The First Inspection

That afternoon, the bees were restless, flying aimlessly in looping circles under the arching limbs of the hackberry and above the waiting hive boxes.

I brought home the two small nucleus colonies I ordered. I had already set up my two hive boxes. The boxes sat under a large hackberry tree. A berm covered with red cedars twined with ivy runs about eight feet behind. The berm is a windbreak, and the Hackberry shades the hives from the harsh summer sun.

I dressed in a still pristine beekeeping suit, placed the nucs next to the hives, and began to pry the lids of the temporary nuc boxes. The bees were quiet at first. There was a throbbing of activity. Some bees shot out of the box with the energy of a sleeping dog startled awake. The air around me was thick with them. The noise of the hive was musical, and the swirling air moved around me like stinging protons circling a nucleus.

I inspected each frame cautiously. I wanted to see as much as possible. I spotted the queen clinging to the first one. She had been marked with a pink dot by the apiary and wriggled across the spreading beeswax. The was brood, covered but unhatched bees, filling much of the nearest side of the first frame. I methodically sat each one inside the new hive box. I pulled out each frame and inspected it. As I progressed, bees dripped like melting wax as I placed them into the hive box. New at beekeeping, I am sure I missed much that will soon become self-evident.

About 30 feet from where I was working with the two nucs, one of my sons swatted a bee away from his face.

The hives stand close together, so I walked a few steps to the other temporary nuc box and began the same inspection and relocation.

That afternoon, the bees were restless, flying aimlessly in looping circles under the arching limbs of the hackberry and above the waiting hive boxes. They would quickly grow accustomed to this new location roughly 12 miles from the fields they found blowing with early spring pollen.

My sons stood off from the hives, watching. I stood in a haze of bees. I paid close attention to what I was doing. I repeatedly encouraged the boys that the bees were docile and only curious about their new surroundings.

About 30 feet from where I was working with the two nucs, one of my sons swatted a bee away from his face. Misjudged as an act of wanton aggression, one of the confused insects stung him under his eyebrow.

I did not know about the sting until I closed the hives, walked over to where he was standing, and took off my gear. His eye was red and beginning to swell shut. When I asked him if it hurt, he smiled good-naturedly and said, “Yeah, but only a little.”