The Philosophy of Orchard Bees

Blue Orchard Bee. Photo courtesy CrownBees.com

I recently finished an article for Urban Farm magazine on the topic of Orchard Mason Bees.

          

 I’ve been trying to talk K into honeybees, without success. I did like the idea of harvesting honey, but found the idea of my own collection of pollinators to be a bigger part of the appeal.

            

Mason bees are benign (non-stinging), super-pollinators, native to the United States (honey bees are not), but they don’t produce honey. They are beneficial insects for anyone who has fruit trees and plants that benefit from pollination. One orchard mason bee can do the pollinating work of 100 honey bees. They can increase the cherry or apple yield by two to three times. They’re easy to house, and the more I learned about them, the more impressed I was.

            

One thing I found interesting was that when the female orchard bee lays her eggs (each with its own little provision pack of pollen) she lines them up and compartmentalizes them in a tube or reed. She may lay about six eggs per tube, lined up with female-to-be eggs in the back, and males-to-be toward the front. The males emerge first in the spring (and are slightly expendable), and hang around waiting for the females to emerge. The males live only long enough to breed, while the female does all the housekeeping and egg-laying for her specific tubes, then dies after about six weeks.

            

But the new bees’ emergence isn’t a matter of gestation, it’s a matter of temperature and timing. And this is what I think is really crafty of these industrious little insects: They emerge when the temperature is around 55 degrees which, coincidentally, is when the first of the fruit trees begin to bloom and make pollen available.

            

Sometimes the careful evolutionary engineering of nature is just a little breathtaking. It’s as if you can catch glimpses of the fingerprints of a master plan. Everything is interconnected and fits together.

            

That web is beautiful, whether spun of the carefully timed emergence of hard working bees, or the practicality of hens who act as natural pest control. This time of year, winter stills the garden and the interconnected threads are a little harder to see. But they are there, below the surface: Those small bees, nestled in a straw-like tube, are tucked away for winter, waiting, just as the fruit trees lie dormant, though it doesn’t appear that anything at all is happening.

            

This, I think, is a reminder to me to be patient. I am always anxious this time of year for winter to be moving along, seed catalogs to arrive and spring to return. Sometimes, though, when it doesn’t seem like anything is progressing, there is perfection unfolding beneath the surface. The point is to take pleasure in the stillness and steadiness. 

            

Ah, the philosophy of orchard bees. Monumental and miniscule at the same time.

(Special thanks to Dave Hunter for the information about the bees. You can learn more at his web site, CrownBees.com.)

Day and Night

As seasons have changed, we've been a little late getting our lights in the coop, and it has really thrown the hens for a loop (hey, a bonus rhyme!).

Is it day or is it night?

With days getting shorter, the chickens have slowed down on egg production, but by extending the hours of light they get we can ramp up their egg laying for summer-like production. Last year, we tried a red heat lamp and thought maybe it would provide enough light for their chicken brains to be tricked into laying more eggs. Some hens produced fairly well last winter, but we had four young pullets who weren’t producing yet anyway, so it wasn’t really a good measure. I did read that a red light won’t provide the stimulation that a white light will.

I liked having that heat lamp up in the coop for really cold days, though most poultry people will tell you that your chickens don’t need the heat. In fact, there is the chance that they won’t be acclimated as well to the cold when you have a heat lamp in the coop, and a power outage during frigid weather could be disastrous for your flock.

So I hemmed and hawed over what kind of light to hang in the coop.

The hens have not been laying much lately. Thelma and Pip have been pretty regular, but one to two eggs a day from seven hens just seemed a bit on the skimpy side. I really hate buying eggs at the store when I’m feeding my own suppliers.

This year we decided to try just putting a white light in the coop, on a timer that would extend the day a few more hours. But we should have hung it earlier in the fall for a more gradual adjustment.  For the last month or so, the hens have been heading for the coop early – sometimes at 3:00 or 4:00 in the afternoon – even though it was light a little longer.

Last week, K tacked up the light and set the timer for it to come on from 5:30 to 9:00 pm. It’s a very bright light. It’s like someone is going to be interrogated. 

I went out to shut the coop the first night the light was on, and realized that the hens were confused. Inside their coop, it was daylight. So they went out into the yard, expecting daylight there as well, but it was dark. They saw me, and crowded around, tentatively looking for treats. But I could sense bewilderment clouding their feathered features. If they had dialogue balloons above their heads, they’d have looked like this:

?  or ?!

“Silly hens,” I said to them. “It’s bedtime.” I shooed them into the coop and they looked uncertain.

The next morning I found eggs scattered around the coop as if they were surprised by this sudden development—“OH my! An egg!” The rest of the week, I found myself feeling like the grand manipulator, because instead of one or two eggs each day, we were suddenly getting five a day. The light was definitely making a difference.

But evenings were still confusing to them. They’d head into the coop as normal, get all roosty and ready for bed, then the light would come on and out they’d go, bleary eyed as if the night had passed really quickly and they hurried out to meet the day. Poor things didn't know what to think.

I’d see them milling around in front of the gate. I could almost hear the conversations:

“I thought you said it was morning?”

“It was—you saw how bright it was.”

“But now it’s dark.”
“I know. It’s the darnedest thing. It’s like someone keeps turning the sun on and off.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I know, I know! Right?!”

And so I go out and shoo their confused and disgruntled selves into the coop, again. Note to self for next year: Be more gradual with our sudden substitute sunshine.

Finding Balance

Simplicity in the midst of complexity.

It has been a long while since I’ve written, but I promise to try to get back on track with a posting once a week. I returned to full-time work in September, and in some ways found it hard to write about the hens. I missed them, and it was difficult for me to think too intently about M&L, the gardens, and the hens at home. Not writing about them was perhaps a form of self-preservation. Or avoidance.

But as time has passed, I realize that though I miss M and L, giving them a little more space for self-reliance and independence is a good thing. I missed being there to pick them up from school, but I really enjoyed heading off to work as well. Was it OK to be happy to have that time away, doing my own thing?

I’m not sure the chickens notice my absence. They still come running when I step outside, which warms my heart, but as usual, they go about their business and ignore me once I scatter scratch or give them treats.

Over the last few months, the pecking order in the flock shifted and changed. Pearl suddenly seems to be the low hen on the totem pole, with Clover hopping on her back and pecking the top of her head from time to time. K says that Clover has had her fill of Pearl’s “Queen of the Fair talk.” She earned a blue ribbon, but it appears that doesn’t carry much weight with the ladies. Clover especially seems intent on being the boss hen.

Luna, the fragile blue orpington pullet we got in July, was still not walking well, and when I found her light body in the coop one morning before work, I wasn’t surprised. Saddened, but in a way relieved. I’d known it was coming and didn’t really want M&L to discover her.

And so we have a flock of seven, of whom only three seem to be laying regularly. Pip, the Ameraucana, started laying her lovely blue-green eggs after I started back to work, and has been very business-like about it. We have a nice steady supply of her pretty eggs. Thelma and Louise, the Australorps, are laying fairly regularly, so we typically get about two eggs daily.

The other hens – Violet, Pearl, Clover, and Oreo – seem to be on sabbatical. They still work industriously in the garden, picking the last bits of green from the beds, taking care of any bugs or worms, and fertilizing the beds, but it’s been months since any of them produced an egg. K says it’s like they are all on chicken social security. I know that in a more serious flock, they’d have been culled for stewing, but I can’t bring myself to do so. They are more than a food source for us.

They are touchstones, and their personalities and quirks fit together. I sometimes get home early enough to visit them in the evening. And on weekends I sit down for a bit and just watch them, and it is a meditative act for me. They go about their usual business. And that calm and continued routine brings me balance. I do love my job, but I can still come home and spend time with M&L, connect with the hens, and putter around the coop.  Chickens are good for grounding, for centering, and they lend richness to life with their simplicity.

            

Pickled Pink

Pickled Beets and Cherry Bounce.

My pantry of home-canned goods is decidedly in the pink. A week or so ago I used tart cherries to make jar after jar of cherry preserves (it's one of our favorites) and "Cherry Bounce". Today I put up 10 pints of pickled beets.

My great grandmother used to make pickled beets and they never fail to make me think of summer meals, family gatherings, and, well, eggs. She always used to slip a peeled boiled egg in. It would turn a pretty shade of pinkish purple, and sliced up it looked nice on salads (and tasted great, too).

I'll include her recipe for beets below. I modified it just a bit to fit the number of beets I had, but you can adjust as needed simply by making more or less syrup according to the number of beets you have. Here are the quantities I used:

Great Grandma's Pickled Beets
makes 10 pints
9 lbs. medium to small beets, rinsed clean
5 c. cider vinegar
5 c. sugar
5 c. water
4 tsp. pickling spices
3 tsp. pickling salt

Cut leaves off beets, leaving about an inch of the stems and the root intact. Cover with water, bring to a boil. I let them boil for about 25 minutes. You can check them at about 15-20 minutes and see if they're tender, and go longer if needed. Drain, then soak in cold water until beets are cool enough to handle. Slip peels from beets, and cut off stem end and root. You can leave beets whole, or slice them, depending on your preference.

Mix up the syrup by combining the remaining ingredients in a large pot, and bring it to a boil. I like to add my sliced beets and let them boil in the syrup for a few minutes to heat them through. Fill hot, sterilized jars with beets, add syrup leaving 1/2 inch headspace, add lids, adjust bands, and process in hot water bath 30 minutes (adjust for altitude if needed).

Oh--and in case you're wondering what Cherry Bounce is....  Here's a link to a recipe, though it's slightly different than the one I used, it's a very nice blog from Boulder. Pretty much the same idea, just a variation on the theme.

Cherry Bounce
About 6 cups of fresh tart cherries (best if left unpitted, but will still work if they are already pitted. The pits are said to lend a little bit of an almond flavor.)
3 c. sugar or sucanat
a bottle of vodka (or bourbon or rum, or....).
3 1-quart jars with lids and rings
Place 2 c. cherries in each jar. Add one cup sugar to each jar. Fill each jar the rest of the way with the libation of your choice. (Optional: Add a little almond extract to each jar for a slight almond flavor if your cherries are pitted). Top with lid and rings, tighten well. Shake jars. I shook each jar a few times each day until all the sugar had completely dissolved. Then place in a cool, dark place to age for about three months. We'll plan to keep these jars for Christmas, to open a little taste of summer in the depth of winter. And I've been told you can make a very nice sauce for ice cream out of those tipsy, well-preserved cherries. I'll let you know how that turns out....

A Fair Lady

Today was the first day of judging, so we left the house about 7:15, and made sure we were there in time to clean cages out, top off food and water, and tidy up chickens before judging began at 9. L rubbed some vaseline into Pearl's comb to moisturize it and make it shiny, cleaned up her beak, put olive oil on her legs and feet, rubbed her down with a silk cloth, and fussed over her. Pearl, as usual, took all of this in stride. L swept the aisle and tidied up, then, with Pearl polished, and L's friend's hens ready, we headed out to grab a celebratory breakfast at Panera Bread and waited to see what the judge would think.

We arrived back to see how everyone placed. I think we all held our breath as we headed to Pearl's cage. And there it was:

Pearl placed 1st in Feather Legged Bantams - Old Hens.

That was pretty darn exciting. We milled around, checking out the other chickens we knew, looking for the hens and cockerels that we liked. Pearl was hot (it's in the 90s today) so L stopped periodically to mist her and to try to keep her cool.

Tomorrow morning L has showmanship, and then the awards presentation in the evening, before checking birds out by 9 pm.

I took a picture of a Sebright that I thought was beautiful, along with some fantail doves:

Each day the kids gather eggs from the hens that are there, and write the breed on the egg, then display it so that visitors can see the many colors and sizes of eggs from the wide range of breeds. The pigeon egg was the size of a large marble. The blue egg is from an Ameraucana. I was surprised that some duck eggs were the same size as chicken eggs:

So, one more day... then it will be time to start thinking about next year....

Clover Comes Home

L with a subdued Clover at fair.

On Friday night, we headed to the fairgrounds with Pearl and Clover for the vet check. Both had been off the antibiotics for two days, with no symptoms.

At the vet check, they talked to L about her birds and explained what they were doing (looking for evidence of mites, lice, and disease), then exclaimed over them ("They're so pretty! I love her color. Oh! This is my favorite little hen so far!") and made a fuss about them, which made L smile. They were checked twice, and both vets thought they looked very healthy.

We got them settled in their cages, and everything seemed fine. Shavings, food, and water, all freshly added. Clover's nearest neighbor was a golden laced cochin bantam pullet. Pearl was next to a fluffy black silkie pullet. All seemed in good order, and we left them for the evening.

We were back early in the morning to check food and water. Pearl was bright-eyed and happy. Clover looked miserable, her eyes closed, her little self hunched up. We added electrolytes to her water, carried her around, visited Pearl. But she simply seemed unhappy. She's normally very vocal and busy, and this withdrawn, dozing little hen was not like her.

I asked one of the poultry superintendents what I should do. She regarded Clover, and said that sometimes, old hens just didn't handle the stress well. Another poultry superintendent came by. They worked at having Clover drink, dipping her beak into the water until she finally started drinking on her own, but she refused her food. Then they had us move Pearl in with her for comfort.

They felt she was just confused and stressed and dehydrated, not sick. We walked around the fair and came back, then spent the rest of the afternoon checking on them both. One of Pearl's neighbors -- a big white meat bird -- reached through the cage and pecked at Pearl's comb, making it bleed. L changed bedding, refilled water and feed cups, swept the aisles, and offered to help wherever she could.

But by evening, it was clear that Clover was just a very unhappy hen. I withdrew her from the fair, and carried her out to the car, put her in the box next to me in the front seat, and headed home. By the time I pulled her out of the box and carried her to the backyard, her eyes were looking brighter, her head higher.

I put her down on the path by the coop and her old friend Oreo came running to meet us. The two Australorps hurried over, and Thelma noticed a piece of shavings on top of Clover's head. She reached over and picked it off, then regarded Clover as if to say, "Well sugar, where have you been?" Clover basked in the welcome, sighed and clucked, then hopped into the coop.

She and I were both glad she was home.

Cleaning House

Oreo roosts under the lilac while I clean house.

Today, with the hens seeming to do better, I took a break from a project I'm working on, and went out and cleaned the coop and run. This always makes the hens anxious, and they skitter around like the sky is falling.

The way that K built the coop, it's easy to scrape out all the shavings. The linoleum on the floor makes cleaning a simple mater of sweeping out the area, mopping it, and letting it dry, and it felt like I was cleaning out a sickroom and putting new sheets on the bed. I cleaned all the surfaces, put new dusting powder down, and brought clean sweet-smelling pine shavings in.

Violet checked in occasionally like a supervisor.

Outside, I could hear thunder rolling, and the skies were darkening. I closed the coop door and moved to the run where Luna is now a solitary pullet. I'm trying to add a little bulk to her light frame, so she's got a bowl full of homemade yogurt, and some scrambled eggs in addition to her regular ration. I move everything out, rake all of the litter, straw, and debris out of the run, fill water and feed containers, and pile up fresh shavings under the hutch for her. Until she's out of quarantine, we've got her in a bunny hutch at night, but she seems to prefer sheltering under the hutch during the day.

I visit her a bit and see no signs of respiratory issues, and keep my fingers crossed. She was on Tylan for five days, but that's the longest that we're supposed to keep her on it, so today is her first day without meds.

With Thelma on the mend, I fold up the dog crate that I had been using as an extra isolation cage, clean out the bowls that I used, and put everything in a box that I'll disinfect and put away. I glance over and see Luna happily nesting under the hutch. The other hens have settled into the clean coop or are roosting under the lilac bush,  and the first sprinkles of rain are coming down. In Colorado, it may rain for 2 seconds (most likely) or 2 hours (not very often) so I head inside. It feels so good to have the henhouse in order and all of the food, water, and supplements restocked in clean containers.

The rain cleanses the dust from the air, and rinses away the residue of worry that's been nagging me all week. We may not be over the illness, and there will always be something to worry about with hens. But for right now, everyone is tucked in, dry, and well tended.