My first swarm, by a bee newbie

Beekeepers have a term for somebody who has bees but doesn't take proper care of them. They call people like that "bee-havers," not "bee-keepers" — a stinging rebuke.

I thought about that a dozen feet up a tree, my feet wedged into the crook of a limb, hanging on by one arm, the other clutching pruners. My veiled helmet was askew, affording only a partial view of my swarm as it exploded into a cloud of 15,000 bees when its branch hit the ground.

Obviously, there had been a miscalculation. Capturing my swarm required one hand gripping the tree, one hand to cut off the branch with clustered bees, one hand to grab the branch as it went by. Oops.

The neighbors watching from their deck, and laughing, were seeing a bee-haver in action.

In my defense, last year was my first season. I was a bee newbie.

I'd taken classes and gone to meetings of the Puget Sound Beekeepers Association. I'd learned enough to know that swarms are bad for beekeepers, who generally don't like bidding farewell to half their honey-making workforce. What I had flunked was swarm-prevention.

It would have been smart to call a pro. But these were my bees, this was my swarm and I would deal with it. Leaving the bees to reassemble on the branch, hoping somewhere in the middle the queen had survived, I went inside to consult the bible — "Beekeeping for Dummies."

Past page 125 ("During your first season, don't be too concerned if you spot an occasional swarm cell. It isn't likely that a new colony will swarm.") was the section, "They swarmed anyway. Now what?" about creating another colony from a swarm. But I didn't want two colonies. I had my hands full with one.

Jean Bassett of The Beez Neez Apiary Supply in Snohomish, my long-suffering teacher/mentor, answered a desperate phone call. Would she take my swarm?

Silence. Sigh. Yes, bring them up.

The bees had coalesced back into an interlocked mass. Hoping Page 151 was right ("The bees are at their gentlest when they're in a swarming cluster."), I picked up the branch, deposited the swarm in a cardboard box, duct-taped it loosely shut so they wouldn't suffocate in the heat, put the box in my trunk and flung myself and my wayward girls into rush-hour traffic crawling north on Interstate 5 toward Snohomish.

Things were under control until Lynnwood, when a look in the rear-view mirror reflected a handful of hot and unhappy bees flying around the interior of my car.

Oh no.

They were escaping the box and coming into the car through the trunk. Which would come first: Snohomish, or 15,000 bees in my back seat?

My first swarm now lives somewhere in Snohomish County, adopted by one of Jean's customers. Page 125 notwithstanding, my second swarm — that's another story — was reunited with my hive using the newspaper method.

So far this year, there have been no swarms, and if you can believe Page 128 ("Late in the summer there is little chance of swarming."), there may not be.

Perhaps I am becoming a beekeeper, after all.

Patricia Foote is an assistant managing editor at The Seattle Times: pfoote@seattletimes.com.