Good Bye Boys

I went to feed my ladies this morning.  Roughly weekly, I deliver a half gallon of nearly 2:1 ratio of sugar to water.  They appreciate a little fast food this time of year when the nectar is scarce and the air chilly.  Honey bees form a cluster at about 52 degrees F, which means they all clump together in a large ball, with the queen and brood in the middle.  Older bees make up the outside of the "bee ball" and swap positions to stay warm.  They vibrate their flight muscles, without actually moving their wings,  fast enough to heat the cluster to as warm as 93 degrees.  During these chilly days they may break cluster for only the warmest part of the day, and are happy to have some sugar water right nearby.  Of course I only took a tiny bit of their honey, so they have plenty of the real deal as well.  I'm hoping they're saving that for the really cold months when I won't be delivering.

I've affectionately referred to them as "the ladies" all summer, despite the few (several hundred perhaps?) brothers among them.  The drones live an easy life, of no work--aside from hoping to mate with a virgin queen, and eating all the nectar and honey their sisters bring in. (If ever their wish comes to fruition they will chase and catch said queen, and will begin mating while maintaining wing velocity so high they will actually "pop" and explode upon ejaculation, dying and falling to the ground*),  Not a bad life.  Until October.

A week ago when I made my sugar rounds I noticed maybe 30-50 bees swarming anxiously about the entrance.  At first I was afraid there was some kind of robbing taking place, since a few of the bees were yellow jackets.  But on closer inspection I realized that aside from the few foreign visitors, the panicky bees were all drones who were desperately trying to gain entrance to the hive, where their sisters had suddenly turned against them.

Today I discovered a rather large pile of dead bees, most of them drones just off to the side of my hive stand.  The poor boys must have formed their own tiny cluster and perished in the night, having been evicted.  Such is the life of a fall drone.  The ladies know they eat a lot--they're quite a bit larger after all, and since they do so little work its hardly worth feeding them all winter.  Out they go.  Its the way of things, but oh what a sad thing to find.

My ladies however were thrilled to have the syrup and I noticed a few brave souls still returning with pollen baskets full, and lots on tiny new bees gathered about the feeder.  These girls are the bees who may actually live to see spring.  I hope they eat up.  Winter is a hard time of year to be a bee.


*At least according to The Storey Guide to Backyard Bee Keeping

In the Garden

More garden pictures?  Well yes, because this is the first fall garden I've had that is still producing.  And, even better, its the first fall garden I haven't been done with by now (except the green beans--I was done with them a long time ago, and they're still limping along).  So for my own entertainment and fond memories--and maybe a few of yours as well...

Last minute not-too-cold frames, I figure they'll work until a hard frost.  So far Jack hasn't shown up around here.                      

 

Melissa Savoy Cabbage

 

Asparagus, with berries.  (This is my first full year with Asparagus--is this normal?) 

 

Orange-paste tomatoes that just might make it to ripe before the temps plunge.

 

God I love nasturtiums.

 

Squash and half of the beans have been cleared out.  Spring kale planted in the farther bed, the closer bed will get a heap of seaweed and a cover of straw to rest for the winter.  Or maybe garlic in a few weeks.  Haven't decided yet.  Front bed:  fall carrots, and broccoli that just wouldn't grow.    

 

 Remember the radish pods?  They have the added bonus of self-seeding, and I recently discovered this sweet little harvest of fall radishes.  Who knew?

A Walk in the Woods

Today I got to have a nice little walk in the woods with just Kale.  This almost never happens.  We walked the same path I walked nearly every week when Wylie and Juniper we little, but Kale hadn't done since our winter walk last winter.  It was fun to experience this walk with just him.  To peer into every hole and beneath every fallen tree in search of wolves, tiny baby bunnies, or ogres.  You never know when you might need a bicycle helmet.  His actually came in handy twice--in a shower of acorns that left me ducking and hiding my head, and 10 feet up in a small beach tree while I tried to hang on to both of us while snapping our photo.  Neither of us fell, but the helmet made us both feel a little better about the possibility.
   

 

The View From Here

This is a moment for sharing , inspired by SouleMama's "This Moment".  In her words,  "A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember."  To play along go to the SouleMama blog.

I couldn't resist this series for today's moment....

Apples

We went apple picking a few weekends ago, and got busy that night with the Squeezo, making sauce to can the next morning.  Since then the last bushel of apples has been taking up most of the floor space in our pantry waiting the next free afternoon with a chill in the air.  I'm sure it won't be long--maybe even today.

Sauce with the Squeezo is super easy, and way fun (except for cleaning the screen afterward).
Here's how we do it:

      * Wash, then chop apples in half

     * Boil/steam apples in a large pot until soft enough to poke with a fork

* Dump them into the Squeezo funnel, and crank away! (watch out for the splatters)

Kale may be the only child I've ever met who doesn't like applesauce.  I'm hoping to win him over with this next batch with a bit of cinnamon and other spices.  If not, then more for the rest of us.

breathe

A little reminder for these busy days.  

The canvas we've had for years, I'm pretty sure it came from Job Lots.  The letters were stamped with alphabet stamps found locally at Yo' Mama's Home, also at Fiddlehead Artisan Supply (I think).

26.2

26.2 miles is a long way to run.  Even longer is the roughly 380 miles run this summer in preparation.  Even so, despite the 4 hours of pouring rain, ragged toenails, and far too many Gu's  if you look closely enough you can see we're both smiling.   Heide and I rocked this run--averaging nearly a minute/mile faster than our training times, and soaring past the portalets without a glance (which truly felt like a miracle given some of our previous long runs).   Two days later I'm still hobbling about like an elderly woman, but man what a race.  

photo courtesy of Mainerunningphotos