Bee Colony Obliteration Narrowly Averted, Maybe.

Ken Holman (Mr. Imagine), who had set our hive up, came over a couple of days ago with a large cereal box all duct-taped up saying, “Guess what I found? Some more bees and larvae in a moray hive I’d given up for dead.”

We opened our disheartened, confused and decaying hive up, removed a bunch of the old comb, smashed a ton of hive beetles and drown a bunch more in a pan of soapy water (just like Rivka does with the fleas). The put the old comb (some full of honey - well, maybe we harvested some of that) in the freezer to kill off any infesting beetle larvae.

Ken goes, “Call Morgan and see if you can get a new Queen.” Aunt Anne also recommended that it’s not too late in the year to re-queen (mild winters). Morgan is this Native-American looking dude who’s father is a legendary bee-keeper around here. The dad, Doc Bullard is who we ended up getting the queen from in her little cage. White guy, no teeth. What was the word Ken used? Curmudgeonly. “I’ll tell ya who was there, an idiot! That’s not how ya do it!”

As we were departing he began complaining about Obama’s economic policies and Ken mentioned that he’s a fan of some forgettable conservative AM radio talk show hosts. The ones who blame brown-skinned people and laziness for the obliteration of so-called American financial security.

Obliterate this!