Hardcore Swarm Duty

Another swarm. Not so big this time, but much harder to contain. They ended up in the neighbor's directly back of us and luckily he was home and a gentle guy who had no problem with us gathering the bees. Trouble is they'd established themselves on a long two by four in a disused garden and were already building comb like it was a top-loading hive. So we scooped bees into the banker's box again. I'm beginning to imagine a better swarm catcher now. I see a box with something very enticing inside--a wax frame covered with sugar water with a hole or two on top of the box that the bees with crawl into. They like small, dark openings into a dark, enclosed space.

We got as many bees as we could into a box and attempted to re-unite them with the hive they swarmed from. Big mistake. They just went back to the same place again. In the meantime, J and I had to go pick up our kids from school. I gave our local bee expert a call. He's been keeping bees for over fifty years. He is calm and assuring. "It's all an experiment," he says and talks me through what I need to do. I need to sprinkle some frames with sugar water, put them in a new box and start a new hive. We barely have enough equipment, but it will have to do. This is one of the first things they should tell you about beekeeping. You really need a surplus of equipment because of swarm management and that is going to be a big issue with urban beekeeping.

So I went back, introduced myself to the neighbor, gave him my phone number and scooped more bees. Got a few more to come back to a new wooden hive box. However, there was a ball of bees on the ground near the tall hive. WTF? The thing is, the day before we did a hive check and I dropped the top of the hive on the ground. Yeah well, I must have dropped the queen, which is every beekeeper's nightmare. I tried to entice the bees into flower pots with holes on the bottom with sugar water-coated frames inside. This worked to some extent, but it was very slow and it was getting cold and dark. There was such an intransigent clump of bees in one spot I thought there must be a queen there. So I took a shovel and picked up clumps of earth and grass to put near the hive opening. Sure enough, I finally spotted the queen. She is long, dignified, and caramel-colored, carried along on a carpet of bees licking her and fanning her and trying to keep her warm. I watched and waiting and wondered if she was dead. They carried her as if she was a mummified Egyptian queen. I waited. It started to rain, so I went down on all fours to keep off the rain. I asked P. for a pair of tweezers and I gently moved her to the hive entrance. She was alive and moving and finally went in. I shook the other bees out of the grass that still attracted them because it contained her scent. The bees at the entrance made a very loud buzzing noise and fanned all the stragglers into the hive with the Nasanov reflex. This is about the loudest sound I've heard them make as singular bees. I look in the neighbor's yard and there is still a small clump on his two by four. We'll have to deal with them again tomorrow. I wonder how they will make out now that it has begun to rain. I have a feeling they will survive. I've seen these bees foraging in the rain. They are tough little suckers.

I went inside and stirred some quinoa into the pasta sauce P made out of what was in the fridge. Then I had a glass of port and some hazelnut wafers. Finally my hands stopped shaking.

Attacking the Invaders

This morning I sat in the window of Sweet Obsession watching a sun shower. The people next to me were trying to decide if it was only raining on one side of the street. I was eating a lemon danish--that is a very good flaky danish smothered in creamy lemon curd. It was a lovely middle class moment. (That's my new way of mocking myself.)

Later on, I was heading into our local library and there were two tiny blond girls squatting down and each staring into one eye of a little black pug. They are from the neighborhood and I see them around all the time with their dad. He is a fantastically patient parent. I think they are twins and one of the little girls has downs. The pug was grey around the muzzle, and very gentle and patient, letting the girls look right into the depths of its doggy soul. It was a bit uncanny really, like they were communicating on a level we can't begin to understand. Twins and pugs.

There is one corner of our garden that is overrun with ivy and blackberry and money plants, so I declared war today, attacking the roots with a shovel and pulling the vines off the fence. I owe it to my neighbor to get them out before they creep over into his garden. He's been really good this spring about keeping the ivy on his side in control. Good weeders make good neighbors.

Soggy Day

It's seriously raining out there. I am in my warm, clean jammies after a day of teaching and gardening. I worked with the grade fours who have buddies in grade one. We talked about seed germination, the stages of plant growth and then we went to it. We planted seeds. It was complete chaos. Seeds everywhere, overturned pots, frustrated students. I absolutely fell on my ass. Tried to accomplish too much and flopped. Oh well. This is what they call part of the learning curve. My son said it was the worst buddy time they'd ever had and next time I should be better prepared and it should go more smoothly. No kidding.

I worked out my frustration by working in the rain in the garden; amending the soil in my garden bed with compost and sea soil and planting some of the shelling peas and sweet peas I'd soaked to get ready for planting. I usually don't sow direct because of slugs so I'm going to have to start saving eggshells and being vigilant. It felt good to pull weeds and get my fingers in the soil.

This weekend was all about writing protest letters to politicians about the education cuts. The replies are starting to trickle in. The school board is grateful to have parents advocate to the provincial politicians because they say they listen to parents more than the board. In fact they wouldn't be surprised if the provincial government tries to supplant the current board. We'll see about that.

I also saw a fabulous performance by Lori Blondeau at the Western Front: Unwrapping the White Man. It was vintage Blondeau, with great comic timing and a thought-provoking central image. The place was packed. I'm so happy to see a new young crowd supporting performance art.

Last night I watched a very silly and enjoyable movie starring Matt LeBlanc and Eddie Izzard called All the Queen's Men. It's about a recon mission in which the soldiers have to dress in drag to infiltrate a factory. I had no expectations so I had a lot of fun watching it. Then I watched an Inspector Morse Mystery called Deadly Slumber. Not the best one, but I still love Morse.

Alfredo sauce on orecchiette pasta and asparagus for dinner. Comfort food for a soggy day.

conspicuous chaos

What will the body do in a day I wonder as I string verbs along a line: dig, plant, sew, sow, water, lift, scrape, brush, stir, wrestle, step ball twist, strum, click your tongue against your teeth, push a wheelchair, transfer wet clothes to the dryer. Water, dig, nurture, harvest, puncture, feed, defend, protect, nurture. Keeping emotions down to a socially acceptable level, which is a job all on its own.

What a privilege it is/millstone to have a body female, feminine and aging, like the Tim Horton's add says "Our buns are now bigger, better, softer..." (that would be me). I look at the photos of my great grandmother, a mountain of flesh in cat's eye glasses beside her husband. Two mountains watching the sun go down through the living room window. No tv. No conversation. Just silence. Waiting for the sun to set.

Conspicuous chaos is my privilege, my potentially fatal flaw. My infrastructure is fragile, but my body memory leads me to safety. My father loves to work. What verbs did he string in his black and blue checked flannel shirt? He drove, fixed, pumped gas, lifted wooden cartons of full bottles of Coke (dropped one once on his knee), drank coffee with customers, painted, stocked shelves, gave people deals, gave way food for free. He has/had hobbies too, reading, skeet shooting, hunting, fishing, collecting this and that. He worked on a farm for a while: tilling the soil, driving tractor--that's how we say it out there--driving tractor, feeding the (fucking) llamas, burying their Great Danes in giant graves when they died in pain from bones too big for dogs. He laughed in this shirt, spit out swearwords like knot head, turkey, turd. What a turd. The heart attack took away his anger, left fear, bewilderment. I miss his anger.

My son, I can only pray that I am there for people who find themselves in a dark place so that I can lead them to the way out. I hope I can lead you way from the tinder-dry field, from the edge of the river that runs too cold and fast. I know your fear of heights comes from the deep desire to fly above the pain. Let me be there to remind you that we are humans, not barn swallows.

Leading, teaching, holding, calming, supporting, loving.

Sometimes a body does not want to move. Like the deeply autistic boy in the class. He lay face down, quite still and heavy. His caregiver leaves him there to do what his body wants to do. Spends most of the day trying to convince the boy to engage his body in social ways. It is exhausting to watch and I admire the caregivers so much for their gentle perseverance. These are the people who will get cut in the budget shortfall. Too many verbs, not enough money.

Lilacs in April

The lilacs are blooming all over the neighbourhood and the time for plant sales has arrived. We headed to Zipang for our weekly dose of sushi before I checked out the Greenstreets swap and sale at Tupper. One of P's favorite's is the ocean roll and kinder has been gobbling up the bbq squid lately.



These are blue carpet sedum. I didn't have anything to swap so I was told I could buy a couple of plants for fifty cents each and then swap them. I bought two calendula plants and swapped them for these.

I really wanted this healthy looking Centennial hops plant, but I didn't have a red wagon to tow it home with.

There was a couple of musicians playing and some gardeners had made snacks to share.

I also had an eye on some of the other plants such as the strawberries and bleeding hearts. I was jealous of those people with the cool bike trailers (or red wagons) that they can use to transport those pots. Next time I'll bring some wheels!

Calme Toi

It's my favorite expression in French movies, near the end of a big fight, "Calme toi Maurice, calme toi." It sounds so soothing. Sometimes I just say it to myself over and over again. Calme toi. Oh god, what a beautiful day it was to be in the flesh and bone, sitting under my lilac tree considering the bees. What a vigorous hive we have. Jaysus! (That's one of my favorite Irish expressions.) Or as my Newfie friend would say, "Jaysus in the garden pickin' flowers for the table."

This morning I taught some grade seven students how to stitch by hand. It's very rewarding to teach such a basic skill. I was shocked at how many of them didn't know how to tie a knot. Have I told you how much I love teaching? I do. Well, I like being the itinerant art teacher. I couldn't do the daily slog. Sewing is very calming. To anchor a knot with your finger and thumb and cut the thread with a sharp pair of scissors--this too requires time and experience.

Tonight I cooked bacon, perogies, and fried onions for supper served with Liberté goat creme fraîche. (Novelty product alert!) Good old stodge. I was going to garnish with fresh spring chives but I forgot.

Deep breath. This week I am going to slow down the pace a bit and spend some quality time ridding my garden of the weeds that have overtaken parts of it. I can have some studio time and flaneur time. Some time to sit and think what the body will do.

Oh, and Don Davies just phoned to apologize for waking me up Saturday morning. "If it's any consolation I too was ripped out of a deep sleep by the sound of my own voice." Snort. If only the apology hadn't been automated. I'd like some flowers and chocolates too please.

They're Going to Hear From Me

I was rudely awakened at 7:45 am by an automated call from Don Davies with his latest message. I slammed the phone down on his voice as soon as I heard that tone of forced cheer. His office is going to hear about it. It's Saturday. Like a huge percentage of the population, I like to get an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Arghhh. Those automated called are insulting. (Jack Layton, take note.) I lay in bed sizzling with anger for 15 minutes. And I hate waking up in that mood.

Too bad it's raining. A local beekeeper had invited me to come along and see him open up his hives. That's the way it is with beekeeping. You've got to keep an ear out for the weather on the radio. This next week will be all about preparing for Earth Day. I'll be working with a school to make pouches for seed balls we made back in the fall. I'm looking forward to getting off the computer. It's also going to be a week strategizing on how to make noises about the Vancouver School Board cuts. They want to make my son's school into an annex, which would be a disaster IMO. We'd lose our wonderful principal and some of of best teachers--the younger, newer ones. Yes, I am making a value judgment. I see Andrea Reimer is going to raise the issue of the VSB deficit with City Council, so hopefully something proactive will come of that.

Kinder is still hopping around on one foot, but he is quite mobile with his crutches and wheelchair. I wish people would stop telling us he should be walking. Hello, are you a doctor? The theme of today is anger. All because of a lousy pre-programmed telephone call. Shrug. Anger's a good motivator. Something's going to happen.

The Hive Cycle

Today J. bought some hive boxes that came from a beekeeper who had passed away. It felt good to sit in her backyard and brush off the cobwebs, and scrape off the old wax and propolis. One box in particular had a rich mahogany interior and the funky pine smell of the propolis. I got a kind of "high" off the odor as it triggered memories from seemingly random times in my life. What were they? I can only remember the general feeling of well being and pleasure. I like working with objects that have a history and I have a feeling this gentleman took good care of his bees. I felt honored to be part of his hive (re)cycle. Each box was a little different, painted with whatever color he happened to have hanging around. One box was so old the propolis came off as a fine powder instead of a sticky glue. We listened to the chickens sing a moaning lament because they were cooped up in their pen so they didn't poop on the bee equipment. They were very expressive.

Just as it was starting to rain we popped the a box and frames under the second hive (that swarmed on Sunday) which is a relief. Tomorrow I'll feed them. Wednesday we knocked queen cells off the original hive and took out and destroyed some of the drone cells. I took a close look at some of the drone larva and saw a couple of mites. It's not a big infestation, but we'll be treating them with icing sugar. I must admit I got a bit queezy when some of the white liquid food squeezed out as we were scraping off the drone cells and then when P. cooked prawns for dinner I had to hold back my disgust because they look like giant larvae. Mmmm. Shrimpy.

Wednesday I noticed the mason bees came out to play on Wednesday and today I saw a little sweat bee. We had a nice visit from another beekeeper in the neighborhood and I look forward to getting to know our local apiarists and learning from their experience.

Staring at the Window

Grants are like the bricks and mortar of the business of art. And the best thing about writing them is that they help you formulate your visions and make your ideas more concrete. What started as a vague niggling about moths many months ago is now a paragraph made up of several sentences, a materials budget, and a theme. It has color, texture, and drama and a context to live in.

Yesterday I was staring at our window sill at a gift someone gave me and suddenly I saw part of the installation in my mind's eye. I love when things resolve themselves that way. That's the best part. Then there's the struggle of actually getting what's in your brain into the real world. That's not always my strong suit, but I'm getting better at it.

I'm looking at a fuschia and purple sunset. The bees were calmer today and so was I. It was overcast. I bought parsnip seeds for J and bee garden seeds for mom. I saw my favorite waitress. The grant is almost done--I am just waiting on a quote from the insurance company. There were lots of bumblebees up and about today which is what I like to see. I found one poor dead queen on our front steps and put her aside to use as a teaching aid.

I am thinking a lot about felt and wool.

Swarms and Other Anxieties

Well, the bees swarmed on Sunday. I'm still on edge about it. Luckily we were able to capture them on the roof of an irate neighbor's garage. But they still sound unsettled. That roar sounds like they are not queen right. I worry. We really need a good supply of hive boxes on hand. In other words, if you are going to start a hive, double what you think you will need from the start. The next year, you might need to triple it and then you may have to find a good home for a new nuc.

Last night I was seeing bees swarming in my mind's eye as my migraine symptoms swirled in dark patterns in front of my closed eyes. The roar of the bees haunted me. The neighbor yelling at me put me into shock, my hands shaking as I waited for the bees to settle in the banker's box. It's not the bees that upset me so much, it's the humans I am afraid to deal with. I've walked on eggshells for too many years and it has traumatized me.

I had to walk to Broadway and Willow to rent crutches and a wheelchair for kinder, and then because it was such a nice day, I hooked the crutches in the chair and wheeled it home. We had wheelchair and crutches lessons in front of the house and tomorrow he will go back to school. I am in intense grant-writing angst just because I am waiting for information from other people. Oh well, that's what deadlines are for. Wait for the roar to settle, and if you believe it will settle then it will.

Our Solar Pet

The sun warmed up the back porch in the afternoon. P. has a solar-powered art piece on a table that wakes up every time the sun hits it. It's the closest thing we have to a pet, other than she who shall not be named. The sonic fungus ticks and whirrs while I clear our carpentry table and knock together a hive frame. (You buy the parts and then use tiny nails to assemble them.)

We made stepping stones with the grade 3's yesterday. I was trying to get them to identify vegetables in the garden. I showed them one row of plants and said " I'll give you a hint. It starts with an "l" and ends in "eeks". One little girl raises her hand and says "Umm, lambchops?"

Deep cravings for comfort food, so I made chicken wings. One batch had honey mustard and garlic sauce and one had soya sauce and honey. Then I made another pan of blondies, with pecans this time. We opened a bottled of port. The three of us sat around the table eating over half the pan, and I tried to tell the story of the men who worked in the Carlsberg beer factory who have just walked off the job because they can no longer have three free bottles of beer a day on the job which could they drink at any time. It's down to one bottle which they can only drink at lunch. Kinder loved the story. It all ended in belly laughs.

Twenty Five Knots

Woken by a blast of wind from the west aimed straight at my windows at 2:30 a.m. I thought of A. who loves to be awake during major weather events. I looked out the windows to the north and the pine trees across the street were being stretched beyond belief. "Must be at least 25 or 35 knots," P. muttered before he dropped off back to sleep. I rushed down to check the hive and was relieved to see it was intact. Still, I worry. The bees must have had a hell of a night. Dreamt about ordering people to weave basket bottoms in bright colors. I woke again when hail pelted the windows. What the hell. Noticed the wind shifted to the northwest.

I started thinking about the controversial mural at one of the Vancouver fire halls. It features the Grim Reaper bandishing syringe in place of a scythe with the text: "He hasn't got me yet!" Ouch. It has a reference to the DTES as "skid row." Deemed offensive, the mural was covered over during the Olympics and there was an order to remove it but it has since been uncovered and not removed. I don't know. Those men and women probably use an even darker form of humour to cope with their gruesome and stressful jobs. If the image was in a different context, like a comic, it might be viewed as clever and arty. As a mural in a fire halls seen as a bad representation of the attitudes within the firestations. There's a point there too. If I fell and bumped my head, I'd feel like I'd get much better ER treatment in just about any other part of the city than in the DTES. (Just sayin'.) Murals are problematic aren't they? They often become outdated and hard on the eyes after awhile. Okay, as a rule, I pretty much hate them.

As for skid row, parts of the DTES certainly fit that description. Would those back alleys smell any sweeter by a different name? In fact, maybe we should start naming certain streets and alleys skid row 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and so on. Maybe then something would be done.

Back to sleep, then awake to an icy cold room because the pilot light has gone off. My beloved won't get out from under the warm comforter. Off to get the healer to work on my aching spine.

Beekeeping is Multi-Tasking

We've had some crap weather lately and it's made me worry about the bees. Any time the wind calms down and the rain stops they are foraging like crazy, but I don't want them to go hungry. This afternoon as I went to clip some chard in the back yard for dinner I saw the bees were flying about. Even though I was in the middle of preparing supper I quickly mixed up a batch of sugar water and defrosted a pollen patty from the freezer by putting it on top of the warm stove. There I was, stirring the pasta sauce in my beekeeping suit. Oh la la. As soon as the sugar dissolved and the patty was room temperature I opened the hive and fed the ladies in record time. I noticed that they are running out of room, which is a good sign. Tomorrow we'd better get out there and put on more frames.

Kinder is hopping around today. At least I don't have to carry him to the bathroom. He's getting too heavy for that. He was also in a much better mood today. Yesterday he was moaning and whining, declaring "I'll never be able to walk again in my life!" What a drama queen. We'll have to look into getting him some crutches for a couple of days.

I have an Easter hangover. Too much chocolate and wine and then there's the sugar withdrawal too. Sigh. So I made two pans of blondies with white chocolate chips. I made one pan with cashews and the other with hazelnuts. This would be a good recipe to make with young children as it's about as basic as baking gets. It also satisfies my chocolate chip cookie craving when I can't eat migraine-inducing chocolate. I think the chewy hazelnut version, made with the nuts crushed into halves is my favorite.

The Bunny with the Shiny Eyes

I hopped down to the Baker's Market on Saturday looking for Easter novelties. This little bunny is filled with chocolate caramel sauce. Pop it in the oven for a few minutes until it looks like it's about to cry and then you know filling is melted it's ready to be gobbled up.

There were Belgian waffles and vegan cupcakes, decadent blondies and cookies of all kinds. I filled up a bag and slipped in a few treats for myself before heading to Thomas Haas to get a few chocolate eggs. I have such great memories of waking up to find Easter treats that I had to do the same for kinder.

We headed to the in-laws for baked ham and deviled eggs. I think the eggs were a low-calorie version this year. They seemed to contain distinctly less mayonnaise. Hmmm. I think I'll have to make some this week to really get past that craving I was building up for them.

The trilliums are blooming, but the weather is still overcast, chilly and just plain gloomy. When we've been in Europe the shops pull out all the stops for Easter, but this year I found the displays here really sad and you were lucky if you found a broken moldy rabbit for 50 percent off tucked in some bargain table in a sad corner.

Who would think I'd complain about the lack of capitalistic excess? A few colored eggs is all I ask for! Enduring symbols of rebirth and income tax season being almost over.

We don't eat ham much, so once a year is enough for me. We were given some to take home with us so today I made a post-Easter soup with beet roots and greens, split peas and ham.

Today the kinder had to stay in bed because just as we were heading home last night he twisted his foot. Ach du lieber. One minute P's sister is creaming us at Scrabble and the next, Ules is screaming in pain.

I didn't want to leave him alone in the house today while I went to get groceries so we had the hearty soup and Thai take-out for dinner. A strange combination, but when you're a hungry bunny, it tastes good.