The Bees, the bees

So yesterday I placed an order for our first colony of bees. I have been doing much voracious reading about bees this week, which means I have been able to distance myself from the horrors of teaching. And I have come to the conclusion that bees are far more intelligent and interesting than many of the students I deal with. The future, it seems, is orange - with a few black stripes thrown in for good measure.

But hurrah! Two weeks of Easter break are upon me, and I can concentrate on important stuff like gathering beekeeping equipment and sorting out the allotment and garden. And being constantly amazed at the speed with which my rocket seedlings are sprouting on the kitchen window sill.

The bees are being collected somewhere around the end of May. This is good. This gives us time to get well into the one-to-one beekeeping course we have signed up for. And source the equipment we need. I am especially keen to investigate smokers because they look like Clangers in suits of armour. And as I write this, Andy is in the garden with his new Black and Decker practising sawing up wood and making basic joints (of wood, I hope. I shall be cross if I go out later and find him lying in the middle of Cluckinghen Palace in a drug induced stupor. 'So will we,' says Mrs Miggins. 'We'll have none of that malarkey here.')

As Olly commented a blog or two ago, if Andy is getting interested in carpentry, he can make a hive. I suggested this to him. Build your own hive kits are cheaper than ready built hives.

'Everyone says they are easy to make,' said I.
'Everyone?' said Andy.
'Well, Olly,' I said.
'I'll have a go, then,' said Andy, because he could detect a glint in mine own eye that suggested if he didn't, then I would.
'And you're a surgeon,' I said. 'If you can repair the shattered leg of dog, you can construct a beehive kit.'
'Remember that I have managed to staple myself to a dog before now,' said Andy.
'We all have our off days,' I said.

So this weekend, in between feeding my need to watch a Biblical epic or two, we shall be pootling around the countryside gathering beekeeping equipment.

Also, a tree surgeon came out to peruse our enormous eucalyptus tree. I liked him. He said, 'I see you keep chickens. Just the three, is it?'
'Yes,' I said, and regaled him with the sad demise of Mrs Poo. 'But she was a bit of a Stalin,' I finished. 'And taught the others some very bad habits.'
'I worked my way up to 180 chickens at one stage,' said the tree surgeon. 'But I'm back to three now. And four ducks.'

I didn't like to ask how he got from 180 chickens to 3. But I liked that he kept chickens and ducks. And that he did some teaching too. And that his wife was a teacher until she got fed up with it, and is now a paramedic which, he said, was far less stressful. Now that tells you something doesn't it? That people would rather deal with blood, guts, sick and poo than the youth of today.

Anyway, I digress. The tree surgeon quoted me far less to remove the tree than I was charged two years ago by another tree surgeon just to top out the same tree.
'How much did you pay?' he said, when I expressed surprise (pleasant) at his quote.
'You were robbed,' he said, when I told him. 'I'd have charged you less than half of that.'
'Don't tell me that now,' I said.

And we had a bit of a laugh and rolled our eyes at the unscrupulous behaviour of some tree surgeons.

So the tree will be dealt with by the time the bees arrive. The biggest parts will be left with us as logs for building, whittling, perching etc. And the stump will remain in the South Wing of Cluckinghen Palace as Mrs Miggins has requested a new seating area.
'It will be like a Round Table,' she said, squinting her eyes in a visionary moment. 'And I shall be King Arthur.'
'And I shall be Sir Laughalot with a big sword called Eggscaliber,' said Mrs Slocombe.
'You'll do as you're told,' said Mrs Miggins.

Andy is amassing a list of garden related woodworking projects he intends to build. Starting with a bird box, and a beehive, he plans then to move on to various assorted pergolas, mini-greenhouses,, herb troughs, cold frames, and then a massive revamp of Cluckinghen Palace.

'I think we should add a conservatory,' he said. 'So the hens can have the effect of being outside whilst undercover on wet days.'

This is a good idea. Especially as there is no more pathetic sight than a damp chicken. And it means their dustbath would stay dry rather than being reduced to a soggy quagmire every two weeks or so.

Also, and do not breathe a word of this to Andy, this revamp could be adapted to include my next livestock keeping plan which is quail. Quail are tiny. They wouldn't take up much space.

But don't tell Andy.