Flowing With Honey

There was a sticky resistance. I wiggled the frame slightly, bending over the super for a closer look.

I have one colony with an exuberant, egg-laying queen. She is outpacing the queen in my second colony. During each hive inspection, I am surprised by the new eggs, larvae, pupae, and capped brood. The brood is consistent across the frame and looks like a tiled floor. Frames in the hive box not filled with brood are heavy with honey. The spring provided temperate weather and conditions favorable for honey production. This year, the Eastern Shore of Maryland is an apiary paradise. The early spring rains have slackened, and the weather is warming. Soon, the heat will come. But now, each week brings new blooms.

During a recent hive check of the colony with the hyperactive queen, I placed a 10-frame super on the quickly filling hive box. Since the bees were filling the frames with brood and honey, room for new bees was shrinking.

In one week, the bees had begun to build comb, even small bits, on most of the super’s empty frames. The activity in the super was consistent but subdued. I want to be an attentive and conscientious beekeeper, so I pulled each frame out for a focused examination.

The comb separated, and a gush of uncapped honey ran out.

The first frame I pulled out of the super had a few bees clinging to it and the ghost of a new comb. The second was like the first. I took the third frame in my gloved hands and gently pulled it up and out of the box. There was a sticky resistance. I wiggled the frame slightly, bending over the super for a closer look. Like a stalactite, the comb connected both frames. The wax hung down and clung to the bottom of the hive box, then climbed to the middle of the frame I was removing.

I pulled, lifting the frame straight out of the super. The comb separated, and a gush of uncapped honey ran out. It flowed down golden in the slanting afternoon sun. It reminded me of the biblical description of the Promised Land—a place flowing with milk and honey. Standing in the corner of my backyard under a drooping hackberry tree while the sunlight winked in dappled flecks, I finally understood the ancient longing for a home dripping with abundance from the hand of God

The bees flew lazily around me. Their paths curled like smoke. I watched the honey drip slowly onto the other frames. Some pooled on top, and I dragged my hand across it as I placed the frame back into the box and closed the lid.

On my way back to the house, I pulled my glove from my hand and touched the tip of my index finger to where the honey had collected on the side of the glove. The drop sparkled in the sunlight. I tasted it—something I had longed to do— and held it on my tongue until it dissolved. It was sweet, pure, and enough for now.