Monday 4th May 2009

Most of this evening's class is taken up with discussions about our various apiary visits. Later we go on to learn about the sex life of the queen. Although she normally has only one nuptial flight, she can mate with up to 10 or 12 drones on this single journey. The act of copulation is tantamount to suicide for each drone, as instead of neatly tucking his apparatus back in his trousers, at the end his genitals are ruptured and he falls to the ground, leaving them dangling from the queen. The next drone to catch up with her does not see this as a warning to his own well being - he simply removes the ruptured debris, and has his own wicked way, and so on. The queen stores all this sperm in a special organ called the spermatheca and returns triumphant to the hive with her last suitor's genitalia hanging from her, like the proof of a blood stained sheet, to be lovingly cleaned and cared for by her attendants. (Well, I do like a bit of drama). She then begins her life's work of laying up to 2000 eggs a day, and secreting "queen substance" - the pheromone which keeps the colony working together, and prevents the workers from bringing on more queens.
I ponder over this fact. Who controls the colony? The workers can, in theory, turn any egg which the queen has laid into a potential new queen. The Queen must produce enough of this pheromone to keep the workers happy, so they will not supersede her. A sort of 'bread and circuses' policy on her part, but the workers seem to know the colony will not survive without an effective queen, so is it a win-win situation? True co-operation even? I have too much to learn before I can possibly begin to imagine the machinations of a bee colony.
As we finish, we are given our next apiary visit details. I will be going to the apiary of N, the association chairman. His bees are kept on the edge of land belonging to the nearby agricultural college - land which my ancestors used to work, so I am looking forward to that.

Monday 20th April 2009

My husband drives me into Edinburgh for the cheese and wine evening. He and James spend the evening with family who live nearby. I have been to the Botanics, but only walked round the Gardens. Al has said to go to the building with the 2 flagpoles, and I am surprised at the grandeur of the place. It does make me think of intrepid Victorian botanists combing the hills of China or Nepal for exotic plant species destined to become specimens in the glasshouses of the rich.
A receptionist directs me to the Lecture Theatre, and I walk through what seems like a mile of polished wooden panelled corridors. The theatre is a traditional tiered space with a wide desk at the front. There are already a large number of people seated, so I quickly find a chair. A paper is passed around and we add our names to the list of attendees. Several small meetings seem to be taking place between various members, but soon we are being called to attention by N, the association president. I note that N is the same beekeeper who had given me Al's details at the Highland Show.
This is the last of EMBA's Winter lecture series, and is usually the time when new members attending the beginners' class are invited to a welcome evening. This year, they are serving cheese and wine, and also teas, coffees and a delicious selection of home baking. Before the socialising, however, there are a few short presentations. We are welcomed by N, and then informed by the EMBA webmaster about the association website and other Internet and bee related issues. A lady from the Scottish Beekeepers' Association tells us about that body's role in beekeeping, and then the association librarian describes the Moir Library, which is the association's priceless collection of bee literature. Two of last year's beginners then give a presentation on their beekeeping progress. We newbies gasp in surprise as a black clad Gothic figure with a mane of jet hair covering her face (F), and a rather handsome tall young chap (M) come down the stairs and stand facing us. F addresses us in an impossibly high sing song voice, telling us, with the aid of a hugely magnified computer screen, about their attempts to start an apiary and the university where they both work. We are soon roaring with laughter as she describes the health and safety protocols they had to implement as well as making the apiary accessible to organised public visiting. M provides clarification on some of the issues, but for beginners they have a huge knowledge and enthusiasm for the art.
After enlightenment, refreshments. I am engulfed in one of the friendliest bunches of people it is possible to meet. I speak to several classmates. People come up and ask if I am new and whether I have bees yet. Big Al is there with his wife, and we recognise each other. We both sat outside a hall for on Saturday mornings for several years, while our daughters' attended ballet and tap lessons. Another of last year's beginners stops to chat - he has 2 hives, but has found a mentor in one of the older keepers. And so it goes on. As I am not driving, I am persuaded by a small white wine and a slice of fruit loaf - a fine combination.
All too soon it is time to leave, and my husband and son are waiting outside in the car. As we are leaving, Al asks us to email our bee suit requirements to him and he will order them in time for our first apiary visit. We drive home and I talk all the way about the wonders of this new world.