Each of my many apiaries gets a name, usually the name of the landowner; the Barnes yard, the Gagne yard, and so on. While each has an official name, many have nicknames, like the dandelion yard or the Wood’s Hill yard, or the Home yard. Sometimes, apiary nicknames come about because of some notable event that happened in that apiary; a term of endearment, if you will.
The Lucas yard in Perry Mills, New York had such a name. Now, the Lucas yard was located across a wide cornfield from the Canadian border. An orange farm gate on the far off tree line was the only indication of just how close Canada really was. On the south side of the apiary was the Great Chazy River, flowing down from the Adirondack Mountains to the northwest corner of lake Champlain. This river was a major highway for the Mohawk, as well as for the early European settlers. Apparently, animals used the same pathway.
Just north of the border, in Hemingford, Quebec, Parc Safari African draws many thousands of visitors, to drive among the wild animals and play in the amusement park. One summer, a troop of Japanese Snow Monkeys made their escape over the wall to freedom. Heading south out of Canada, they found the great Chazy, and turned east toward the Lake. That’s when they found the Lucas yard. Don’t ask me what they found so interesting about my bees, as I haven’t a clue. But there they were, mothers and babies, brothers and uncles, congregating in the tall maples along the water, and around the apiary. A loudly called out, “Monkey, monkey, monkey”, as if calling in the cat, would bring them down from the tree tops, babies on hips, to snag an offered apple.
With the approaching winter, and limited feed to sustain the troop, the park rangers eventually re-captured the monkeys, and returned them to Hemingford, PQ.
And after all this excitement, the apiary earned its silly little nickname, “The Monkey Yard”.
Not all apiary nicknames are such a lighthearted remembrance of the past. More often, the name reflected a stinging incident that happened. Not so funny for the participant, but hilarious for the rest of us.
Several of these yard names come to mind, and all seem, in some way, related to the same group of employees. Take Louis’ yard for example. Now, Louis was a character, as so many of my employees have been. Love/Hate jailhouse tattoos on his fingers. No front teeth from his many bar room brawls, and a mouth that would embarrass any sailor. He handled the bees as he handled everything else: angrily!
When that little angel of agriculture slammed him “up side the head”, Louis reacted in the only way he knew. He hammered that poor little bee with his hive tool, and the expletives were deafening. Unfortunately for Louis, the gash in his head didn’t heal for a week. Hence, the apiary received the nickname, Louis’ Yard.
Thinking about Louis’ Yard brings to mind another apiary nickname. Again named after a stinging incident. Buddy’s Yard was named after Louis’ brother. Now, Buddy was his nickname, for his given name was Louis: Louis’ other brother Louis. Confusing to say the least. And yep, their father’s name was Louis.
We had just moved the bees back to their summer yards after apple pollination. At the time, we didn’t use pallets and forklifts to move the bees. We used the old and dependable “Armstrong” method. Smoke the hive and pick it up, place it on the truck, and get another. Moving 600 colonies into and then out of the orchard made for some long, interesting nights. Because we didn’t use pallets and forklifts, the hives were held together with four hive staples between each hive body, the bottom board being stapled to the bottom box. With a little smoke, hammering in the staples wasn’t a big deal. The bees pretty much ignored the banging, and the job was just one more step in readying the bees for pollination.
After pollination was another story. The bees were not a happy bunch, having been moved twice, once into the orchard, and once back out to their yards. If the bees were managed soon after the move, the slightest disturbance resulted in very angry bees. With so many over-crowded colonies to manage after pollination, I was never one to wait for them to calm down. The day after the bees returned from apples, we were out there reversing brood chambers, performing our swarm control, and adding supers for the flow. Before the colonies could be inspected and manipulated, the dozen staples, holding each hive together, had to be removed.
That was Buddy’s job. Wedge the hook of a hive tool under the staple, and pull the first leg, repeating for the second. As the wood released each staple leg, a loud “creeek” alerted the bees to possible intruders. “Creeek” as the second leg let go.
You must have had one of those hives. You know, the one that you always inspect last because they’re so ill tempered. A colony so mean, that you can’t remove the cover without the bees stapling your socks to your ankles?
Well, Buddy pulled the first leg of the first staple on just such a colony. “Creeek”! Was it a skunk? Was it a bear? Nope, it was Louis’ other brother Buddy. Out came the bees with such a vengeance that Buddy’s only option was to RUN!
Buddy was never one to back down from a challenge, and I did appreciate his willingness to take such punishment. But the job wasn’t finished. There were still eleven staples to pull. He creeps up to the hive from behind, inserts the hive tool hook under a second staple, and twists. “Creeek”, and out they come again, and there goes Buddy across the field, waving his arms and swearing like his sailorman brother. Two down, ten to go.
Eventually, with a ton of smoke, and coating of stings on old knot head Buddy, all the staples were removed, the bees manipulated, and my crew and I moved on the next apiary. The Barcomb yard will forever be remembered as “Buddy’s yard”.
They wear hoodies and usually are a passenger in a nicked BMW !!
