It was way too quiet during January and February. Even with my ear plastered to the side of the hive box, I heard nothing. Nevertheless, being a greenhorn in the bee keeping world, I had plenty of plausible justifications for this.  (1) It was January and February for crying out loud; it was cold.  (2) No foragers at the entrance hole?  It was winter, what’s to forage? (3)  Empty combs seen through the observation window? Of course; Rosie and the girls were cuddled up in a tight cozy cluster deep within the hive.  And finally,  (4) That there was no tantalizing honey smell emanating around the hive, meant nothing because obviously, the bees were eating up their honey stores, not building them. All, convenient, completely fabricated and probably erroneous theories.

In early March, small, almost invisible signs of spring could be noted. Dormant bulbs began breaking the ground’s surface, naked tree branches now had bulbous tips and an occasional cadmium yellow dandelion emerged with it’s feathery petals searching out the sun. When temperatures began to consistently rise, I could no longer foster my suppositions or rely on my cock-eyed conclusions. I needed to know for certain just what was going on in the confines of my little colony. This meant shaking the cobwebs off my bee gear and scrutinizing every frame to determine the bona fide status of my charges.

Filled with collywobbles, I approached the hive armed with the notion that I would rescue my small beleaguered militia who had faithfully been holding down the fort til the nectar once again began to flow and the new baby bees burst from their cells. I brought with me a pitcher of honeybee elixir laced with ascorbic acid and sea salt to feed the stalwart troops that had lovingly warmed their queen all winter long. This joy juice would jump start them with easily obtained nutrition as I was sure that their food supply had been consumed and must be nearing an end. I breathed deeply and confidently as I lifted the lid.

On first glance what struck me as odd, was that the hive appeared to have been vacated. There were no soldiers and no dead bodies. There was no queen, no honey and no pollen. The combs had been stripped, gnawed, chewed and mangled. Only the fondant cakes that I had made to help them feed through the winter, remained on the bottom board…untouched. As I stood there in shock, I began to remove and analyze each frame individually. My shoulders slumped and tears welled in my eyes.

There actually were some bees clinging to the cells. These bees however were dead and frozen in time. A few were head down, scrounging for the last lick of honey. A few were trying to desperately emerge from a cell and had expired with the effort. But the saddest sight of all was the small puddle of maybe 50 curled up bees that had perished on the hive floor surrounding their dead queen. Starvation was the only conclusion I could immediately presume. But it really didn’t matter.  Rosie was gone.   And I wept freely.