Georgia Gone South

Well, tragedy has struck my Georgia contingent. I had known for several days that something was amiss but I hadn't had time to investigate. After checking their hive yesterday, I believe I've been the victim of "Colony Collapse Disorder" or CCD. The bees were simply gone, leaving the hive open to marauders. It was a scene of devastation and it all seems to have occurred in a month's time. The fact that Georgia had been my strong hive only adds to the shock.

As I mentioned in my last blog, I had noticed a dozen or so dead bees on the entrance board each morning along with a few larvae at the Georgia hive. The Arlington hive in contrast might have one or two. I pondered why this might be so, but I had no inkling that it was a sign of the disaster that I would soon discover. I also mentioned that I saw drones from time to time at the entrance and thought it odd, given the time of season. A few days after this observation though, I witnessed several instances of workers wrestling drones out of the hive and driving them off. I allowed myself to believe that this was a sign that all was well. But shortly after this, I observed a large dropoff in the number of bees in front of the hive when compared to Arlington, who remained robust. Within the last couple of weeks I began to notice the telltale signs of robbing bees dancing in front of the hive. They are quite distinct and easy to identify by their approach to the entrance. A bee who belongs to the hive will fly right in with little hesitation. Robbers, on the other hand will fly back and forth, probing for an opportunity to enter by darting in and out for a fair amount of time, working up their nerve perhaps. This activity increased considerably and it was this that convinced me that something very bad had happened to my Georgians.

Yesterday, I finally had time to open the hive to check it out. It consisted of three shallow honey supers on top and two deep brood boxes below. The top two supers were still full of capped honey and a few bees busied themselves gorging from a few of the cells. The third super, closest to the brood boxes had almost all of its honey removed. A handful of bees were still working it over but their dirty work was mostly done there. The further I went down into the hive, the number of bees remained constant. Perhaps a hundred or two in each super and those that were there probably didn't belong.

Upon entering the brood nest, it took on the look of a ghost town and with honey to be found in tiny patches only on the outermost frames. There was not much activity to be found and the comb was almost completely deserted. I began to see instances of young bees who had started to emerge from their cells, only to die with just their heads poking out. I found a wax moth on one of the frames and evidence of her offspring beginning to tunnel beneath the comb. Fortunately, the wax moth damage was minimal. Both brood boxes were the same. Vast fields of chocolate colored, empty cells and no bees. Finally, in the bottom box, huddled between the wall and the last frame, I saw a clot of bees massed together. I knew I would find the queen there and I did, her blue spot clearly visible among her remaining attendants who numbered perhaps 2-300. It was a pitiful sight for they were surely doomed. They had long since given up on any notion of defending their hive from intruders and now simply hid in a corner waiting for the inevitable.

The bottom of the hive was free of dead bees. The girls were simply gone. At this point, I found a deep frame that had a fair amount of honey on it and placed it next to the queen and her retinue so that it might sustain them for a time. The least I could do for the poor girl, I figured. I then reassembled the hive, keeping the top two, honey filled supers for myself. Next I'll have to figure out what to do with the hive so that I can preserve as much of the drawn out frames as possible. That will be a subject for another entry.

Meanwhile, all indications would seem to suggest that Arlington is doing great. Each afternoon, I see hundreds of bees winging about in front of their hive and crawling under the top cover. I don't feel as sure of myself as I once did, however. And I have grave doubts as to the bees ability to survive the winter. The last couple of months, I have consciously chosen to let the bees fend for themselves according to what nature prescribed and for Georgia it was too much. It is hard for me to accept that these wild creatures would depend on my activities to survive and yet, with little interaction from me, left to what their instincts would dictate, a colony that once held 50 to 60,000 bees has completely collapsed in the space of just a few weeks. Why do I feel that man has a hand in this as well? With the introduction of mites, pesticides and God knows what else, survival for the honey bee seems to be quite a precarious proposition these days.

As if to exact some small measure of revenge for this state of affairs, I was stung. Though it hurt, I couldn't help but feel it was a bit of spitting into the wind for that bee and her sisters.