Queen, Drone, Worker

Then, the mass of bees parted, and I saw a pink dot moving in a sea of wings and stripped wagging abdomens.

The bees no longer all look the same to me. The beekeeper who sold me my two nucleus colonies marked the queen with a pink paint marker dot. Still, the queens are hard to find in the huddle of bees vibrating the frames. It is hard but not impossible, and I say a silent prayer to find the queen and spot the sluggish drones whose current job is to eat and live in luxury.

In early June, about a month after relocating the colonies to their new home in a lush corner of my yard, I performed another hive inspection. The inspections excite and intrigue me. Each time I handle the frames, I learn more and see more. My eyes are opening to the differences in sizes of the queen, drones, and workers. It is quiet under the hackberry tree, and the only sound I hear is the heavy hum of bees.

My inspection begins with the hive on my right as I walk toward the corner of the yard. It has been a cool and lush spring with a heavy pollen flow, but the queen in this hive is producing brood more slowly than the second hive. But the benchmarks of a healthy colony are still there.

When I pulled out the first frame, I was pleased to see capped honey and workers dangling from the comb, ready to drip off into the hive box. I set it aside, again whispering a prayer that I would spot the queen.

I gently pried the second frame loose from the one next to it—new, clean beeswax stuck the two together. It was heavy with bees, brood, and a corner bulging with capped honey. In the swarm of worker bees, I spotted a large, sturdy drone walking through the bustle. I was beginning to spot the difference between the types of bees that form a healthy colony.

Then, the mass of bees parted, and I saw a pink dot moving in a sea of wings and stripped wagging abdomens. I stopped, holding my breath. I just watched. The movement of the hive never ceased. Though my inspection may have interrupted their work, they continued diligently. I resumed my inspection with grateful satisfaction.

I was happy to be witnessing a miracle as I pulled each frame apart, lifting it to satiate my curiosity. When I inspected the last frame in the hive box, I saw a new wonder. It was a bee just slightly smaller than the cluster of workers on the other frames. It was young, obviously, with a lighter coloring—blond where the older bees had darkened with age. It was fuzzier, too. It crawled along the edge of the frame, almost seeming unsure of itself. I watched it as time slowed to the sluggish thickness of golden honey. The afternoon sun turned the dappled shade golden as the youngest bee I had ever seen lost itself in a throng of its own.