Finding home

A few days ago a swarm of bees descended on the garden. There were thousands of them. They settled on a branch of an apple tree. They probably would have been happy there, but me, not being a bee, thought we had to do something. I called a man here in the village who is wanting to become a beekeeper. He has some hives that he built, nice cosy wooden boxes, but no bees.

Small point, but vital.

He came, laid a white sheet under the branch and set an empty hive at one end of the sheet. By applying some citronella paste the hive was rendered attractive to the bees. He then climbed a little step ladder next to the tree and proceeded to whack the branch, causing the bees to fall onto the sheet. A few of them were a little upset, but most of them didn't seem to mind the treatment. They landed on the sheet and rummaged about as if that is what they normally did between five and six in the afternoon. The scout bees set off to find out where they had landed and pretty soon sent word to the troup that there was an empty house just up that-a-way, and let's go live there. Which they did. The erratic movement on the sheet suddenly took on direction and the colony moved into the hive. They didn't fly, they walked. No sweat, no problem, no hurry. Two hours later they were all in there.

The beekeeper, who was by now truly a keeper of bees, got stung fifteen times, but he didn't care. He was as relaxed about the stings as the bees were about the entire process of moving house.