My Queen and Her Subjects Arrive - Honeybee: Lessons from an Accidental Beekeeper - page 44

I wish I could say that my first hiving experience was uneventful, because, in truth,
most hiving experiences are. But as it turned out, my bees were not in the mood to be
poured that day. Instead of funneling into their new home in an orderly fashion, as is
usually the case, my bees became defensive and agitated. These were not like the do-
cile Italian honeybees I met last month at Mr. B's apiary. These bees crawled all over
my veil and began to sting me through my blue jeans. Unfortunately, once a bee is pro-
voked to sting, she releases an alarm pheromone warning other workers that danger is
afoot. This is the signal for the other bees to defend themselves, their honey, and their
hive, and more stinging ensues. A few curious bees had already found their way under
my veil and down my bee jacket.
I panicked, which was exactly the wrong thing to do.
I screamed and ran away from the hive, removing my veil and even my bee jacket.
I could hear the bees buzzing in my hair as if trapped in a spider's web. Mr. B shouted
after me to remain calm, and that the more movements and swatting I did, the angrier
they would become.
But I was already frantic. I screamed, “Get them out of my hair. Help me!”
Mr. B took his hive tool and began flicking the bees out of my hair. Finally, not
without several more stings, they were out. Mr. B. showed me how to remove the
stingers from under my skin. Rather than pulling them out with a tweezers, it's quick-
er to scrape them out with your fingernail. The quicker the stinger is removed, the less
venom will enter at the point of contact.
I needed a moment to compose myself, so I stepped away from the hive and shook
outmyveilonemoretime.WhenIwasready,Iputmyveilbackonandcarefullyclosed
up the beehive. I put the feeder box on top of the hive and filled it with sugar water.
At Mr. B's suggestion, we left the partly empty package of bees in front of the hive en-
trance, so the last few stubborn creatures would follow their queen's pheromones and
thus find their way into the hive before dark. Last of all, I placed the entrance reducer
on the bottom board of the hive with the smallest opening. I gave a sigh of relief and
decided that I was finished with my beekeeping for the day.
At last, I found the courage to look over at Mr. B.
“What happened?” I asked.
Mr. B. asked me if I was wearing any perfumes, if I used a particularly fragrant
shampoo that morning, and what I ate for breakfast. I responded in defense that I did
clean up that morning, but was careful not to use anything fragrant. Breakfast was the
usual cup of espresso with Mr. B's own honey, and cereal with bananas and honey on
top.
“Oh, no. Not bananas,” Mr. B groaned.