Bees take a working holiday

Four hives in the back of the car, ready for the short trip to their new home

This happens every year — spring arrives, the clocks change, and all-of-a-sudden I find myself crazy busy. Having had a week’s holiday in late March certainly helped me get on top of stuff, but the big issue this year was the realisation I need to assemble loads of bee equipment.

I was completely delighted (and extremely surprised) to find all my of my hives (four nucs and four full colonies) made it through the winter. But then I was suddenly struck with the realisation that I’m going to need lots of extra equipment — eight nuc boxes for dealing with swarms, and eight supers for all the honey.

With the clocks changing I’ve been hammering away almost every evening until it gets dark, making up dozens of frames as well as constructing nuc boxes. On top of this, there’s still digging to do at the allotment, and seeds to bring on at the greenhouse.

At one point last week, I suddenly got quite stressed with the urgency of it all — and then, just a couple of days later, things peaked and I suddenly saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Five nuc boxes had been assembled, and the greenhouse tables are covered with young seedlings. Relief!

I’ve also decided to move my bees to a more rural site to avoid the potential hassle of swarms invading local chimneys. A local farmer was generous enough to give me a spot. It’s a little windy, but there is a vast field of oilseed rape just a 100 yards or so away. It hasn’t flowered yet, but when it does, I’m confident the bees will go crazy for it.

At first I moved two nucs up, just to see how they’d fare. I was a little concerned that they might not find enough to forage, surrounded by barren fields. But they seemed to find something (there’s a village about a mile away).

So, yesterday I took another four hives. Remarkably the flit went smoothly without a single bee escaping in to the car.

So, with two more hives to go, I’m almost all set for the oilseed rape harvest.

My first glass of Muntons Oak Aged Ale. Just perfect

Two other things to quickly share. I planted my potatoes this morning. They are always the first thing to go in the ground in the spring, so it felt like a bit of an occasion.

To celebrate (and this brings me neatly to my second point), I sampled my second batch of home brew (Muntons Oak Aged Ale). I should have left it for a few more days, but I couldn’t wait. And, to be honest, I didn’t need to. It was sensational.

Incredible dark (providing you don’t do what I did and also pour in some sediment) with a nice head, it was almost chocolatey in its richness with a bitter after taste.

It was how you’d expect a beer like that to be, and to be completely honest, was as good (if not better) than anything you can buy from the supermarket.

I’ve read a lot that home brew kits have vastly improved over recent years, well, I can confirm that’s the absolute truth. There was nothing “home made” in the way this beer tasted. It was just spot-on.

(As you can probably guess, I’ve had a few bottles while writing this, so now’s probably a good time to call it a day and head for bed, a contented man.)

Orchard milestone

The plan of the orchard and wildflower meadow. The tree planting is now complete

A major milestone was reached today regarding Monifieth’s community orchard and wildflower meadow — the final trees have been planted. That means a total of 124 trees are on site. They consist  of seven pear, 20 plum, three cherry, 91 apple, and three “mystrees” (no-one knows what they are).

OK, so it may not be the most exciting photo, but it beats the seaweed I showed last week. In the foreground is Area D (late season apples), with Area I (plums) behind

Most of the trees were planted in two sessions earlier this winter, but today we tackled the final 29. The process seemed to be much speedier than expected, and the job was done in three hours.

There was one major problem though — mice had gotten into the shed where the trees were being stored, and stripped the bark from 10 of them. Strangely, they only picked apple trees, and left the plums alone. We decided to plant the damaged trees anyway, on the off-chance they might take, but some looked in particularly sorry state. We’ll replace them next winter, if need be.

The soil is particularly compacted and very sandy, so planting each tree was a considerable amount of work. A metre square of turf had to be removed, and the earth then mixed with a barrowload of soil improver.

There were six volunteers (mostly Rotarians), with a couple of people delighted to just dig holes. They were the real stars, as that was, by far, the most arduous task.

Now, we just need to wait until the spring to see if all the trees have taken, and if they start to blossom. The orchard looks mightily impressive, but when the flowers come out, it should prove quite a sight.

In other news, I planted a grapevine in my greenhouse yesterday. It is a red Dornfelder variety, and is years away from bearing fruit.

The greenhouse floor is solid concrete, so I actually planted it in the soil outside, drilled a hole in the wooden wall, and poked the growing end through. This way the roots will have all the space they need in the garden, while the stem will benefit from the heat of being inside. It’s a tested technique, so in theory it should work. Just like with the orchard, all I have to do now is wait.

 

 

In praise of weed

I was once told that, until a few decades ago, if you took a winter walk along the coastal path from Dundee to Arbroath you’d see gardens and allotments covered with a thick black  blanket of seaweed.

This was a time when artificial fertilisers hadn’t been developed. Besides, it was free way to improve your soil. Another bonus is that it is organic. Seaweed, of course, is still spread on fields in Jersey today, and it is thought that helps give the new potatoes a distinctive salty tang.

I have been using it for years on the allotment, but mostly to make a particularly stinky liquid feed. Fill a water-butt with one-third seaweed, two-thirds water, and leave to ferment for three months. The smell is so bad that I make watering my last job of the day, and then scarper, leaving grumpy fellow growers to curse and spit.

My compost heap. Two years in the making

Last year, though, I copied the Jersey farmers, and spread a thick layer on the potato bed. The resulting crop was, by far, the best ever, with around 100lb of spuds. Was the seaweed responsible? Who knows, but when you only get one shot at a crop per year, I wasn’t willing to play around with a potentially successful formula.

Today I took a ton bag down on the beach, and, attracting quite a few glances, gathered up enough to cover the potato bed. Collecting seaweed is one of my least favourite jobs, primarily because you have to drag the heavily laden bag along the beach, up a flight of steps and into the car. I hate it. But it only took me two trips this time and an hour-and-half to get it done.

Once spread over the bed, I covered the weed with a layer of my own compost. I should really sieve the stuff first, to get out the non-biodegradable bits, but I just chucked it on, leaving the bed peppered with scraps of plastic, parcel tape, polystyrene and other detritus. I’ll pick them out as I plant.

On a more general note, this is the first day of spring, and the weather was sensational. It was such a joy to be outside. The raspberry canes are starting to bud, and I saw a couple of brilliant red  rhubarb shoots just peering out of the ground.

Seemingly it is going to get warmer next weekend, and the weatherman says it will start to feel like spring. I may feed my bees to give them a strong start to the year.

One other thing before you go: I cracked open the first of my home-brew beers on Thursday. Surprisingly, it was very fine. I went easy that night, drinking only two bottles, to see if my guts agreed. They did. Janek likes the beer too, and seems to having one with just about every evening meal. Kurt also enjoyed it when he popped over for a visit, and returned to his flat with half a dozen bottles. Must make more!

 

 

 

 

Getting hopeful

Spring. I know it’s not here yet, but I’m starting to sense signs of it in the air. All that promise of great things to come makes me so impatient. So last weekend, when the sun was winter bright but there was some heat, I sneaked off down to the apiary hoping to see evidence that spring was around the corner.

Sure enough, the bees were flying (despite the thermometer only registering 7C). Peppered around the hives were substantial clumps of snowdrops — and my bees were exploring.

I couldn’t wait to check each hive. Just quickly lift off the roof and peak inside to see if bees are still there. The first one was OK. So was the second. And the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth. All my colonies were hanging in there. So far none have died. Could I possibly make it through winter without losing a single colony? It seemed almost too good to be true that I tried not to think about it too much.

Everything on that day was as well as I could hope it to be. Plus it was just so nice to see the bees out flying that I spent an hour or so just watching them, pleased that they were able to get out and do what they like to do. Most were on “clearing flights” (doing a crap), but some were actually returning with pollen. Bright orange from the nearby snowdrops.

When bees collect pollen that usually means there’s a queen laying eggs. I could just picture her slowly getting into gear, squirting out more and more eggs each day. It’s another sign that my hives might be turning a seasonal corner.

After a while, I happily trotted off to inspect the clumps of snowdrops. At first they looked devoid of bees, but once you focused in  you could see them feeding and collecting nectar. A lovely sight after all those long months of them huddled in a ball to conserve heat, barely able to move.

But it’s too tempting to get complacent. I reminded myself over and over again that March is the month when most colonies die due to starvation. I must remain vigilant. When I hefted the hives, they all still seemed reasonably heavy with stores, and most had plenty of fondant icing as well. That’s good. But it’s important I keep a close eye on things at this stage, and constantly check for starvation. Then, when temperature rises above 10C, the bees can really fly — and the fun begins.

 

 

 

Here’s to new venture

39 bottles from a kit that was supposed to only make 36. Oh, well

Here at vegging.co.uk we like to start a new venture each year. We’ll keep adding stuff until we burst (which is soon). So what’s it to be in 2015? Buying a boat and catching our own fish? Growing a field of wheat? Although both (and, in particular, the first option) are things I want to do eventually, I’d thought I’d stick to something simpler and cheaper — home brewing.

I must admit, it has fascinated me for a while. I do like something that’s quite esoteric and takes knowledge beyond the ken of “normal” people (Call me a snob, if you like, but I prefer the term “elitist”).

The reason I’ve put it off for a while is two-fold: 1. the cost of equipment seems ridiculous (£60 for a bucket and a few bits) 2. Sue said the process would smell. Well, she’s no longer living in this house, so what does that matter?

The cost factor was overcome when I visited my local Original Factory Shop (also, a great place for wild bird seed). They had Kilner home-brew starting kits at £20, reduced from £60. At that time  I was counting pennies, but I realised I wouldn’t get a better offer than that. I needed to get bottles as well. However, I was delighted to see that Tesco had 25% off all their homebbrew equipment. So I got 96 plastic PET bottles for under £25. A bargain. Total outlay: £45.

The reason for so many bottles is that can have half fermenting away, while the other half is ready to drink. A constant supply of cheap beer!

I decided that before I go down the route of growing my own hops etc, I thought I’d better start simple — with a kit. One that caught my eye was St Peter’s Golden Ale. Unlike a lot of kits, you can actually buy the real deal, all bottled and ready to drink, from your supermarket. And it’s pretty good. At £23 for 36 pints (Lakeland), it wasn’t the cheapest or the strongest, but it had the potential to be tasty, which, when all is said and done, is more important than strength.

Following the instructions was easy-peasy, and within  a few days I had 39 half-litre bottles. The kit said it would make 36 PINTS. A pint is just over a half-litre, so that explains the discrepancy. Besides, I didn’t fully fill each bottle due to a fear of explosions.

Now all I need to do is wait. The instructions on the box says two weeks, but some folk on the home brew forums (whom I feel I should make my buddies) say give it six weeks.

I’ll let you know.

 

Fowl play in the chicken coop

All gone to the coop in the sky

The hens were the big upset of last year. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t stop them falling sick and dying.

I bought eight hens in 2013, and lost three that year. Then at the start of the following spring I was given another two by a fellow allotment holder, bring the numbers up to seven.

But the new year didn’t stop them going beak-up at almost regular intervals. I tried everything I could think of: cleaning the run more often, changing the water more frequently, spraying for red mite regularly, but to no avail. Perhaps, I began to fear, I was just rubbish at looking after them.

But worse was to come: whereas previous chicken deaths were protracted affairs with sickly looking beasts acting under the weather for several days before dying, by the summer I was going into the coop to find them suddenly dead. No warning.

With only three left, I decided I had to get to the bottom of this for once and for all. I took the corpse of the most recently departed to the vets to find the cause. They directed me to a department of Scotland’s Rural College in Perth where they perform animal autopsies.

After a week, I got a phone call. “Your chickens have been dying from Marek’s Disease,” said the vet. I’d heard of this, but knew next to nothing about it. “It’s related to the herpes virus, and hens catch it when they are a few weeks old. It has a slow incubation period, and they start to die after two years.” A few weeks old! To be honest, I was completely relieved at this sudden turn. None of this was my fault after all. The infection occurred before I got them. There is a vaccination against Marek’s, but many smaller breeders don’t use it, because it can only be purchased in batches of 100 doses.

Basically, it meant I bought hens that were already infected with a killer disease. I got them “second-hand” from a guy who was as much of a novice as me, and I suspect he wasn’t aware they hadn’t been vaccinated either.

Where do I begin…

The apiary in January. (The hives second and third from the right belong to another beekeeper)

Nobody told me divorce would be so time-consuming. I’ve spent the last few months chasing my tail, and I’ve had lawyers, a financial adviser and my work’s pensions dept chasing mine —  but they all been working on my behalf, and the good news is I still have my house, my kids, my car, my greenhouse, my bees and my allotment. And it’s almost all over.

Personal problems aside, so much has happened as far as the subject of this blog is concerned that I could write several thousand words bringing you up to the present.

But I won’t.

Instead, I intend to write more frequent, shorter entries — less boring to read, and less daunting to write.

OK, let’s start with the bees. 2014 was a pretty successful year. The plan in the spring was to split each of my existing three colonies into three, so that I’d end season with nine. However, I have eight. Well, to be exact, four full colonies and four nucs (half colonies). However, not all of them came from artificial swarms and splits. I caught two swarms during the season (one had settled in empty brood boxes in my garden), and lost three swarms. That makes eight.

This year I’m going to try a few new techniques to minimise swarming  — clipping one wing of each queen, “locking” her in the hive after an artificial swarm, and not giving her any brood to look after when I transfer her. I need to stop future swarms, not because of the loss of bees (that’s bad enough), but because they always seem to settle in the chimney of a nearby family who are terrified of them. It’s embarrassing and expensive.

Clipping the queens is going to be tricky. I haven’t done it before, and I’m still hopeless at spotting them. Having said that, I did manage to find unmarked queens a couple of times last year (it made my heart race), so perhaps I’ll crack it this season. If I can become consistent in spotting queens, then I reckon that could be the final step in me becoming an independent beekeeper, who doesn’t rely on others for hands-on help. That would be a great thing.

You’ll notice from the pic that not all the hives are mine. I have been joined by two other beekeepers. There are now 15 hives in total at the site, and I’m a little anxious that there won’t be enough forage come the spring. Also, what happens if that family finds another swarm in their chimney? I’ll get the blame, but it might not be my bees. And who will  pay the bill for their destruction? These problems have kinda pushed me to start thinking about another apiary site for myself. Somewhere completely in the country, where chimneys aren’t an issue.

It’s early yet to work out how many hives will survive the winter. I’d be extremely surprised if all eight make it, but if six or seven do, then I’ll try to stick to that number for this year. When it comes to the swarming season, I’ll try my hand at making up some nucs to sell.  Whereas last year, I focused on building up the number of hives, this year I’d like to make as much honey as possible. The plan is to sell it all in one go at the Flower & Food Festival come September. I need the cash. Divorces don’t come cheap ….

Tripping the Glut Fantastic!

Peas and runner beans

You are going to have to forgive me if I sound a bit pleased with myself. That’s because I am. I’m in the midst of what is by far my biggest glut – and it isn’t over yet.

Behind me in a box, as I type this, are jars of strawberry jam, raspberry jam, rhubarb and ginger jam and honey.

In the kitchen are a box of eggs, a bowl of tomatoes, a bowl of onions, three cabbages, a spindly lettuce and a food-grade plastic bucket with what I hope will eventually be sauerkraut.

The freezer in the shed has two drawers with courgettes, raspberries, spring onions, cubes of pureed basil, broad beans, runner beans, peas, and vegetable soup,

Beside the freezer are two sacks, each of which contain 28lbs of potatoes (first and second earlies), with the main crop still to come.

And, finally, next to the shed is the greenhouse, where are four racks of onions drying in the heat before I string them up.

This substantial store of food means two things — we will almost certainly be eating food I have produced daily until at least until Christmas, and I reckon this is the first time since I started the allotment, that the money I have saved has exceeded money spent. That’s not, of course, the reason why I do this, but, still, it’s a wee bonus.

 

 

The year of the bee

Goodness, has it really been three months since my last post? Doesn’t seem that long since we were emerging from winter, and already the longest day has been and gone.

Of course, I’m sure this is a common feeling among all allotmenteers. Spring and summer are the busiest times, and almost all daylight hours are spent planting, weeding, watering or harvesting.

But it is the bees that have taken up an increasingly large slab of my time this year. I am slowly making the transition from a novice beekeeper who spends all his time in crisis management, to one who is starting to feel in control of his bees. And once you get to that stage, you can start playing about with your colonies, manipulating and experimenting with them in all sorts of ways.

I began the year with three colonies, had hoped to get nine by the end, but have eight, so I’m quite pleased. I had split each of the original hives three times, but two swarms escaped (incurring the wrath of a neighbouring family whose house also became a home to some of my bees), thus leaving me with seven. However, I managed to catch a swarm from a garden  about six miles from the apiary. As you will hear in the video below, that colony had a marked queen, so it belonged to another beekeeper. (Finders keepers, is the rule here, but if I hear of someone with a missing colony, they can have it back.)

So, that makes eight colonies. Not bad. About half are fairly weak, so  my next goal is to try to build up their strength, so they are as healthy as possible as they go into winter.

Aside from losing two swarms, my main shock so far this year has been  a hive which toppled over. Check out the video.

Another major bee development is I passed my Basic Beemaster exam — with distinction! OK, so it is one of those tests that just about every beekeeper passes, but not everyone gets a distinction. It has given me further confidence that I have a good grounding in the subject. It also means, however, that I should really plough on with the rest of the modules. There are eight or nine of them, all a lot tougher, so it’ll take a good few years.

Oh, it’s become almost incidental, but I also got 38lbs of honey from two hives. That’s the thing about beekeeping — you start keeping hives to get honey, but, in the end, just become obsessed about bees.

 

This is the plan for 2014

This (in theory) is how it’s going to go

Those of you who have followed my blog (and there aren’t many) will have noticed that around this time of year I publish a plan of what I intend to do on the allotment for the coming season.

Using Suttons Garden Planner, I basically stick to a rotation, so much of it is a logical development from previous years. Here it is in full: http://tinyurl.com/vegging-plot-2014

However, there are some differences, primarily with the ever-troublesome Brassicas. For the first couple of years they were a disaster. Either crops failed to grow or they were scoffed by caterpillars. The last two years, however, were more successful, but they weren’t being eaten at all — neither by caterpillars or (more importantly) family members. I managed to grow quite a few superb cabbages in 2012, but they weren’t used, and many ended up being fed to the chickens. In 2013, I grew swedes (as requested) but when they came to harvest, Sue told me they disagreed with her!

So, for 2014, I’m going to try something different. I’ll still grow some swedes, but I’ll also try smaller amounts of cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, cabbage and broccoli, and see if any prove a hit.

There will also be changes to the onion bed. Last year, I grew half red onions and half yellow. Both were highly successful, but the red bolted and didn’t keep well at all. This seemingly is a very common problem with these onions, so, this year, I’ll grow three-quarters yellow.

I’ve also made some changes to the fruit cage. The far left hand side used to be mish-mash of different plants — blackberry, Tayberry, gooseberry, raspberry and  loganberry. Most were disappointing, except for the loganberry and the blackberry (the latter was which was absolutely sensational). So I’ve kept those two, pulled out the rest, and planted another blackberry bush. It was quite expensive, but if it produces the same ultra-sweet and juicy fruit that its partner did last year, then I’ll be delighted.

A year ago, I planted six Glen Moy raspberry bushes. They’ve taken off really well, so I’m hoping for a major harvest this year. It’s a similar situation with the rhubarb. Although planted two years ago, it is only this year I’ll be able to harvest any sticks. If all goes according to plan, 2014 should be a great year for fruit, jams and puddings.