Honey Bee Suite » bee forage

Honey bee forage: vine maple

Rusty — Fri, 11 May 2012 16:57:55 +0000

We have a lot of different maples here in the Pacific Northwest, but by far the most inconspicuous in the summer is the vine maple, Acer cincinatum. Not very imposing, it grows to the size of a large shrub or a small tree. It often lives in the shady understory of a conifer forest, although it also pops up in lowlands, clearcuts, and on steep slopes. It has long and skinny branched trunks that root when they touch the soil, so the tree gets a tangled and viney appearance, often forming graceful arches over trails and small streams.

In contrast to its modest summer appearance, it is the most showy of the Pacific Northwest maples in the fall when its leave turn bright red or dayglo orange. What was almost invisible during the summer evolves into an autumn masterpiece.

John Lovell in Honey Plants of North America (1926) says the vine maple is a more important honey plant than the broadleaf (bigleaf) maple, Acer macrophyllum, probably because it blooms a little later. He says, “The honey has a fine flavor and is white or amber-colored with a faint pinkish tinge.” According to Nectar and Pollen Plants of Oregon and the Pacific Northwest (1989), the nectar is 27-58% sugar and some years the trees produce large amounts. Honey bees collect pollen as well as nectar when the trees bloom in late April to early May.

I got the photo last week. The blooms were mostly over, but a few bees were searching for those last delicious drops.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Sipping vine maple nectar.

Honey bee forage: black locust

Rusty — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 16:29:23 +0000

The black locust tree, Robinia pseudoacacia, is famous for producing a fruity and fragrant honey that ranges from water white to lemon yellow to yellowish green. A batch of monofloral black locust honey with little cross-contamination from other flowers can be as clear as a glass jar. The honey is high in fructose so it can be stored for long periods without crystallizing.

The black locust tree is native to eastern and southeastern North America, but has spread throughout the United States and much of Canada. A member of the Fabaceae (pea family), the tree has nodules of nitrogen-fixing bacteria on its roots which make it an excellent species for re-vegetating poor or damaged soils. In addition, its tolerance for low pH has made the tree useful for strip-mine reclamation sites.

Black locust grows quickly and averages 40-70 feet tall at maturity. It is often planted as a source of firewood, not only because of its fast growth but because the wood burns very hot. Although the tree does not tolerate shade or extreme cold, it grows well in a variety of moisture, fertility, and slope conditions.

Although it is considered a major honey plant in the eastern U.S., the black locust does not always produce a crop of honey. Nectar flow is very dependent on local weather conditions and some years the flowers yield little or no nectar at all. Some areas of the country report good crops once in every five years, but the frequency varies with the location.

Even when the flow is good, the flowering period is short. The flowers, which bloom in long, white racemes, open sometime between April and June for about ten days. During the rest of the year the trees are excellent habitat for invertebrates, birds, bats and other small mammals.

Nancy, a reader from Shady Grove Farm in Kentucky, has been enticing me with delectable descriptions of her current black locust flow. Below is a photo she sent of a tree in full bloom.

A final note: The black locust should not be confused with the honey locust, Gleditsia triacanthos. Ironically, the honey locust produces very little—if any—honey. The tree was nicknamed “honey locust” because of the sweet pulp which was used for food by some of the North American tribes.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Black locust tree at Shady Grove Farm, Kentucky.

Planting for honey bees

Rusty — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 15:55:27 +0000

A lot of people want to know what to plant for their honey bees, so they ask other beekeepers for a recommendation . . . and this is what happens.

Let’s say the beekeeper asking the question lives in Nebraska. He gets several responses: one from South Carolina suggesting a plant named SC, one from New Mexico suggesting a plant named NM, and one from Oregon suggesting plant named OR. Eager to watch his new bees forage, the beekeeper in Nebraska buys 3 packets of seed—one each of SC, NM, and OR.

Nebraska beekeeper meticulously follows the directions on the seed packets and the plants grow lushly and burst into bloom. Nebraska beekeeper catches the scent of his crop wafting through his open window and knows the bees will be pleased. He crouches down on the ground with camera in hand and waits beside his carefully tended offerings. But nothing happens. Although the flowers are heavy with various native pollinators, the honey bees are not impressed. What happened? Did those other beekeepers set him up?

Of course not, but a number of other things may be going on. Here is a partial list of possibilities:

The most likely problem is competition from other nectar sources. Let’s say you go out for dessert. At the restaurant you have a choice of red jello, chocolate ice cream, or apple pie. Which do you choose? Chances are, you pick your favorite—the one that tastes best to you. Personally, I go for ice cream every time. Bees are no different. If something in the area is more attractive to your bees than what you planted, they will go to that other thing first. In this case, the beekeepers in South Carolina, New Mexico, and Oregon had a different selection of plants in bloom than the guy in Nebraska. In other words, the bees had a different menu to pick from.

The local climate and soil type can affect both the amount of nectar a plant produces and the composition of the nectar, including its sweetness. The same seed grown in different climates or on different soils will taste different to the bees.

Yearly weather patterns also make a difference. A good nectar-producing plant one year may fail the next. You can think of nectar like fruit—there are good production years and bad ones, even though other factors, such as soil type and rainfall, remain the same.

Different varieties of the same species produce different nectar. While you may have selected the right genus and species, you may have purchased the wrong variety, and gotten vastly different results.

Honey bees have floral fidelity which means they collect from only one type of flower on one foraging trip or on one whole day. If you planted just little patches of flowers, it may not be enough to attract honey bees.

Competition from other pollinators makes a difference too. If the flowers have been sucked dry by early risers such as mason bees, the honey bees may be forced to forage elsewhere.

If you only watch your bees at certain times of the day, you may miss the hours when they forage on your plants. Different plants exude nectar at different times. A good example is buckwheat, which yields lots of nectar in the morning and virtually none in the afternoon. So if you don’t watch your buckwheat until mid-afternoon, you may miss your bees completely.

As you can see, the issues are complex, so trial-and-error planting may be the most reliable way to discover the best plants for your area. There’s nothing wrong with experimenting with all those recommendations, but don’t be disappointed if they don’t pan out. Nature works in strange and wondrous ways.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Lapping it up. Honey bee on blackberry.

Tangled up in blue

Rusty — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 20:54:53 +0000

I wasn’t paying much attention to Pandora last night until I heard that old Bob Dylan tune, “Tangled up in Blue.” Oddly, I didn’t think of the ’70s or the disparately sad lyrics. No, not me . . . I thought about blue pollen. How weird is that?

Those who have been reading this blog for awhile know I’m obsessed with blue pollen. It just seems like such a gratuitous gesture on the part of mother nature. After all, the bees are attracted to the color of the flowers, the sweetness of the nectar, and the scent oozing from the glands. The color of the pollen shouldn’t much matter. And, as we all know, bees will collect it regardless of the color–white, green, yellow, pink, brown, and gray all work for them. So why did nature go to all that trouble? I haven’t a clue, but I love it.

The song reminded me that it’s time to think about planting some of my blue-pollen producers. The Siberian squill, a bulb flower, is already several inches tall and, since all the trees around it fell in the storm, it should actually get some sun this year. My other blue-pollen flowers still have to be planted.

If you’re ready for the blues as well, here are a few suggestions for your garden:

Siberian squill, Scilla siberica, is a bulbous perennial that blooms in early spring.

Tower of jewels, Echium wildpretii, is an herbaceous biennial that’s good for you southerners.

Borage, Borago officinalis, is an annual herb that freely re-seeds itself.

Fireweed or great willow-herb, Epilobium angustifolium, is an herbaceous perennial that grows in disturbed areas and produces water-white honey.

Phacelia, Phacelia tanacetifolia, is an annual herb, especially attractive to native bees.

Bird’s Eyes, Gilia tricolor, is an annual California native that will grow in most North American zones.

So there you go: six great ways to get your bees tangled up in blue.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Bee on blue. Flickr photo by Chris Willis.

Honey bee forage: bee bee tree

Rusty — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 23:28:36 +0000

The bee bee tree, Tetradium daniellii, is favored by both bees and beekeepers because of its bloom time. In mid to late summer (July and August) when nectar is scarce, the bee bee tree produces masses of flat white flower clusters reminiscent of elderberry blooms. The flowers are small, fragrant, sometimes tinged with pink or yellow, and extremely attractive to honey bees and other pollinators.

The tree can grow 40 feet tall, although 25-30 feet is more common. The bark is smooth and gray and the deciduous leaves are dark green and glossy. In autumn the leaves change little, falling once they turn faintly yellow. The seed pods are reddish to purple and each one contains two shiny black seeds that are highly prized by birds of all types.

Although the tree is not generally considered invasive, the Pennsylvania Department of Conservation and Natural Resources has included it on their “watch list” because it has become problematic in some areas. It grows freely in USDA hardiness zones 4-8, prefers full sun, and is tolerant of a wide range of soil pH.

The bee bee tree is in the Rutaceae family—the same family as citrus trees. In the past the plant has been known as Evodia daniellii and Euodia daniellii. Commonly, it is also referred to as the Korean Bee Tree.

Rusty
HoneyBeeSuite

Bee bee tree in flower. Wikimedia Commons photo.

Occupy the barren landscape

Rusty — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 19:31:27 +0000

When we think of bee forage, we usually think of vegetable plots, row crops, orchards, hedgerows, flower gardens, and meadows. But some of the best bee forage in the world comes in the form of trees—not only fruit trees—but trees like maple, chestnut, willow, basswood, locust, and alder. Some species provide only pollen, some only nectar, and some both, but in any case they are important food supplies for both honey bees and wild bees.

Unfortunately, treed areas are becoming scarce. In the southeastern United States, coal mining operations flatten mountains in order to extract the coal. Mountaintop removal, as the practice is called, leaves bees with nothing to eat for acres in all directions. Local trees such as sourwood and tulip poplar, along with native shrubs and perennial flowering plants, are typically replaced with non-native grasses that do nothing for bees.

Here in western Washington, our Department of Natural Resources routinely sprays new plantings of Douglas-fir with herbicides designed the kill the maple, alder, elderberry, bitter cherry, and cascara that normally appear in newly logged areas. The purpose, of course, is to give the “economically important” species a head start. But it seems short-sighted. Instead of a healthy recovery with multiple species in a complex habitat, you get the same type of monocrop seen in agricultural areas—with similar problems.

As I hike the state forests, I’m amazed and distraught at the number of warning signs posted by the DNR which list the panoply of herbicides that will be (or were recently) sprayed. Not only do I think it’s an unnecessary and questionable practice, but I wonder that any state so deeply in debt can afford to purchase and apply all those expensive chemicals. Surely there’s a better use for public money than poisoning the land while making the rich corporations even richer.

We beekeepers need to spend less time blaming each other for trivia (you should/shouldn’t feed sugar, you should/shouldn’t stop swarming, you should/shouldn’t provide ventilation) and go after some of the serious problems we have as a nation. We need to occupy the stripped mountains, the clear cuts, and the monocrops until we make our voices heard.

Rusty

HoneyBeeSuite.com

Mountaintop removal = bee removal. Photo by Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition.

Bees from coast to coast agree . . .

Rusty — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 05:16:22 +0000

I love this little video from diagonally across the country because it proves I’m not hallucinating–honey bees really do like cedar pollen. The video, shot by Paul in Florida, compares nicely with my photo from here in western Washington.

Bee collecting Alaska cedar pollen

What about the other 125 species of maple?

Rusty — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 15:15:06 +0000

Since I wrote about bigleaf maple honey, several people have asked if other maple species produce honey. I dug around a bit and found that most maples are excellent producers of both nectar and pollen. However, they bloom very early in the spring–generally from February to April–and most of the time the weather is just too cold or too wet for the honey bees to collect much. What they do collect is often consumed immediately in order to build comb and raise brood for spring.

So it seems that any harvestable maple honey is a hit or miss, weather dependent kind of thing . . . but some species are more reliable than others.

Here in North America several sources named red maple (Acer rubrum) , sometimes called swamp maple, as producing an occasional honey crop. Likewise, sugar maples (A. saccharum) and silver maples (A. saccharinum) are extremely attractive to honey bees and may, on occasion, produce a harvestable crop.

Vine maple (A. circinatum) grows out here in the same region as the bigleaf maples (A. macrophyllum). John Lovell in his book Honey Plants of North America (1926) writes of vine maple, “The honey has a fine flavor and is white or amber-colored with a faint pinkish tinge.”

So if you want a taste of maple, you may have to raid a brood box as I described earlier. Don’t take so much that you hurt your spring build-up and be careful not to chill your brood in the process. Still, if you can swing it, it is definitely worth the effort.

Rusty

HoneyBeeSuite.com

Honey bee on red maple flower. Photo courtesy of Scott Famous.

The allure of bigleaf maple honey

Rusty — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 19:19:15 +0000

Early each spring I’m on the lookout for a frame of bigleaf maple honey. It blooms before the honey supers are in place, so I rifle through the brood boxes, looking for that special treat. In anticipation of this event, I often put an empty frame at the edge of a few brood boxes the previous fall–hope against hope that one might get filled with this magic nectar.

Bigleaf maple is the first honey crop of the season here and it doesn’t happen often. The huge trees bloom while we’re still in the depths of the rainy season, so many years it goes uncollected. Some local beekeepers estimate we get a salable crop of bigleaf maple about one year in eight. Sigh. So very sad.

This spring, at the apex of bloom, I spied one frame in my busiest, sunniest hive. It was in the top brood box, in the number ten position, capped with bright white wax and seething with bees. I gently pried it out, shook it, and replaced it with an empty frame, apologizing profusely to my bees the entire time.

I wrapped my prize in plastic, froze it overnight, and stuck it in a kitchen cupboard. I promptly forgot about it. Busy, busy. I thought about it once or twice, but never touched it all through spring and summer. But last weekend, as I was cleaning out my cupboards, I came across the pristine frame and knew it was time.

Since it was in a brood frame, I had to find and cut the cross wires before I could free the comb from the frame. But once I managed to find them all, the comb fell from the frame with a hearty thud. Honey ran out the sides and pooled on the wax paper. It had the color of champagne and the fragrance of spring.

I divided the comb into thirds and fit each piece into a gleaming glass container. On the way to the sink to wash stickies from my hands, I took a taste.

I stopped in my tracks. Licked my fingers. Licked the knife. Licked the wire cutters. I could not remember honey so good. I recalled the flavor immediately upon tasting it, but it was better somehow, richer, more complex. It was immorally good. Decadent beyond measure. Addictive. I had to sterilize everything after I stopped licking the kitchen.

The next morning I put it a container of it on the breakfast table with no word to my husband. We started eating breakfast when suddenly he said, “Oh my god, what is that?” He, too, remembered the flavor but thought it was better than ever. What is it about a good varietal honey in the comb? What is it about flavors we always remember?

Bigleaf maples (Acer macrophyllum) are huge trees. Large specimens can reach 100 feet tall and 48 inches in diameter. True to their name, the leaves can reach 24 inches wide. Seriously, you can lose your laptop under one leaf. The truly amazing thing, though, is the number of mosses, lichens, and ferns the trees support on their branches. Entire ecosystems exist up there among the protective foliage.

The trees produce small, fragrant, yellow-green flowers in March before the leaves begin to emerge. The flowers are attractive to many pollinators and the resultant seeds attract many small animals and birds. And the honey attracts me. Don’t pass up a chance to try it if you can find it.

Rusty

HoneyBeeSuite.com

Bigleaf maple near the hives.

Tiny bee builds flower-petal nests

Rusty — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 15:06:35 +0000

Scientists in Turkey and Iran recently discovered a tiny bee that uses flower petals to build nest capsules. The bee, Osmia avoseta, uses only the petals of Onobrychis viciifolia for this important work.

I somehow missed this story, which was run by NPR on May 6, 2010. But it’s not too late to follow the link and see a fascinating series of photos by Jerome Rozen of the American Museum of Natural History. It is well worth a look.

The fertile female O. avoseta builds about ten of these petal nests in a cluster. The cluster itself is in the bottom of a thumb-size burrow in the ground. One by one she collects chunks of petals and laminates them together, cemented by thin layers of mud.

Once a capsule is complete, she provisions it with a mound of nectar and pollen and, like other Osmia females, lays a single egg on top of the provision. She then seals the open end of the capsule to protect it from environment dangers. Once the capsules are complete, the eggs transform into larvae and then pupae. The pupae spin a cocoon inside the capsule before eventually becoming adult bees.

The petal-donor, Onobrychis viciifolia (also known as sainfoin) is a perennial legume native to Eurasia. It has been cultivated widely for animal forage and is now found throughout the world. The flowers are pink, showy, and produce large amounts of both pollen and nectar, making it extremely attractive to many pollinators, including honey bees.

Rusty

http://honeybeesuite.com