17 hives sit up on a levy, so they must’ve taken the full brunt of wind and cold. I was prepared for the worst.

We checked ten of them, Mason, Bridger and I, quickly cracking the lid and peering down in. And what do you think we found? Drum roll… ten for ten! Alive! The universe has smiled on us! It’s not random after all! It’s just a matter of doing more things right in 2018 than I did in 2013…

That, and the fact that bees are pretty darn tough. Just like that old catalpa, they laugh at the cold.

It was a load off my shoulders. I have to assume that the odds are in my favor with the next 500 or so. I’ll try to make it around next week.

It put me in such a good mood, we treated ourselves to junk food after the sledding. We were warming by the fire and little Eden came up with her own thought experiment involving quantum randomness. Probing the very fabric of nature itself, she asked, “Why do I have to poop?”

Go on, Baby, tell me…

“Well, I’ve been drinking this pop the whole time, and it should make me have to pee. But instead, I have to poop.”

Wow, now that’s random! And pretty deep for a four year old, I have to say.

Finding your happiness

-Posted by Isaac

What makes you happy?

Where’s my food, chump?

The subject came up last Sunday at my mother’s family dinner. At what level of security or comfort or wealth or status could you look at your life and call yourself truly happy? It’s something to ponder isn’t it?

It’s nice that we big-brained social animals get to ponder. And there’s a lot of ponder time in the winter.

For the goats, happiness seems to equate to food. Summer or winter, it doesn’t matter, they act exactly the same as long as I follow the routine- food in the morning. I’m a slave to them. I bring the food. Sometimes the slave will talk a while, sometimes not. Sometime’s he’ll scratch ears and necks, sometimes not. The goats act the same, as long as there’s food. But if I forget, if they make it past noon and haven’t seen their slave, They let me know.

The chickens seem the same. FOOD=HAPPINESS

But what about the bees?

Where does happiness compute on the social insect scale? From my comfy truck window, it appears that the bees have it awfully rough in the winter. But who knows? Maybe they think they’ve got it good. A bee-length eternity of shelter, food, warmth, companionship… what more do you need? Is it as simple as SURVIVAL=HAPPINESS=NIRVANA?

Maybe it’s humans who have it rough. We have this hierarchy of needs.

Where are you on the Maslow scale?

What does it take to make you happy? Are you somewhere above that base of physiological needs? Or maybe the base is just well and good. I feel this way sometimes. Especially in the winter. Ok, let’s see… breathing, check… excretion, check… Cool. I’m good for today.

But most days, even in the winter, we need a little more don’t we? Family, friends, health, entertainment…

Creativity, spontaneity…

Or maybe your winter happiness requires that you invent a new reality. Travel. To hell with winter in Ohio! It’s brutal up here! Let’s go find the softer side of nature.

Unless you’re a migratory beekeeper, the poor bees don’t have the travel option. They’re forced to stay put and enjoy their nirvana in the base of Maslow’s pyramid.

We, on the other hand, can have gator nuggets in January.

And we can instantly tell our friends how good they taste… our shivering friends a thousand miles away. Talk about achievement! Talk about respect by others!

Is this happiness?

We can sit and admire the problem solving abilities of the monkeys on Monkey Island.

Talk about respect of others!

At the same time, we can easily boost our self-esteem and confidence. (I’m pretty sure by now, we would’ve figured out how to get off that island…)

Is this happiness?

You know, the more that I think about it, maybe my assumptions are completely off base. I’m assuming that, as a human, the higher you climb through Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the happier you are. This may be way off. Maybe, quite possibly, needs and happiness have little to do with each other. Maybe that peak of self-actualization is reserved only for the enlightened.

If this is the case, I’m missing the boat. The enlightenment ship has set sail and I’m stuck in the shop.

I look around… still 100 nuc boxes to finish, 50 drip boards to paint, 50 comb boxes to prep, 1000 frames to build… goat pens to fix, horse pastures to fence, chicken waterer to invent, extractor to repair, barn to build, trees to cut, firewood to stack… there’s just no time for Facebook!

I’ll never reach morality… lack of prejudice… acceptance of facts…

Too bad.

But you know, I still feel pretty happy. Even in the Ohio winter. Maybe for this human, the key is just keeping busy. BUSYNESS=HAPPINESS.

And thankfully, hobby farming and keeping bees provides someone of my low enlightenment stature with an endless list of mundane tasks. Maybe I’ll never reach Maslow’s peak, but on the other had, I’ll never deplete the happiness tank.

This is Winter

-Posted by Isaac

Those Florida pictures will have to wait.

Old Man Winter decided to visit central Ohio this week and we met him with open arms.

There was plenty of bee work to attend to, but with the snow, fun took first priority.

See ya, Bridger! Hey, take a look at those bees while you’re back there.

But who am I kidding? Intentional or not, fun takes first priority all the time. Such is beekeeping. I’m in love with my job and I’m in love with my millions of coworkers. Even in the winter.

Especially in the winter.

It’s time to feed.

This week I visited all the girls. The snow made it more difficult, but I think they needed checked. The really nasty weather is still to come.

Most looked like this:

Just the very top of what I hope is a big nest. The clusters are working upwards, and although there is obviously still plenty of honey, it won’t hurt to put on a patty or two just for insurance.

It was quick and easy. Seconds per hive.

…Except for a couple yards where I didn’t get around to placing the spacer in December. Here, the snow presented more of an obstacle.

Winter feeding. A lonely, quiet, contemplative job. Exactly the kind I like. Very little radio or podcasting or Facebooking went on this week. The snowy silence provided ample satisfaction.

And speaking of contemplative, I stumbled across this David Foster Wallace speech. It was delivered at the Kenyon College commencement in 2005. This is only the seven minute highlight reel-

Complete with visuals and background music. I thought it was more fitting for this blog, but if you want the 22 minute full version, it is well worth the time. Maybe the best 22 minutes you’ll spend all week.

Winter is a good time to ponder stuff like this.

Here is the winter beekeeper- a window selfie- lord of his tiny skull-sized kingdom, alone at the center of all creation:

The bee suit becomes insulated coveralls, the thin gloves have become thick, the work boots are now waterproof snow boots.

But the veil remains. Why? Because every now and then, I’ll pop a lid and find a hive that looks like this:

Wow! You can see that these girls are a bit confused as to what season we’re in. ‘38 degrees! It must be June!’ They were fed a month ago, and they’ll need continued calories as we go through winter. They already had two full frames of brood, and why they think it’s spring, I don’t know.

Are they stupid? Or just overly ambitious? It’s a mystery to me… maybe one in fifty look like this. Which gives me ten or twelve reasons to make it around in the snow.

Sometimes it’s not the most enjoyable, frozen fingers and toes, lugging feed, getting stuck… but it has some rewards. Almost aways, I finish up listening to the low hum of bees. In every yard there are one or two noise makers.

It’s so silent out there. All it takes is a single hive to wake from its winter slumber, filling the air with a low soothing vibration. Are they singing, ‘Hello again! Happy day! Thanks for the food!’ Or have I pissed them off? ‘For God’s sake, leave us alone!’

I’ll never know. But whatever they’re saying, it makes me happy.

This is winter. And they’re saying something.

End of the line

-Posted by Isaac

Wow, has it been two weeks? Sorry about the delay. I guess Jayne and I have been having our own little government shutdown.

Plus we’ve been busy building walls.

Nothing worked. Eventually, relentlessly, the foreign wave overran our borders and swept us into oblivion.

Yes, we’ve been vacationing. Florida. But not for two weeks. No way! Impossible. We had the kids.

I’m hoping Jayne will fill you in on the highlights. Maybe next week? I’ve got a lot of great pictures, but we’re still somewhat in blog shutdown mode. We’ve had sort of a standoff. And thinking back, it resulted from a short conversation during one of our driving days. A conversation filled with half truths and small lies. The subject of doing this weekly blog came up and our talk went something like this:

ME- Honey, I’m tired of it.

HER- (long pause) Tired of what? The blog?

ME- Yeah. I mean, I’m not looking forward to it. Even with all the vacation pictures. It’s become work. It takes too much time and way too much mental energy.

HER- (long pause) Really?

ME- Yes, really. If it’s so easy, why don’t you try one once in a while? I mean, I try to be witty, I try to drum up interest, even be funny… sometimes I pour my heart out. And what becomes of all that? Nothing. I get ignored. No, worse than nothing… I get critiqued. Somebody doesn’t like my politics… my ideology is a problem… I’m doing something wrong with the bees… it starts to weigh on me, you know? The blog has become work.

HER- (long pause) Well, if you want me to do one, I will.

ME- Ok. Have at it.

You can tell I was shamelessly fishing for a compliment. Oh Honey, they’re so good! They really are! Please keep doing them… The problem was that she knew this. She could tell. And that’s why my compliment never came.

Or maybe not? Maybe she really is annoyed by them? I do know she hates it when I get political. Which is funny, because for the most part, our politics align. (Thank God.) She’s warned me more times than I can count. Don’t go there. You only piss people off! But I can’t help it. Politics are hilarious these days. And easy. Low hanging fruit, you know? Look at our president… I just can’t help it.

Regardless of the reasons, the shower of compliments didn’t come, and here we are. Two weeks later. Me refusing to blog, waiting for Jayne to do a vacation recap.

I guess I lost that battle, didn’t I? Oh well.

In retrospect, this all seems very childish and insecure.

But hey, at least I’m not getting political.

I’ve got a song for you. Something to really kick the year off right.

Sometimes I like to listen to these guys first thing in the morning. My good friends, Tom, Roy, Bob, Jeff, George, and Jim. They always set the day off right. My best friends, some days. Just listen to those harmonies! Take in those lyrics! Soak it up! You’ll see what I mean.

Well it’s all right, riding around in the breeze…

Well it’s all right…

As long as you’ve still got bees!

Building good relations

-Posted by Isaac

The day after Christmas we woke up to a cold fog and frozen magic. Had Queen Elsa visited the bee farm?

For the kids, the long beautiful crystals were intoxicating, adding fuel to the excitement and debauchery of the day before. For me, it wasn’t quite as enchanting. I woke up with a stomach virus.

Too much eggnog? I don’t know. But this week of all weeks, it turned out to be not such a bad thing. Impeccable timing on that bug. Basically it got me out of a day of the Christmas run around— I missed a party and a few meals. I slept by the stove. I read a book. I listened to about eight hours of Dan Carlin’s WWI Hardcore History. It was the best day-after-Christmas ever!

By the 27th, I thought I was ready jump back in. I determined I would put on a happy face, step lightly, put my best foot forward, and once again give it my best shot. It was an all important week— a week of building good relations.

And it went as expected: lots of family commotion. A perpetual and relentless kid drama, just a touch of adult drama. A lot of sugar, a little beer. I only stuck my foot in my mouth about five times, and had only one argument. Not bad. So far.

Yesterday I got into it with my brother. (The one argument.) (So far.) It was over the formation of stalactites.

Of all the stupid things to fight about.

We took a family trip to the Ohio Caverns. For about half the tour Justin and I had a heated and somewhat bitter debate over the differential rate of calcite growth and whether there was really any hard science to back up the age estimates of the cave formations. We thoroughly embarrassed our fellow cave explorers, a group of about thirty. We even embarrassed our tour guide, who, as it turned out, was just a hired kid repeating a dumb script.

How do I know it was embarrassing? Jayne told me later. And I guess I sort of knew it at the time too. So much for good relations.

And she also told me something I’ve heard several times over several Christmases: “You need to back down and just let it go.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. I just can’t seem to quit falling into it…so many potential arguments with so many family members… and so little time. There’s really only one good week a year with which to argue. This is it.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not enjoy it. I’m not a fighter. There’s just something about Christmas week. It creates an explosive atmosphere— all the people, the screaming kids, the lack of routine… tensions are already high. It’s like the land mine is set with a hair trigger, ready to blow up on the first idiot to put his foot where he knows he shouldn’t. And here I come stumbling in… with my science, and my politics, and my opinions, and my big feet…

Tomorrow is the last obstacle of the week— the big Barnes extended family Christmas. And you can bet I’m going to watch my step. I need to take some WWI advice from Dan Carlin. Just bunker down and endure. It’s trench warfare, these Christmas parties. And tomorrow I’m not getting my head shot off. Nor my foot blown off. I’ll stay in my trench. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Smile nice. Just endure. I’ll take no shots, I’ll let old wounds heal.

But the week hasn’t all been dodging bullets and dressing wounds. Sure, Christmas break has some downsides, but one great thing I’m discovering is that my kids are old enough to work. Really work. Not legally, but who’s checking? They’re out of school and we have plenty of projects. They still think this stuff is fun.

Between the Christmas parties and get-togethers, between building good relations, we did find time for some waxing. Rolling a light layer of beeswax on foundation gives the bees a head start on building comb.

And when the weather turned too nice to ignore, we got out in the sun.

This winter we’re putting a wood fence around the barnyard. Not that there’s anything wrong with the flimsy goat fence I pieced together last spring. They only get out once or twice a week.

First step: dig the post holes.

Looking at these pictures, I’m reminded that there are more pressing things I should be attending to. Like putting up metal siding on the barn. The goats have had an all-you-can-eat buffet for weeks.

Oh well. Merry Christmas, goats. I guess the siding can wait.

I love the rhythm of digging post holes. On a warm day in the winter, I can’t imagine anything better. And I try to convey this joy to the kids. Watching 12,000 years of soil come up, feeling the loamy wet earth, seeing the worms, squishing the clay. It’s all wonderful, and you get to do it over and over again. All day, if you’re lucky.

Maybe even all winter? You can see we made some progress this week. Even with all the commotion and calamity of Christmas.

And it was so much fun. When the worms and mud lost their excitement, when my lessons about soil growth lost their allure, the kids still found plenty to do. For instance, there was spud bar gravel drawing and backward forklift sitting…

…and about a thousand other things.

So all in all, it’s been a good week. A good finish to 2018.

The kids are still asleep right now and Jayne just left for the Worthington Market- the last market of 2018. I’ve got one quiet hour to galvanize my thoughts and prepare for a day of good relations. Right? Focus! Just a couple more days to say the right things and do the right things. And then we can send the year off in good standing. Let’s hope.

Maybe it’s not as hard for you, this off balance week between Christmas and New Years. Maybe you always say the right thing, dodging each and every bullet. Congrats. I envy you.

Or maybe you’ve simply figured out something that I still can’t seem to grasp: listen to your wife.