[It has been a super busy few weeks so haven’t chance to write much, but since swarm season is imminent, here is a swarm catching piece I wrote a few years ago.]

A young beekeeper loaded a large rubbermaid tote full of beekeeping gear onto his truck. The tote contained a veil, beekeeping jacket, smoker, and other minor tools of the trade. He headed off to collect a swarm that another beekeeper didn’t want (or want to fool with). The old  beekeeper had called the young beekeeper, who wasn’t all that young, but he was younger than the old beekeeper who wasn’t all that old, but he was old enough to know that he didn’t want to fool with this swarm.  

The young beekeeper gladly accepted the opportunity to collect the swarm. The swarm looked like a basketball of bees hanging from the bottom of a swarm trap attached to a fence post. But upon closer inspection, the bees had already drawn four small combs that formed the inner framework for the ball. Instead of relocating inside the swarm trap, the bees had taken up residence underneath it. The was not a swarm but a burgeoning open-air brood nest. 

“Should be easy enough,” the young beekeeper thought. 

He put on his veil and stuffed dried grass clippings into his smoker. He rummaged for several minutes through his tote for his lighter until he remembered that he used the lighter earlier in the week to light the candles on his wife’s birthday cake and forgot to put the lighter back in the tote. 

“It’s always something,” the young beekeeper thought. He thought about returning to his house to retrieve the lighter, but it was already half-dark and getting darker by the minute, and his house was ten minutes away and the bees seemed calm enough. Still, he had the good sense to switch out his veil for his beekeeping jacket and he put on his goat skin gloves. 

He carefully used the tip of his hive tool to probe the mass of bees, and he started sawing through the top of one comb. A few bees took umbrage, pelting his protective gear, but he persisted. Then a piece of comb fell, and bees exploded in all directions. He did not get stung, per se, but the inside of his gloves now felt prickly. 

“That didn’t work,” he thought. 

He went back to his tailgate and rummaged through his box again. He didn’t know what he was searching for, but as if struck by divine inspiration, the young beekeeper grabbed a bottle of robber spray.

He spritzed air around the bees like a lady spritzing perfume. As if somebody had pulled a fire alarm, the bees started evacuating the comb in an orderly fashion, one long line pouring off the combs onto and up the side of the swarm trap. The bees made a beeline for the small circular entrance on the side of the swarm trap. Within minutes the comb was evacuated, and the beekeeper easily cut the comb from the bottom of the swarm trap and put it in a five gallon bucket on the back of his truck so he could melt it down in the future.  

“Easy enough,” the young beekeeper thought proudly. He would just take the swarm trap with him, then bring it back in a few days after he moved the bees over to one of his hives. The old beekeeper wouldn’t mind. He then examined how the swarm trap was affixed to the post.

“Who uses square head screws?” he thought. 

The young beekeeper went back to his truck and started rummaging through his toolbox, but he knew it was futile–he didn’t have any square head bits. Despite his best efforts, he would leave empty handed.

The next morning, the old beekeeper called; he couldn’t believe his good luck. Another swarm had already moved into his swarm trap. 

The young beekeeper didn’t even try to explain. 

He just said, “You keep that one.”