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Notice Board . . .

New menu item: ZomBees. This page is a question and answer section about Zombie flies, Apocephalus borealis.

My husband made me do it

It was a Sunday morning, exactly nine days after I split my top-bar hive with a Taranov board. I finished answering e-mails before I walked outside and headlong into a frenzy of darting, diving, dipping insects that were coalescing in a tall Leyland cypress.

I wandered into the midst of the chaos, curious why Leylands attract so many swarms. I wondered if I could bottle it.

The bees continued to spill from the top-bar hive for another few seconds. I had recently checked on the split, and it was fine. It ended up with the old queen and, after only a week, displayed a perfect patch of brood. So this was an after-swarm, probably headed by a virgin queen from one of the 24 queen cells I had seen there.

My husband and I agreed the swarm was too dangerous to get. The tree was skinny and we feared the weight of the extension ladder might damage it, or that a slight shift of the trunk might cause the ladder to topple. We decided to leave it.

“Three packages of bees up there,” he kept saying, which made me feel terrible. But I try not to be stupid about bee retrieval, so I did my best to ignore them . . . and him. My three swarm traps had fresh lures and the bait hive behind the house was stocked with used brood comb and a frame of honey. The best I could do was wait.

One day passed, windy and cold. The second day was stormy, and the night was worse. The third day yielded raindrops the size of jelly beans. The fourth day was cloudy, but clearing. I knew the swarm would soon leave.

“I’ve got an idea,” my husband announced while making breakfast. “I will lash a t-post across the top of the extension ladder so it will rest on two trees instead of one. The weight will be divided between trees and the ladder will be more stable.”

“No way,” I said. “The trees aren’t strong enough to support your weight.”

He gave me an odd look. “Not my weight. Yours.”

I felt instantly sick and left my breakfast on the table.

I spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon stewing. He’s not the beekeeper. He’s doesn’t even like bees. He wants nothing to do with my hobby. So why is he telling me how to do it? And why does he think I should risk life and limb on his Rube Goldberg device? Finally, I got so angry I wanted to prove it wouldn’t work. “All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

So while he collected extension ladder, t-post, and cable ties, I assembled tools for catching a swarm, none of which I thought I would need. When all was ready, I gave the dog my cold toast and honey as a farewell gift, and ascended the ladder with cardboard box and hive tool in hand. Any moment now, I thought, the tree, the swarm, and the ladder with me on it will smash a crater into the driveway. And as the bees fly away unscathed, my dying words will be, “I told you so.”

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Tomorrow: The iterative method of swarm retrieval

The quest: a fairly large swarm from the top-bar hive.
The quest: a fairly large swarm from the top-bar hive.
A big ladder for a skinny tree.
A big ladder for a skinny tree.
When life depends on a small block of wood.
When life depends on a small block of wood.
Nylon cable ties connect t-post to extension ladder.
Nylon cable ties connect t-post to extension ladder.
The t-post rests on a neighboring tree.
The t-post rests on a neighboring tree.

Bumble bee on piggy-back plant

Piggy-back plant, also known as youth-on-age, is a delicate little woodland plant in the saxifrage family. The species, Tolmiea menziesii, is native to the Pacific Northwest coast where it grows in moist forested areas and along streams. It is often accompanied by red alder at low to middle elevations. At the base of the heart-shaped leaves, buds develop that grow into new leaves. The new little leaf develops right atop the big leaf, giving rise to the common name.

The flowers are brown to purple and grow on a stalk above the leaves. Every year I look forward to these little harbingers of spring but, until this year, I never knew they had bright orange pollen. The flowers are very small, about 6 to 9 mm long, so you can’t see the pollen without magnification. But last week I noticed that all the bumble bees working these plants were loaded with bright orange pellets.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

I’ve never seen a honey bee on these flowers, but the bumbles love them.
I’ve never seen a honey bee on these flowers, but the bumbles love them.
The long skinny parts of the flower are the petals. The sepals make up the flower tube.
The long skinny parts of the flower are the petals. The sepals make up the flower tube.
The pollen baskets are so bright I can see them at a distance.
The pollen baskets are so bright I can see them at a distance.
Tolmiea menziesii showing piggy-back leaf.
Tolmiea menziesii showing piggy-back leaf.

A beekeeper’s trip to Corvallis

During the abyss of grade school, through mind-numbing months of long division, spelling, and the names of planets, I scrooched at my desk and stared at a yellowing wall map of the United States. Far to the left, one place captured my imagination and beckoned me to it.

While the scent of brown-bagged peanut butter teased by stomach, the shape of that far-away state fueled my dreams. Perhaps it was the name, or the tales of pioneers, or the stories of a valley so fertile it could grow any crop. It was a mystical, magical, Jack-and-the-beanstalk kind of place.

Oregon. The word was music and I said it aloud. Oregon. So while my friends were off California dreamin’, my imagination was north in that great fertile valley caressed by the Willamette.

From those early fantasies, the dream of Oregon persisted. I ended up living there for a time and graduated from OSU, but my fascination never waned. Work, family, and opportunity eventually led me elsewhere, but my heart still lives in the Willamette Valley.

So last fall when I got an invitation to visit a beekeeper in Eugene, I jumped at the chance. It had been years since I’d been to Oregon and the thought of traveling back through the valley was irresistible. I added the trip to the front end of a busy summer.

Fate has a way of rearranging our plans and, as it turned out, my Eugene contact cancelled. But by then I was determined to visit my favorite place. I hadn’t yet decided how to proceed when I happened to answer a beekeeping question from an “oregonstate.edu” e-mail address. I remembered the name from previous exchanges so, on a whim, I asked if I could stop by for a visit.

The beekeeper, Mark Luterra, not only sent back a welcome but accompanied it with a list of everyone he thought I should visit while in Corvallis. It was a mother lode of names, contact information, websites, and phone numbers. I could not believe my good fortune.

I contacted everyone on the list, and within a few hours I had a five-day schedule of people, places, and events. During my brief stay, I met Karessa Torgerson of Nectar Bee Supply and attended her “Understanding Swarms” class where I met more beekeepers. I was invited to the home of Linda Zielinski, president of the Lynn-Benton Beekeeper’s Association, where we gathered around a cozy outdoor fireplace and “talked bee” over red wine, tasty food, and the fragrant tang of burning wood. During the evening, Karessa and another beekeeper, Greg Long, became interested in hearing about prison beekeeping and are now pursuing plans of their own. And I was honored to meet Amanda, an enchanting teenage beekeeper, who became enthralled with my butterfly net.

I attended a presentation of the pollinator film, Wings of Life, along with the Oregon Master Beekeepers. In succeeding days, I visited more beekeepers and photographed many hives and bees. During a visit to the OSU Honey Bee Lab, I met Ramesh Sagili, Assistant Professor of Horticulture, and Carolyn Breece, Research Assistant. Carolyn walked me through the process of testing for Nosema ceranae and Ramesh showed me samples of Apocephalus borealis adults and larvae. Matt Stratton, a student technician, showed me a hypopharyngeal gland recently removed from a honey bee and explained how it would be examined for its protein content.

Later Carolyn escorted me through the Oak Creek Center for Urban Horticulture where Michael Burgett, Emeritus Professor of Entomology, showed me each of the honey bee hives in his eclectic collection, as well as the many types of native bee housing he has created. From there Carolyn took me to the OSU Experimental Farm where I got to see the 150 pounds of newly installed bees and the honey bee flight cages—enclosures for studying honey bees where they can fly but be restricted to certain diets.

When I wasn’t with beekeepers, I had time to visit the campus, walk by the places I used to live, and drive out to the cropped fields to photograph both honey bees and native bees in action. On one afternoon I drove around to all the places where native bee housing is being established in the community, and on another day I checked out the bees at the Starker Arts Garden for Education.

During my many visits with beekeepers, I learned some creative techniques, saw innovative pieces of equipment, heard fresh takes on beekeeping philosophy, and learned new things about both honey bees and native bees. Everyone I met was cordial, generous, and bubbling with bee enthusiasm. It was a dream trip in a dream place—the valley did not disappoint!

I have already written about a few of the things I learned while in Corvallis and I have dozens of discoveries left to share. But today, I wanted to say a public thank you to the beekeepers and bee researchers I met in Corvallis. Their kindness, knowledge, and willingness to teach were truly extraordinary.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

A bee watering device at the Oak Creek Center for Urban Horticulture.
A bee watering device at the Oak Creek Center for Urban Horticulture.

Drones signal the beginning of swarm season

Nothing signals the approach of swarm season more reliably than the appearance of drones in the apiary. A colony won’t swarm if the new queen has no way to mate, but once drones are abundant, mating can occur and a populous colony may decide to split.

Drone eggs are laid by the queen in special cells that are larger than worker cells. They can often be seen near the sides of the frame or on the edges of the brood nest. The workers prepare the cells and the queen lays unfertilized eggs in them. Although this is hard for us to grasp, the queen can decide when and where to lay these eggs. Unfertilized eggs always develop into drones, and fertilized eggs can become either workers or new queens.

Organisms with just one set of chromosomes—like the drones—are called haploid. Those with two sets—like the workers and queens—are called diploid. Drone honey bees look very different than the workers. They are bigger, blocky in shape, and have huge eyes that almost meet at the top of their heads. These very sensitive eyes help the drones spot queens flying overhead when they are trying to mate.

Drones play a very different role in the hive than either workers or queens:

  • Drones have one major purpose, and that is to mate.
  • Once they mate, they die.
  • They don’t have stingers, so they can’t defend the hive.
  • They generally don’t feed themselves, but beg food from workers.
  • They don’t collect pollen, nectar, water, or propolis.
  • Drones meet in an area above the ground called a “drone congregation area,” and wait for new queens to arrive (Think of your local tavern.)
  • Only the fastest and healthiest succeed at mating. The others go back to the colony at night and try again the next day.
  • Drones can make up as much as 15% of the hive population.

Toward fall when the days are getting shorter and the nights are cooler, the workers stop feeding the drones. When they get weak enough, the workers force them out of the hive where they will starve and die. Just as the appearance of drones in the spring signals the start of the reproductive season, drones struggling with workers at the hive entrance signals the coming of fall.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Hover flies pollinate flowers and eat aphids

Many of our native pollinating insects are not bees. Included in this group are the hover flies, also known as syrphid flies, flower flies, or drone flies. These are true flies—in the order Diptera—and they are easily recognized by their ability to hold a seemingly motionless position in the air.

Some of the hover flies have distinctive stripes on their abdomens—black and yellow bars that mimic the markings of stinging bees. These markings are a biological adaptation that protects the flies from certain predators even though they are completely unable to sting. If you are unsure if you are looking at a bee or a fly, remember that a fly has one pair of wings while a bee has two pairs.

Many adult hover flies survive on nectar and pollen, but the larvae eat a much more varied diet that may include other insects or decaying plants and animals. It is hard to generalize, however, because the family Syrphidae consists of about 6000 species—all with slightly different habits. They are found on all continents except Antarctica and are harmless to humans.

Some species of hover fly are highly prized as biological control agents because the larval forms of those flies snack on aphids. Hedgerows and cover crops can be planted which attract hover flies to cropped areas. Flowers that produce pollen and nectar provide the energy the adult flies need to produce large numbers of eggs—all of which turn into aphid-munching larvae.

An excellent publication on hover flies as biological control agents can be downloaded at http://anrcatalog.ucdavis.edu/pdf/8285.

Rusty

Hover fly on herb-robert. Photo by the author.
Hover fly on herb-robert. Photo by the author.

Smoker fuels are as varied as beekeepers

If you’ve read my previous post about smokers, you know I’m not a fan. Nevertheless, I use one from time to time and have tried a variety of fuels.

Although no one knows for sure, bee researchers believe smoke does two things which calm honey bees. First, the smoke tends to mask the alarm pheromones that are released by the guard bees when they believe their hive is threatened. Without the ability to detect the pheromone, the rest of the bees don’t know anything is amiss.

Secondly, smoke seems to be a warning to the bees that they may have to evacuate their home. Before bees evacuate, they fill their stomachs with honey so they will have the energy necessary to start building a new place to live. Once their stomachs are full they are less able to curve their abdomens into the stinging position. (Think of touching your toes after a huge meal.)

It’s because of the second reason that you wait a couple minutes after smoking a hive before opening it. You are giving the bees some time to gorge on honey.

Most beekeepers like to use some kind of kindling to start the fire, and then feed it with something more substantial. Newspaper, dry pine needles, or commercial starter pellets are popular choices for starting a smoker. The main consideration with anything you use is that it be free of chemicals, plastics, paint, rubber, preservatives, or dyes. Any of these items could release toxic fumes when burned, causing injury or death to the bees.

Personally, I have a bucket where I throw things I might use as fuel, including sisal baling twine, burlap bags, corrugated cardboard, old cotton fabric, string, and pine cones. I also like wood chips—the kind used for animal bedding—and I keep a bag of those on hand as well.

Other popular fuels are punky wood from tree stumps or rotting logs, straw, dry corn cobs, dry bark, peanut shells, and paper egg cartons. You want the material to burn slowly with a cool flame and produce lots of non-toxic smoke. Every source of material will burn a little differently, so you just have to experiment.

British beekeepers—actually the British in general—are a very creative bunch. From their ranks I have heard that dried wild pony droppings make exceptional fuel (no word on where to find these), and dried puffball fungus lulls bees into a trance (no word on what it does to the beekeeper). By the way, I’m not recommending these items—just reporting.

Once you’re done smoking, stuffing a handful of fresh grass into the smoker spout will suffocate the flame and conserve the remaining fuel.

Rusty