With a little help from my friends

-Posted by Isaac

Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song…

A strange man with a strange instrument. What a market treat! I think he must’ve tired of my questions because he finally just grabbed a crate, sat down and said, “Well… let me show you…”

He entertained us for the next half an hour. And he probably helped the honey sales. You just never know who’ll come along to get you through.

And that’s what this post is about—the ones helping me to stomach this last bitter stretch of winter. I think I’d be lost without them. Because let me tell you, it’s not easy to wake up to snow on March 1st… especially after the maples have bloomed and we’ve had three beautiful days of t-shirt weather.

I looked outside, felt disgusted, looked at the weather app on my phone, felt even more disgusted. More snow on Sunday, a high of 17 on Tuesday!

But I’ve learned something… it’s ok to start disgusted. In fact, I do all the time. (Especially if I check my news feed.)

The day can turn around. You can turn things around! And your friends can help.

If winter isn’t going to relinquish, we’d better go after more firewood. Gavin helped me with a couple loads this week.

Just look at that hustle!

Bridger, my Dapper Dan man, helped me by just being himself.

And Maizy brought her little buddy out for a visit as I plugged away on the new fence.

It’s nice to be reminded of why I’m spending all this time and money.

And of course, speaking of time and money, we’ve got the bees to worry about.

My many many friends. My labor of love. They’re hanging on, they’re growing and brooding up, and they’re hungry!

Eden helped me finish the second round of feeding.

She’s fearless. She’s determined.

Not only the bees… she helps me to hang on.

We plowed through the second pallet of feed, and had to order another.
And look who showed up to start on that third pallet— long lost Seth!

Notice he wore his military fatigues to remind us… he still belongs to Uncle Sam. But it sure was nice to visit. I never tire of Seth’s special brand of introspective philosophy.

We knocked out 11 yards in just a few hours. Amazing what you can accomplish with good help. I begged him to stay another day, but just like the Seth of old, he had girls and adventures to attend to.

And now he’s back overseas. Conquering Italy this spring.

Having previously conquered France last fall.

Going into winter, looking at the bees and their honey stores, I was thinking that it would only be a two pallet winter. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? They ate a little more than expected. A welcome expense. At least it’s not the six pallet winter we had a few years back. Here’s a sensible little rhyme for you penny pinching March beekeepers: Better fed than dead.

It’s March. And it’s still cold. But the bees are looking great and the end is in sight. Hard to believe, but in less than a month we’ll be making our first splits.

Sometime within the next six weeks I’ll be standing out there in a t-shirt. Some gorgeous purple evening, I’ll look out over a field of nucs.

I’ll crack a beer, maybe fire up the grill, soak up the sweet scent of spring grass, watch the deadnettle, the dandelions, the daffodils, listen to baby chicks and baby ducks, think about baby bees and Easter eggs…

…and I’ll give the memory of this (expletive, #%&#, expletive) winter the good cussing it deserves.

We’ve made it, my friends! We’ve made it!

Thanks for all the help!

The greatest post that never was

-Posted by Isaac

Boy, did I have a good one for you this week.

First I was going to get you laughing at that goofy picture of Bridger trying to ride a goat.

You see, we’ve been building a lot of fence lately. The idea being, maybe someday we’ll have something in here besides goats. Maybe something a little bigger to ride.

When you’re building a fence, specifically on the most miserable few days of the year, digging postholes one after another after another all day long, there’s little to do but think. The machine was too loud to listen to podcasts. The job itself, too simple to mandate attention.. why not plan out a great blog post?

I mean, I’ve got all these thoughts hammering around.

Just look at that desolate sky, that impoverished grass.

Remind you of anything? A famous Andrew Wyeth maybe?

Sure, I’ve replaced Christina with a Bobcat skid steer loader, but don’t tell me that’s not art.

So the idea was to artfully connect my posthole digging horizons to my feelings about Christina’s World, then metaphorically associate those ominous thoughts with current events. (All after starting with goofy Bridger riding the goat.) I wanted to start you out laughing and then soon have you crying.

The next phase was designed to piss you off.

This week’s big current event was the good people of New York sending mighty Amazon packing.

Hey Bezos, take your 25,000 jobs and shove it!

Which I thought was awesome, but it sure pissed off a lot of people. And maybe I’m wrong, but I’m assuming that you’re part of that pissed off throng. I’ve talked to a few angry people this week. How dare those New Yorkers! Don’t know what’s good for them…

Am I completely alone on this? The one and only midwestern voice of dissent? Is it really ok for a company to skirt three billion dollars in taxes?? How dare those New Yorkers?…How dare they what? Expect to be able to get to work??

(No, you’re right… I don’t know all the details… but I still think it’s awesome. Definitely a non-bootlicking move.)

So I was planning to rile you by trying to be the lone voice of reason, then maybe bring you back around with some Springsteen.

…asking you to particularly pay attention to those last few lines… and maybe see the great “philanthropy” of Amazon in a different light.

And while I had you wavering, I was going to hit you with a favorite quote from my favorite author/farmer.

While you chewed on all that, I was going to covertly declare myself a Bernie lover.

And really piss you off.

Then switch it up, and say whoa, wait a minute, I’m just kidding! I’m a capitalist! Look at what I do. Besides, I would never align my doctrine with an admitted socialist. Blasphemy!

Having taken you for a ride— laughing, crying, reflective, pensive, pissed, confused, wavering, maybe illuminated…

…but maybe just pissed again— I was going to finish it with the assurance that I’m still a true red blooded American business owner. A capitalist through and through. A good and wholesome capitalist beekeeper still on the home team to the very last drop of honey.

Most likely you’d still be pissed.

And that’s why I decided against it. A blog post like that is not only dangerous, it’s hard work. Not to mention, way over the head of a beekeeper.

Jayne thought my little nap was Instagram worthy. (Little did she know, I fell asleep planning the greatest blog post ever.)

But alas, I awoke, and came to my senses— You, the good, honest, hard working, (and highly intelligent) folks who read this are looking for kids riding goats. Stick with kids riding goats, dummy! It was a good start to a post that would’ve turned into a train wreck.

And oh yeah— bees. Stick with bees!

Thankfully, before I could lay all this on you, Ohio beekeeper Peggy Garnes saved me by sharing a bee article.

I was fortunate enough to hear Bret Adee speak last October. What a great great man… who has been put through the meat grinder.

It’s a short and depressing article if you choose to read it. And here you go… why not another song? You know, to set the mood for reading.

It could have been the greatest post ever. Or, more likely, it could’ve been a jumbled pile of spaghetti. Lucky for you, I’ll just leave you with some unnerving bee world thoughts. And more questions—

Who are those wolves? What are those wolves? Varroa mites? Farm chemicals? Hard luck? Corporations? Governments? The whole system?

How about another quote to finish up. Another from the Great One—

And yet another question— Are we living in Christina’s World?

There's just no substitute for the real thing

-Posted by Isaac

It’s official.

I’m declaring a National Emergency. (For Pickaway County.)

When you’re in central Ohio and you have to wait for low tide to cross the road… I think I’m well within my rights in calling for a National Emergency.

Can you believe this load of crap?! Relentless! The fields have become lakes, and just getting to the bees has become somewhat of a sport.

Eden and I were out feeding the girls yesterday. Here she points out the result of trying to make it to the yards after three inches of rain:

Fun!

So how was your Valentine’s Day? Assuming you didn’t drown, I’m guessing that it was the usual— a lot of show, a lot of pomp and circumstance, a lot of expense… hmmm… was it even worth it? Did you even get lucky??

Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

But I’d like to show how you may just better your odds in the future. In this post I’m going to teach you some cheap and easy, sensible, practical, surefire tricks to impress your significant other. And not only that, you’ll learn how to turn some kitchen problems into delightful (and romantic) solutions.

First problem, Dan the Baker.

As you know, Dan makes some wonderful bread. But as you may also know, if you leave it on the table overnight (which we’ve been known to do), you end up with some really hard crust.

Not a problem… the kids will find it the next morning and have their way with it.

The soft middle is oh, so delicious!

This leaves you with a hollowed out loaf which you can then cut into strips and bag up for later.

Another common kitchen problem, especially in the winter: granulated honey.

Raw honey granulates fastest at 54 F. With all the temperature swings this time of year, we often see our honey turn cloudy. Again, not a problem. You probably already know, if you want it to turn back into a clear liquid, simply heat it up.

But here’s another route. The romantic route. Granulated honey makes an excellent dipping sauce.

First, put those kids to bed.

Then pop those sliced Dan the Baker “bread sticks” in the toaster. Arrange them aesthetically on your finest serving platter.

Then take that cloudy, perfect and wonderful raw honey and create some culinary art. One glass is probably enough, but you never know. If things are going well, (wink, wink) you may need a second.

Lastly, and this cannot be overstated, you need to set the mood. Dress to impress. And find something he or she will really love. A good book, a choice Netflix, a favorite band. Something that says, This is you and me babe. This is us… and there’s just no substitute for the real thing!

You’ve pushed all the right buttons tonight, big boy. Good luck.

Almond time

-Posted by Isaac

I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on something.

If you’re unaware, this is a big time for most of the bees in the country.

Most of the bees. Not most of the beekeepers. Most beekeepers are like me. Still hunkered down for winter, trying to stay warm, trying to encourage their girls to just hang on for another couple months.

It’s only the professionals who undertake this daunting task.

…The amazing task of building hives strong enough for almond pollination. (In February!)

…The complicated and exhaustive work of getting them moved from one far off place to another.

Over a million acres of almonds in California’s Central Valley— that’s a lot of trees. And they all get pollinated by honey bees.

Right now, the blooms are about a week away, almost ready to open. Getting bees placed where they belong is crucial. Therefore, the timing on this entire process is crucial. I’ve been there. It’s the Super Bowl of Beekeeping.

Building the bees up in late fall and winter, negotiating contracts, hauling the bees, finding holding yards, placing the bees, and finally removing the bees from the orchards, finding somewhere else to put them…

It can be dangerous. Sometimes accidents happen.

But overwhelmingly, this great annual migration is highly beneficial to both bees and beekeepers. Almonds kick off the year, but those bees have to go somewhere afterward. Apples, blueberries, cranberries, citrus, forage crops and vine crops are all benefactors. Not to mention the resulting surplus of bees that comes from a pollen flow in February— packages, nucs and queen production timed perfectly for March and April. And then of course is the ocean of honey that results from placing strong bees on the endless clover of the summer northern plains.

Seen through this lens, February almond pollination is awesome.

But I have taken some flack for saying this. For contradicting the notion, held by many, that this big dance exemplifies the worst in commercial agriculture. It’s about big equipment moving tiny insects over thousands of miles, it’s about absolute monocultures, out of place and out of season, it’s an unsustainable industry, 100% reliant on fossil fuels, migrant labor, chemicals, fertilizers, poisons… and all dependent on the volatile world market.

C’mon Isaac, don’t be such a shill. It’s so unnatural!

And to that I’d reply, ‘Well… you’ve got a point… duly noted.’

But don’t blame the beekeepers! They’re just trying to make a living… the heroes in a tragic play. Blame the real culprits! The real villains in this dreadful modern tragedy: people who eat food.

I’ve actually heard people tout the virtuous honey bee, and the honorable beekeeper. They’ll espouse righteously that we owe every third delicious bite to this noble pair. And then, in the very next sentence, they’ll denounce the vulgarities of commercial migratory beekeeping!

Well now, which is it? Heroes or villains?

There seems to be a disconnect…

But enough of this. I’ve given you enough of my ramblings. What’s happening on the Honeyrun front? Well, after that monstrous cold, we had one glorious day of 60 degree sunshine.

And a couple warm cloudy days followed. The bees were able to get out and visit. So many buzzed around blissfully while I worked on the fence.

That’s right. We now have the best looking goat pen in North America.

I hope they appreciate it.

The warmth didn’t last long, did it? I saw that they’re calling it a fool’s spring.

Two solid days of rain, the streams swelled, the ditches spilled over, even our yard became a lake.

And now the cold.

The work has slowed. I spend long cloudy moments staring out from the shelter of the barn.

And I can’t help but think…

Am I missing something?

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.