Country Diary: A Lucky Swarm of Honey Bees in a Kent Plum Tree
Lucky Honey Bee Swarm in Kent Plum Tree

There comes this moment in May when I’m still anticipating the fresh green of spring, but looking up at the oak see it in a lustreless summer hue. A little rain would renew its sheen, but it’s been dry for weeks and there is no reprieve from this fleeting sense of loss.

Abruptly, there comes a noise, a rising hum almost mechanical in tone, but as I look for the contraption responsible, I see instead a mass of insects flowing over the line of hawthorns. The honeybee swarm swirls in a cloud before the queen, imperceptibly landing, triggering a leisurely implosion. Guided by pheromones, thousands of worker bees join her to form a solid ball, hanging precariously from the twig of a plum tree.

Few naturally occurring events in our benign countryside elicit as much panic as a swarm, which, considering the tens of thousands of stinging insects involved, is not unreasonable. Having split from the mother colony as part of its reproductive cycle, however, a swarm is entirely focused on finding new habitation, and has no interest in attacking people unless significantly provoked. Left to its own devices, a swarm will harmlessly depart for its new abode within a few days.

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To the beekeeper, a settled swarm is an opportunity to fill a hive – and is particularly valuable in early summer, when it has plenty of time to establish and become productive. “A swarm in May is worth a load of hay,” as the old rhyme goes, an idea I once tested by selling honey from a May swarm hive. I was tickled when the proceeds literally bought me a trailer full of bales.

Hiving an accessible swarm is a surprisingly simple business and, without bothering to get my bee suit (a slightly reckless behaviour that I cannot advise), I approach the insects carrying a wicker basket and secateurs. Holding the basket beneath them, I cut the supporting twig, causing the bees to drop in with a weighty jolt, and promptly close the lid. In my apiary, a prepared hive awaits, a white cloth serving as a ramp to the entrance, on to which I empty the docile bees, who dutifully crawl up and into their new home. I just hope they like it and decide to stay.

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