Bees in my Port Hills garden

Most mornings that I am not travelling I sit and watch the beehive for a few minutes. I sit on our bed in front of the bay window about five metres from where the hive sits beside the garage. The allocated time for this morning ritual is the period it takes me to shave with my electric razor.

It is long enough to assess the vigour of the colony from the flow of bees in the air to and from the narrow landing board in front of the hive. The numbers of bees I observe varies across the season from a desultory few on a damp winter’s morning to blizzard density on warm summer mornings where the sun has been up for a few hours and the nectar flow in nearby gardens and wasteland is underway.

Arriving at the hive, the bees’ heavy flight and clumsy landings reflect hard won loads of nectar or pollen. Seen closer up on those warm days the two way passage of the bees is a scramble in and out of the hive entrance – outwards with swift determination, inwards clumsy under weight of field collections. With rear leg pollen sacs filled with cream, yellow and orange produce, the scrambling mass resembles an ill clad football team with bright high socks on skinny legs.