Sicilian Sisters Grow Some Food

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Beans and other things

"What shall I learn of beans or beans of me? I cherish them, I hoe them, early and late I have an eye to them; and this is my day's work."
from Walden

And the beans are, indeed, up. I don't hoe them, however. This pale beauty is only one of the rows of large Italian pole beans that constitute my main bean interest. Although I believe I sound like I've become slightly unhinged, there are few tastes that I find as thoroughly satisfying as this bean. Hot, cold, dressed and plain, I love these beans. While I've done everything I know to safeguard them, with bird protection and iron-based snail poison, I'm not confident enough to have planted them all. I kept back some of my stock to fill in any nibbled beyond survival.

The yellow wax bush beans are also emerging, but I didn't get any good pictures of them. Imagine a triple row of them in front of the six sweet peppers I broke down and bought and put in early, just because I was feeling optimistic. (Also because I started no plants of my own this year.)

Everywhere I look, things are stretching out to the lengthening days. We've had what I consider "farmers' rain," that is steady rain at night, followed by clearing days that resolve into very warm afternoons. The garden approves.

Every day for the past four days, the police have called me. Not because of any plant-based violations, but because the bees are swarming and I'm a point person for picking them up. So far, I've gotten another beekeeper to get each one, but I went and set up a new hive just in case they call again. I need to make an equipment order so that I can manage four hives. I wonder if any of the kids at the local high school would like to work on hives with me? I should ask. . .

The Katy apricots are largeish, but few. The tree is showing some alarming signs -- whole twigs wilting with no apparent reason. I hear that apricots are short-lived trees here, susceptible to many diseases.

The transplanted persimmon is showing good health. Maybe next year it will bear?

One of the two Early Girls I bought with the peppers. The other one is going to the front yard bed, along with a "help yourself!" sign. I'm looking forward to painting that.

Both front yard Blenheims are loaded with baby 'cots. I have high hopes. Apricot everything!

Although the photo is blurry, it's time to break out the spray oil for the Anna apple and get the wooly aphids under control. It's been a very successful method, as far as I can tell, no matter how unorthodox.

Everywhere I go in the garden, I hear hurry, hurry. . . it's time to get things done. Maybe I will, and maybe I won't. It's good to know that some things are managing without me very well.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Now we are three

It's really spring here.

I can tell because trees are blooming and I'm taking lots of pictures like this

The first of a less-welcome spring sign happened when I walked into the house yesterday, and a child said, "You really need to see this."

"What?"

"Outside."

"Man! Did they swarm?"

You see, when I had checked out the hives in the early afternoon, making sure that all was well in the newspaper-combined one, I noticed that the other hive, the one with only one brood box, was looking significantly busy. I filed it under "give that hive more room," and just hoped it would work.

Hoping apparently doesn't deal with spring build-up. They had thrown off a rather nice-sized swarm.

Fortunately, we have the Most Attractive Apricot Tree Ever, or something like that. They landed where every swarm landed last year.

I deputized a photographer and got to work. First, I humped out a new brood box and honey super, plus an inner and outer cover.

Nice-looking bunch, eh? They were about 12-14" long, plus a small sub-swarm on a lower branch. I figured the queen was in the big bunch, so that was where the effort would be concentrated.

I set up the new hive box (right where the collapsed one was yesterday, of course) and got to work. One good shake while holding the bucket underneath.

And the bulk of the bees "fwumped" right into the bucket.

Easily poured into the waiting box.

They just flow down in. I went back and did a secondary shake, and got the stragglers set up to walk into the front of the covered hive.

When I went out in the evening, happy sounds were coming from the hive, and since it's rainy this morning, that's probably a nicer place for them to be than the tree. I don't know now if one swarm means the original hive is happier and less likely to swarm, or if they have the proverbial bits in their little teeth and will spend all spring splitting. It will be a good test of my beekeeping chops to see if I can manage them well.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam...

Some marriages are made when eyes meet across a room. . . and they know.

Some arise out of more prosaic circumstances. The phrase "Do you have a cold chisel?" will prompt giggles and knowing looks at my house.

Some relationships grow, and with shared experiences and the passage of time, develop into deep companionable partnerships.

Some marriages aren't so much of a choice. The families decide that the young people will be best served by this pairing, at this time, and from what I hear, it works out fairly well a lot of the time (barring abuse, but come on folks, this is a fairly lighthearted post).

With that in mind, I pulled a yenta today. When I collapsed the hives into smaller bodies, one looked questionable. A frame of eggs was dropped in, so if they wanted, they could bring up a queen, but over the past week, traffic in and out of that hive had dropped precipitously. Well, bee traffic had dropped. Ants had sped up their six-legged highway, and it was time.

Without smoke, I jacketed up and lifted the honey super and queen excluder off of the "doing well" hive and set it aside. Then, a sheet from today's newspaper laid atop the exposed, nicely full, bottom box.

I lifted the single hive body off of Failing Hive, and popped it atop the newspaper. Honey super and queen excluder back on top, despite the way that would strand hive #1s bees above hive #2. . .

When I went back out later, the temperature had dropped quite sharply, and the bees were all indoors. There was an unhappy buzzing coming from this new union. Will it be a successful marriage of two hives, in which both become something bigger than they were apart?

Or will it be a massacre of the weaker hive? I won't know until a day or so goes by, but smaller hive wasn't going to make it anyhow. Besides, "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while"

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Micro-microclimates

This is a story of three apricot trees.
Two trees, out front, are "Royal Blenheim," in back, a "Katy."
The Katy is the oldest, the front yard trees are roughly the same age.
They develop slightly differently, though.

The Katy blooms and leafs out first -- it's just a wash of spring green right now.

The slightly larger Blenheim is next -- still blooming, but at the end of its run for this year.

Finally, the one to the east end of the yard, still a bouquet.

They're not wildly different, just enough to notice.

Elsewhere, I'm trying to make a bird-free microclimate:

Bird netting -- threadlike nylon fishing net, cuttable as each intersection is a knot -- up one side, and Reemay along the other. Unfortunately, I may have out-clevered myself. The triple trellis of twine precludes arching netting over the bed.

With luck, the beans will be robust enough once I pull the covers off to resist the birds. One of the pleasures of growing things is trying out new approaches. Sometimes they work, sometimes they're information for the next time.

I really just want beans.