With the temperatures dropping and winter setting in, I knew that my visits to the hive would be far fewer. Cold is not a bee’s friend, so I added a dividing board to shrink the interior space that needed warming, checked all siliconed seams for cracks, and then sealed the hive up tight. Lastly, I reduced the entrance to one small hole and placed a mouse guard over it for critter protection. Then, like a black bear preparing for hibernation, I retreated indoors. It was time for mother nature to step in. For thousands of years, bees have overwintered successfully, so even in a weakened state, I believed Rosie and the girls would weather this out.

During the following weeks, if the outside temperature rose into the 50’s, I would venture to the apiary for a peek-see. I would place my ear next to the hive body and be reassured by a quiet hum. I would move around to the entrance hole hoping to observe  an intermittent bee or two, exiting the hive to glide out for a cleansing flight. My heart would race at this vision, for it was proof positive that the clustering bees were alive inside.

One cold day in mid December while baking cookies, I felt a tug to go visit Rosie. The thermometer read 36 degrees, so I knew there would be no visible activity, but as if under a witch’s spell, I was drawn to the hive. Gathering my coat and hat, I went directly to the entrance where one little honeybee sat on the mouse guard. I was so pleased to see life, that I squatted down to watch her. It only took seconds to realize she wasn’t moving. I gently prodded her with my finger and she immediately tumbled into my open hand. My pleasure quickly turned to grief as I carried my frozen foundling back into the house.

With my magnifying glass, I hoped to discover deformed wings, mites, a distended abdomen, damaged or misshapen legs … anything that might be a clue as to why my colony was decreasing in size. I saw nothing,  just a healthy looking  dead bee, which I rolled over and over, examining every part. Saddened even more, yet unable to throw her little body in the trash can, I set her on the counter and pondered the situation while continuing to bake. How many more dead bees would I find on my next trip?  How small could the cluster afford to get? Absorbed in my thoughts, I reached into the cupboard for a mixing bowl and noticed the counter empty. Puzzled by this, I checked the sink, and there she was, laying belly up, feet in the air, looking like the expired cockroach in the Raid commercial. I leaned down, squinted, and with my nose nearly touching her fur, discerned the incremental movement of one tiny black antenna. Shocked, I picked her up, cupped her in both hands and eased over to the pre-heated oven. Treating her like a baby in a cradle, I rocked her gently, back and forth near the heat. Talking to her as if she could understand me, I encouraged my comatose casualty to smell the cookies and wake up.

It took less than two minutes to feel a prickle in my palm. Lifting the crowning hand, I gasped as she wobbled side to side like a mini drunken sailor. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Re-encasing her, I continued the warming-up process. To my delight, she became more animated, but this alertness produced yet another dilemma. WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH HER? It’s not like she was a pet puppy and could live in my cozy house for the winter. The livelier she became, the more obvious the need for an immediate solution.

With no further thought or regard for winter apparel, I headed back to the hive with my revived victim tickling the inside of my hand. As I crouched at the entrance, I heedfully raised my hands to the face of the hole, slowly lifted my fingers and witnessed as she, with no hesitation whatsoever, left her security blanket and receded into the hive’s darkness to rejoin her family. She never looked back or bothered to say thank you, but that was perfectly fine with me, because I knew right then and there, that I had just received the best Christmas present ever.