Monday 27th April 2009

After a week of illness, this morning sees me feeling much better. I realise with dismay that I have not let Al know my bee suit requirements - the first practical is on Saturday! I dash off an apologetic email and he replies almost instantly, with the request to give him my order at the class.
That evening I find myself sitting with other would-be lady beekeepers. To my relief, only one of our number has ordered her suit, and I feel the beginnings of a bond. We are divided into groups for the apiary visits, and we four find ourselves in Group C. Our first visit will be to the apiary of the fabulously gothic F and her partner M, whose hives are located at the science campus of the University.
Al reminds us that we cannot go on the visit without protective beewear and we still have time to order, as long as we can pick up the suits from his house on Friday. Al lives only 3 miles from me and as my new friend would have to travel in from Edinburgh, and the Borders, I offer to collect their suits and bring them to the apiary, and this is accepted appreciatively, We are a helpful lot, us beekeepers.
We continue to learn more about bee management, including the parts of the hive and the various types available. We are given a list of things to find out about at our visits - learning outcomes as they say in education these days. The theory is interspersed with personal insights and funny stories from Al and Big Al, and again the evening passes quickly. We leave chattering like school children - excitedly calling our good byes - "See you on Saturday!"

Monday 30th March

I awake uneasily after a vivid dream, which I cannot now remember. Discussing this with my husband over breakfast, I decide that the feelings raised by the dream are partly anxiety and partly excitement at moving back into the world. Since the birth of James, now over 2 years old, I have never left him for the evening. If we have gone out, he has always come with us. He is a very sociable and inquiring boy, and while I am sure he would gain a lot from the class, I judge that he will probably enjoy playing with Dad much more.
That evening, I arrive at the high school building where the course is to take place. The janitor on duty looks at me and says the single word "Beekeeping?" I nod, wondering if my rash decision to raid my daughter's bedroom and add a pair of jade coloured tights to my outfit has marked me out in some way. "Can you tell?" I ask. "Not really, there's no other classes on tonight. Down this corridor, through the double doors, turn right and follow the buzz" I wonder how many times he will use that joke.
He is right, though. The buzz is not so much bees, but the voices of many aspiring beekeepers. I enter and hand my forms and cheque to the official looking lady sitting by the door. In return she gives me a purple pocket folder containing the course notes, some other documents, a name card to put on my desk and a reporter's style notebook from the chain store Staples. The room is already busy and there are a few seats at the back. I regret forgetting to bring my glasses.
My classmates are a very mixed bunch - two or three really young looking men (although I am now at an age where anyone under 45 looks really young), a few young mums and dads, a couple of men who look as if they are of retiring age and people in their 30s, 40s and 50s. Some have bees already, most of us don't. The lady in front of me turns round and introduces herself. A lovely Welsh girl, she has travelled down from Perthshire to attend the class. We are joined by a young Spanish father. Fortunately he has only had to travel in from Edinburgh. He desperately wants to keep bees, but lives next to a primary school so... The classroom begins to fill up - extra chairs are brought in from another room. It has been a warm day, so the windows are opened. Our lecturer stands up and the class begins.
We have two theory teachers - Al, who was the organiser and author of the emails, and Big Al, who does the main teaching. Big Al has a very pleasing North East accent which somehow seems just right for talking about bees. They work well together in a sort of odd couple way - very funny but very knowledgeable. I feel in safe hands.
We begin with a PowerPoint presentation on what the course will cover and some basic information on bees and their anatomy and different types of hives. A long Q and A session yields a lot of information we beginners are keen to know. We all wonder about the same things. Where to put hives, what about the neighbours, will we get stung, what will the bees do to our pets, why are they dying, how do you control varroa, will we ever get to go on holiday again, how much time do they take up,will they swarm..... Al and Big Al answer each query patiently and comprehensively. I leave at the end of the class with a great deal more knowledge and the faintest glimmerings of a feeling that I might, just might, be able to think about possibly keeping some bees.

Wednesay 25th March 2009

My elder daughter's birthday.
An email from course organiser Al giving further details and enclosing a couple of forms for us to fill in ready for registration on Monday night. The course will run every Monday, with practicals at various apiaries on the Saturday afternoon. These will be the sessions which will determine my beekeeping future.
Due to my lack of a printer, I forward the attachments to husband John at work, and ask him nicely to print the forms off for me. Supportive as ever, he duly obliges.

Wednesday 4th March 2009

I have a place on the Edinburgh and Midlothian Beekeepers Association beginners' course! It doesn't mean that I will be getting bees.

Friday 16th January 9 pm

I receive a reply from Al about the beekeeping beginners course. He has added my name to the list of participants and will be in touch at the end of February with final dates etc. He ends "Looking forward to introducing you to the World of Beekeeping" Wow!!!! Of course this in no way means that I will be getting bees... my garden - you know?

2008

We visit the Royal Highland Show. The first stop is.... oh yes, The Bee Tent. I buy honey, soap and beeswax. There is a beekeeper who is showing visitors the inside of a hive - minus bees of course! We stop to watch and somehow find ourselves loitering around waiting for him to finish speaking to someone else. We tell him about our unsuitable garden (is there any beekeeper in Scotland who hasn't heard of this by now?). He doesn't see it as a problem. We say that we would really like to keep bees, but...... He says that there is a beginners course held in early spring, usually in West Lothian - it would be a way of finding out if bees were for us. He writes down the email address of the organiser, I tuck it into my purse.
We visit the rest of the show. By evening we have decided bees are not for us.

1999 - 2007

We move to the yellow house. After two years of dreaming, reading Seymour and other similar books, we finally have a garden large enough to grow vegetables, keep hens and generally do all the things that are now so fashionable. Bees have been discussed and dismissed. The garden, although sizeable, is long and narrow. Neighbours are in close proximity. A huge Leylandii hedge, while protecting our privacy, crowds us in and keeps us in shade until early evening. "It is not suitable for bees," we say firmly to ourselves.
Nevertheless, on one of our many evening trips to Borders bookstore in Glasgow, I buy a book - Guide to Bees and Honey by Ted Hooper. It is fascinating, but too scary to contemplate. I have decided not to get bees.
We subscribe to one of the smallholder magazines - they have a monthly feature on beekeeping. I read it avidly. "Its not for me though" I say...decisively.
We visit the Royal Highland Show at Ingliston. The first tent we come across is that of the Scottish Beekeepers Federation. We admire the honey and beeswax exhibits, have fun rolling candles, sample types of honey, marvel at the live bees in their glass case, buy jars of honey, bars of wax and soap. We talk to the beekeepers, telling them of our unsuitable garden. "Not a problem" they say. We talk some more, they give us local contact addresses. "Yes let's" we say. Later we change out minds.
The Highland Show scenario is acted out in this way for several years. In 2007, we decide, after another long conversation with a beekeeper that we will never get bees - and that is definite.