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The Moon feeder in situ |
I had wanted to remove the remains of the Star earlier, but somehow never managed to find the time. A call from the school office telling me the groundsmen were having trouble with the bees flying around the hollowed out Star forced me into action. With the ubiquitous Mr. V and a large rubbish bag we went to sort out the Star.
First of all we checked up on the Moon and refilled the feeder. Once again the bees had not taken much. Obviously there is still sufficient forage for them. Nevertheless, we filled the feeder brimful again.
After a few days of rain, the Star, open-roofed as it was, presented a more unsavoury sight: some of the wood had started to mould and the larvae (some of whose cases I had opened last inspection) were putrid. The smell was rank and would have been the match of the most seasoned garbage collector. For the first time the similarity of the beesuits to hazmat suits made sense.
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Hazardous waste |
Contrary to the alarmed accusations of the groundstaff, not a bee was close to the Star (sensible little creatures) and I don't blame them! Instead, cohorts of wasps hovered over the frames, unruffled by the smell. Holding our breath as much as possible, I cut around the frames to separate the rotting, mouldy wax combs from the wooden frames, which can be re-used after some cleaning. Giving free rein to my hatred of wasps, my hive tool also cut a few of them in half. Miraculously not a single wasp stung us. The gruesomely smelling wax we binned. Even Mr. V, who is no doubt used to the sharper edges of French cheese going slightly biological, found the odour
épouvantable.
When all was cut and binned and tied up we stored the brood box with the empty frames in the beekeeping shed. Over the winter I will work on them and make them shiny and new and clean for re-use in the spring. Much like in The Return of the Jedi, the Star will be reborn.
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The Star waiting for better days |