To bee or not to bee was no longer the question. And as easily as I came to the conclusion that honey bees and I were a match, I also felt an affinity for top-bar hiving. If a Langstroth hive can be considered Victorian in nature, (multi-level, separate living areas) then a Top-bar hive would be a ranch-style abode (everything on one compact level.)  There would be no heavy laundry to transport up and down stairs, just honey laden combs that would move from one end to the other, causing less stress and strain on the occupants as well as the landlord. Yes, this approach suited me to a T!

So back to the holy grail (the internet, where else?) to explore yet another new world, “Beekeeping Suppliers.” There are some marvelous websites to pique your interest as well as confuse the hell out of you. Now, I cannot confirm that this is intentional, but as with reading the textbooks, I found that all of these beautifully designed sites complemented as well as negated one another.  “Cedar vs Pine.” “Flat cover vs peaked roof.” “Screened bottom board vs solid.” “Complete bee hazmat suit vs gloves only.” And that was just the beginning!

Drawing a cleansing breath, I contemplated my options, of which the sum was staggering and began whittling back to the core of what mattered. “Give the bees a home.” That had been my initial purpose, not commercial gain or prestige, but a safe harbor where they could have shelter from the elements and raise their babies in peace. If it all worked out and their honey production exceeded their requirements, it would be a miraculous bonus for me, not a mandatory obligation for the bees. “Give the bees the best home you can,” I reminded myself, “and we’ll all be winners.”

My home is cedar, so what better choice could I make for my bees? Cedar is naturally insect resistant and needs only to be tung oiled, not cosmetically coated. Because my house sports huge panoramic panes of glass, I chose an apex roofed hive with a full length observation window. The girls’ home was mirroring my own and I smiled at the reflection. I bought a hooded  jacket and gloves out of respect for the fact that bees do indeed sting, so why provide them a golden opportunity to pierce naked skin? And like a student preparing for a new school year, my pens, notebooks and backpack, transmogrified into a smoker, herding brush and hive tools.

It was October, too late to launch a new colony, but not too early to decide on a location. I walked and surveyed with a keen eye, the perimeters of my backyard, pondering the sun’s altitude at various times of the day as well as the direction and strength of the wind. “Here,” it seemed to whisper, “place the hive here.” And with a bit of awe, I surmised that the breeze was spot-on. This preordained setting had it all:  shade of hemlock and service berry trees , water from a nearby slithering creek and an eight foot tall bank of blackberry bushes to buffer the bees from blustery winter winds. “Boy, is this easy,” I smirked, getting just a little too full of myself. “Only an idiot could fail!”

Had I known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have been quite so smug.

T OF T ###3  AN OPINION IS ONLY WHAT YOU THINK YOU KNOW.