Michigan-- The Yooper part

-Posted by Isaac

Yes, it’s true we’re from O-HI-O. And it’s true, we don’t give a damn about the state of Michigan. But I’m not so sure we don’t give a damn about the whole state, as the song goes.

I think we kinda like the upper part.

Early August, 14 years ago, we made the Upper Peninsula our honeymoon.

And here we are, 14 years later standing in the same spot… looking slightly disheveled, slightly worse for the wear. Well, we’ve got a kid now.

Wait. One kid??

That’s right. Last week we took our big fat carbon footprint and planted it up north.

We planted it on the trails and in the forests.

In the lakes and on the beaches.

On the cliffs and up the dunes.

The U.P. holds so much fun.

And there’s so much to see. Starting with big bridges,

and big boats.

In Sault Ste Marie you can watch the giant Great Lakes freighters go through the locks. It’s exciting. I’m not kidding. Even for our kids, who usually don’t appreciate stuff like this, there was a sense that this was something special. We spent a good hour and a half just watching and pointing. Pictured above is the 740 ft Algoma Equinox. I think they said it was hauling about 40,000 tons of iron ore.

Going westward along the southern coast of Lake Superior, you get into the old old rocks.

No not that rock, Eden. I’m talking old. Close to 3 billion years old! The green striated metamorphic gneiss up there is the exposed part of the Canadian Craton. Basically the basement rock of North America.

The rock here in Ohio is young— layers of strata from the Paleozoic, wet behind the ears, full of fossils and sea sediment. It hides the basement. And it dates, if we’re lucky, to a measly half-billion years. You have to go north to commune with the good stuff. The old stuff.

In college I had the good fortune to visit the U.P. twice with a geology field studies group. We camped and hiked and scienced and played and romped all over the north woods.

We went to awesome places nobody goes.

And we ate every meal on the ground, or at best, on picnic tables.

22 years later I have the good fortune to be here with my children, to repeat and remember.

And boy do I love to share the gospel. To tell the old old story, if you will— geology. The ancient of days, the scripture of stone, the good book of rock.

They were extremely interested.

Above, Bridger captures the differential weathering of the beautiful Jacobsville Sandstone.

And below, Eden contemplates the bewildering unconformity of this half-billion year old sandstone lying directly on top of precambrian rock nearly four times its age!

Where did all that time go??

Don’t ask the tourists. They’re just here to see the waterfalls.

Let’s talk it over at the Farmers Market, my brilliant young protege.

Oh yes, they’ve got those in the U.P. also. This one in Munising had an outdoor concert to go right along with all that good local food.

The sun was out, Lake Superior was shining, the music was flowing and they had small patriotic beachballs scattered all over the place. Our little dancer decided that this was not the time or the place to talk geology.

And I don’t blame her.

I couldn’t keep up with the dancing, so I walked around sampling.

Like Eden, I quickly discovered that there’s more to life than rocks.

Reality report

-Posted by Isaac

After my phone conversation with sister Becky, I thought, How ironic, I’ve been thinking about climate all week.

One of these two people could exemplify me. Guess which one?—

Ha, trick question. I’ll bet you thought I’d be the weathergirl. And you’d be right… ten years ago in front of my classroom. But I’m more of the anchorman these days. Shut up with your climate prattle! Let’s get on with the show.

I had called Becky to ask to borrow her seeder. First thing she said was, “Did you see the debates? I’ll bet you had a clear favorite!”

And no, I hadn’t watched the debates. (Why pay attention? I already know I’m voting for Gary Johnson.) Who could she be talking about? Which one could possibly identify with me? Her answer— the climate guy from Washington. Hmmm… Jay Inslee… never heard of him.

Personally, I’m leaning toward the Asian guy who’s handing out the cash. To everyone!

Andrew Yang! Show me the money! What I couldn’t do with an extra twelve grand a year! Why, that would almost pay for all the protein going to my little darlings. Almost.

Just this morning I finished up the with the first round.

As I said last week, the applying of protein is hot and heavy work. But satisfying. I get to say hello to the girls in the middle of their big summer flow. And just look at that honey coming in!

I stopped by to check a yard that I hit last week. It’s almost gone— only a trace remaining.

A note to you beekeepers (if you’re thinking about doing this)— you don’t want to give them more than they can consume in 10 days or so. After that, you’re feeding hive beetles, not bees. (2-3 pounds on a strong hive.)

And another note— mixing the stuff yourself cuts the cost in half.

I get the Ultrabee powder from Mann Lake. You can find the other ingredients wherever—Sugar, essential oils, soybean oil, coconut oil.

On my shop heater, the soybean and coconut oil take about 20 minutes to liquify.

I like to make sure I’m there for the last couple of minutes, watching that white blob disappear into the dark sea. I think about the ice caps. I think about the glaciers of the world. I look at that white icy blob and think about a little polar bear running to high ground as his whole world melts away. It’s fun.

I’ve done about 40 buckets so far. That’s a lot of voluntary thinking about climate change. It starts with the oils melting in the pot, then continues as I drive from yard to yard. I look at a few washed out culverts, I see a few unplanted fields. The radio tells me Greenland has lost 50 billion tons of ice this summer. I check my news feed and even see that my moneyman Andrew Yang has his own doomsday vision of the thing— head for the hills!

It’s everywhere. I can hardly help thinking about it— the ominous climate news. And I’m not the only one. Occasionally I’ll finish up with a yard and see the landowner as I’m taking off. They always want to know how the bees are doing. But then the conversation drifts. Always to the weather. The flooding, the heat, the wind, and so on. On two separate occasions this week, (unprovoked by me) I had the pleasure of hearing an anti-science, anti-climate rant. “Yeah, that rain, I’ve never seen anything like it, not in my lifetime, and then what do they do, they try to link it to this climate nonsense, and I say, that’s a load of crap, these things come in cycles, well, I remember back in ‘58…”

…So on and so forth. It’s on peoples’ minds. I nod right along. This is denier territory, so I lay low with my facts and figures. And really, who am I to rebut? I’m not a scientist. I’m an idiot. Driver of trucks, haver of kids, eater of meat, burner of coal, consumer of goods… a guilt-ridden, first-world-nation idiot. We’re all idiots.

And I think I see it for what it is, this climate talk through the truck window with a fellow idiot— it’s social signaling. You’re on my team, right? You don’t believe all this liberal BS…

Whether I believe it or not, it’s the signal that matters. Heck yes, I’m on your team! I’ve got bees right over there in the corner of your field.

Call me a coward.

Now that the science has been politicized, there’s a whole bunch of psychology dumped in with all the objective truth, the facts and figures of this monster.

Michael Shermer is one of my favorites. It just so happened, this week he and Lee McIntyre did a great podcast on the defense of science. They served up quite a few dishes on this platter, but climate science and climate denial got the most thorough helping—

What a great job I have! Bees and podcasts all day.

Then I get to report back to you once a week. And I fully expect you to take it all in. Let’s see, you’ve got video clips, an article, and a two hour podcast. What more could you want??

How about a book?

Another reason for my niggling thoughts— I started in on this Pulitzer winner last week. So far, so good. It’s been a great read. We’re doomed.

We’ll touch base and talk about it next week. That is, if you aren’t living in a cave by then, you guilt-ridden first-world idiot.

(Or if you really don’t want to read the book, George Carlin gives a nice summary of the situation.)

(Language alert!)

Whaddya been up to?

-Posted by Isaac

I like to think that I can make it around every two weeks. But the truth is, more often it’s probably closer to a month between visits.

This round, I’ve started in on the protein.

I think it’s good for the bees. But I don’t know how good. You beekeepers have probably noticed that there is definitely a diminishing stream of pollen coming in. Healthy pollen, I mean. There’s plenty of corn pollen, but I think that’s worse than nothing at all. I tell myself that the bees need the protein, that we need to keep them brooding strong into the goldenrod.

And over the last four or five years I’ve been doing this, I think I’ve seen stronger hives and more fall honey as a result.

I think…

But maybe I’m just fooling myself. Sometimes I have a nagging thought that I’m wasting my time.

It’s a lot of work! You don’t just pop a lid and throw the protein in. You’ve got to get down to the brood.

This involves removing all the supers, then splitting the brood boxes. It can be hot, heavy work when the supers are honey laden. But that’s a good thing, right?

And surely an additional (albeit unnecessary?) visit to the bees is a good thing. I love to see what they’ve been up to. This time of year, it gets me excited.

Wow! You guys have been busy!

It’s nice to see the honey building up. And it’s also fun to think about how much has happened since my last visit. The supers were empty a month ago. It was basically a different generation of bees.

Bee life in July— While I went about my routine in the people world, their world changed. In June they were just hanging out. Now, popping a lid, I immediately see… summer excitement for this generation.

The bees have been going about their lives the entire time. Then one day a big dumb (but benevolent) guy peeks in and says, “Whaddya been up to?’”

This week the question has been bouncing around my brain in other ways. A bee will live six weeks in the summer. A person gets 80 years or so. Day to day, it’s tough to look beyond the moment, but sometimes we’re reminded— things are changing!

Dad was cleaning out his filing cabinets last week and brought us this old picture.

Yes, how things have changed! This house was built in 1903. We moved here in 2006 and removed seven layers of wallpaper when we wanted to paint the rooms. Meaning, there were other worlds, other lives long before the List family and the Barnes family.

And surely we won’t be the last.

Whaddya been up to?

In the same folder was a bunch of other pictures, newspaper clippings and letters. One letter, dated Sept ‘99 was from an old college buddy.

It was written just a few months after we had graduated and had ourselves a big western adventure. Being educated, broke and jobless, we decided to spend the summer biking all over the Rockies.

We’re going to see him next week. I can hardly wait to give him the letter. And you can guess what my first question’s going to be.

Whaddya been up to?

Let’s scale it up….

Amazing what you can find in old filing cabinets. Here’s an interesting one—

This was post-Kennedy assassination, pre-Oswald assassination. Turbulent times.

I wonder what JFK would make of our current political waters? I mean, if he were to suddenly appear and ask our question… having no knowledge of the last 56 years.

I’ll bet he’d be pleased.

No, I’m serious! I’ll bet he’d smile, maybe even laugh with joy. We’re still here! We haven’t yet nuked ourselves into oblivion! He’d celebrate. Besides, do we really even need the gold standard in national leadership? Let’s face it, Kim Jong Un is no Nikita Khrushchev.

Whaddya been up to?

Scaled even further…

We went down to see ‘Tecumseh!’ this week. Probably my fifth or sixth time. (They sell our products, so I guess we owe it to them.) Yes, I did hear the loud “PHOTOGRAPHS ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED” announcement at the beginning, but when the rainbow came out, I couldn’t help myself.

What were they going to do, scalp me?

I’m a big Alan Eckert fan and I’ve really loved learning about Ohio’s bloody history during the Indian war time period. This was only 200 years ago! And right here! But what a world away.

I was listening closely, trying to hear a famous quote attributed to Tecumseh. Sure enough, it came near the end. Just before the final battle, Tecumseh was arguing that William Henry Harrison had no claim to the land that his encroaching government had supposedly purchased. To the natives, the concept of personal land ownership was foreign.

In the end, Harrison teaches us how we deal with socialists— we kill them.

I was thinking about all this the other day on my honey deliveries to Columbus. I gawked at all those big buildings. I marveled at the Guild House wine selection, at the One Line coffee selection. I flew along the asphalt path, death defying speeds, saddled within my horse of steel and glass. Here we are, 200 years later.

Wow! We’ve been busy!

When I got home, flipping through a magazine, there he was again— Tecumseh!

But this time he was selling stuff. To the foreigners.

I wondered… what if a big old (but benevolent) God had walked away 200 years ago, only to come back now and pop the lid? Peeking in…

Hmmm…

Whaddya been up to?

Mitigations

-Posted by Isaac

Yesterday the radio said that we’ve just suffered through the hottest June ever recorded. By we, I mean the world. Not Ohio. In fact, come to think of it, I’m surprised they even allow that kind of fake news ‘round these parts.

And I hear the climate dorks are really crowing in Europe these days. It seems they’ve had a little heat. But I’m happy to say our long lost Seth has found ways of mitigating these trivial problems.

We got an email from him this week. All about his adventures in Italy and beyond. He’s trying to tease us into making a trip, and it may just work. We’ll see.

I just hope he doesn’t forget his beekeeping roots. Hearing about all this fun, seeing all these new cultures, I worry that he’s losing his good ol’ boy core. His O-H-I-O. Will he forget what it’s like here in the Buckeye? It’s easy to lose things.

For instance, it takes principle, talent, courage, and true midwestern stubbornness to remain a climate denier with the heat index at 107.

What heat?? C’mon Seth, it’s downright cold in the shade!

This kind of talent has not yet developed in other, shall we say, fact-based societies. It easily slips away if you leave the Heartland and travel around.

Will we ever get him back?

We’re missing our Seth, and this week we were missing our kids too. They took a road trip to far Grandma’s.

Leaving Jayne and I to fend for ourselves.

And we got so much done! We ate out at three fancy restaurants and made it through six Game Of Thrones. We enjoyed the quiet. We read. We conversed. It was uncanny at first, as we both expected to be interrupted any second. It’s almost unnerving… unbroken conversation for longer than a minute. No barking intrusions, no fights to break up.

I do miss them, the kids, but I have to say I’m also going to miss the quiet. Yesterday Jayne headed north to get them and I spent the evening alone watching the sun go down.

With only my ladies of the night to keep me company.

The bee work didn’t stop or slow with our heat wave. In fact, this whole month I’ve been putting in some long days. Not just to super hives for the soybean flow.

You beekeepers will recognize those white strips as formic acid mite treatment.

I got everybody treated in early June, and since then I’ve been going around trying to fix the problems. Formic acid is an organic treatment that can be used with honey supers on. It does a great job killing mites, but it’s also a bit hard on the bees. Every year I’m getting better at keeping yard records, and this year I really wanted to quantify the damages attributed to the treatment. I found out that close to 20% of the hives will kill the queen and end up with emergency cells.

This is not good.

I knew that this happened with a formic treatment, and I used to console myself with the fact that most of the killed queens were the old ones. Plus it was still early, plenty of time to make a new queen and come back in good shape for fall honey. But I have sort of changed my thinking… Do you really want queens from emergency cells? Isn’t this kind of a gamble?

Not only are you potentially missing the summer honey, but you’re really taking some chances with the quality of queen who will be taking that hive through the winter. The longer I thought about it, the more I realized I had to take some action.

This was going to be an expensive mite treatment.

Every hive got inspected, if the bees had killed their queen, a new one went in. I have now installed over 100 beauties from California, turning a $2000 mite treatment into a $5000 treatment+mitigation. Wow. Those beauties aren’t cheap.

But you know, I feel good about it. I’m feeling confident that I did something right. You can’t always count on the bees. Especially dealing with formic acid. Sometimes they mess up. For whatever reason, they lose their collective mind and put somebody in the highest office who just isn’t fit to serve.

SEND HER BACK!

Good thing humans never do that.

Things we know and things we don't

-Posted by Isaac

If you say that farming is a gamble, nobody will argue.

But experience helps. And knowing something definitely helps.

A few months ago I had high hopes for this now barren patch of dirt. By July I thought we’d be looking at a lush field of hay. Forage grasses mixed with yellow and white sweet clover, alfalfa soon to be blooming… nope. I sort of struck out with the planting part. The bee work got the best of April and May, and I don’t know where June went. I think I’ll blame it on the rain. And now, finally planting, Brian commented that the clover won’t even bloom until next year. Doing some further research (calling the seed guy), I discover that he’s right! I’m an idiot. (Brian, thanks for putting it in a kind way.)

An idiot hay farmer.

Live and learn, I guess. We’ll probably be buying hay this winter. Ignorance has a price.

But let’s not dwell on ignorance alone. Let’s talk about some things we know. Some things are a sure bet.

For instance, a pretty face, a sweet product, a sunny day, a popular market… chances are, you’re going to sell something. When it comes to moving the honey, I’ll put my money on Jayne.

But what about the making of honey? Never a sure thing. Bee farming, like any farming, is gambling. After 15 years, I’m not quite as ignorant as I’ve demonstrated with the hay, but I’m still learning. And every year, almost every season, I’m still surprised by something.

We’ve learned that honey will vary season to season. In this area with our three distinct honey flows, we’ve made a business out of it— Spring, Summer and Fall Harvest.

But even the seasonal nectar flows can vary year to year.

On the left is the 2018 spring honey, on the right is the beautiful 2019 stuff that just came off the hives. Why would it be so different? A better locust flow? I don’t know…

And I’ll bet the summer honey will be a little different also. I’ll bet it’s light. Last year was light. The nectar came fast and furious. It was July 1st, 94 degrees and sunny, I shook a frame and was amazed at how much the bees were suddenly bringing in.

This year on July 1st, we had nothing. The bees were pecking around the honey house, hungry and robbing anything they could find. Zero nectar out there.

This week everything changed. Like a flip of the switch, suddenly we’re in a major honey flow. (That needs an exclamation— a major honey flow!!!!)

I shook a frame on July 10th, 90 degrees and sunny:

Like a gusher…

The bees were suddenly busy, completely ignoring the sweet smell around the honey house. In fact at lunch one day, I left a load of wet extracted spring supers on the truck for 20 minutes or so.

Came back to find zero interest! No robbing at all. That’s how good this flow is. The bees are super busy.

What could it be?

Well, I could venture a guess.

Why are we suddenly seeing summer nectar in mid July when last year it was two weeks earlier? Well, I’m sure weather is a big factor, but the biggest reason, I think, is that this year our nectar source wasn’t mature on July 1st.

That’s right. The soybeans! The planting was late and sporadic this year. We’re finally seeing the first of the soybean bloom, and many fields are later still. Some will be blooming into August.

Things are looking up. I’ve been adding supers all week.

Will the girls live up to my high hopes? It’s highly dependent on heat and sunshine, but I’ll let you know by August. The vast fields and soon-to-be millions of blooms will do their part.

Never heard of soybean honey? Well 15 years ago, I hadn’t either. Once again, live and learn. In fact (much to my delight), the idea of the soybeans being a summer nectar source is still a hot debate. I’ll scroll through informational sites about honey plants and there won’t be a single mention of the lowly soybean. Is it ignorance? Or does it just not fit the narrative? Maybe the people who write this stuff don’t make a living from selling honey…

I’ve even argued with beekeepers. They’ll say, what about the clover? The bees are all over it!

And it’s true. The bees will work clover hard when it’s hot and sunny.

I love to see it. I’ve even promoted it.

Makes me think of a dark night about ten years ago when a nefarious science teacher went out and seeded a fifty pound bag of the stuff on school grounds.

(Teachers touch the lives of so many!)

Now in my retirement, it’s fun to walk over and see a job well done.

But bees working clover doesn’t automatically equal honey. The bees have been on it since May, and all through June the supers remained dry. Suddenly, this week the nectar started flowing. Coincidentally the same week the soybeans started to bloom. Hmmm…

I’m not 100% sure, but it’s more than a strong hunch, and I’m thinking those vast fields with their multimillions of blooms probably hold some nectar. I’m putting my money on the soybeans.

No wait, I told you earlier, my money’s on Jayne.

And I think I’ll keep it there. Jayne takes away some of the risk. Soaps, salves, candles, lip balms… the selling, the marketing, the smooth running of a business. Bees and honey are for gamblers. I’m happy she tolerates it.