Ed Colby
As I write this in March, Kyiv is under siege. Mariupol has been flattened, 90 percent of its buildings destroyed, as Vladimir Putin pursues his war on civilization. Yet to this point outgunned Ukraine has outsmarted, outmaneuvered and outfought the mighty Russian army, bringing its barbaric invasion to a standstill.
The Ukrainians possess a weapon that Russia cannot manufacture. They have heart.
The war hit the gal Marilyn and me like a gut punch. Marilyn and I attended the Apimondia international bee conference in Kyiv in 2013, at the invitation of beekeeper and former Ukrainian President Victor Yushchenko and his wife Katya. They put us up, and they put up with us.
You remember Yushchenko – the West-leaning 2004 presidential candidate who survived poisoning by dioxin – a highly toxic substance found in the Vietnam War defoliant Agent Orange. The dioxin initiated a chemical condition called chloracne, causing Yushchenko’s face and body to erupt in cysts and pustules.
This while he campaigned against Russian-backed Viktor Yanukovych. (Pay attention! These two names are so similar!) Yanukovych was initially declared the winner, despite every exit poll to the contrary. The Ukrainians weren’t having any of it and poured into the streets in protest. Their supreme court ultimately ordered a re-vote that Yushchenko won.
The 2004 loser Yanukovych succeeded Yushchenko as president from 2010 until 2014, when he (Yanukovych) fled the country following pro-western demonstrations that toppled his government. But that’s another story. He lives in Russia today. Good place for him.
At the time of our visit, President Yushchenko kept 300 colonies of bees and called them “God’s favorite insects.” He explained that beekeeping is a fundamental part of traditional Ukrainian culture. Mr. President informed me that 10 percent of his country’s 45 million citizens kept bees. He and I had a lot to talk about.
All this being a way of saying that Marilyn and I developed a warm attachment to Ukraine and to the Ukrainian people. They got a taste of freedom after the collapse of the Iron Curtain. Now they’re defending their liberty and their homeland against one of the most formidable armies on Earth.
So you think you have it tough? Count your blessings.
My bees so far look pretty good, as we emerge from a relatively cold Winter. My growers 65 miles down the road in Palisade want bees for apricot pollination on or about April 1. It’s warmer and a thousand feet lower down there.
In our Colorado climate, winter bees can generally re-situate their cluster inside the hive, so as to stay in contact with their honey stores. A warm spell now and then helps. But if they stay cooped up long enough in cold weather, they can devour all the honey within and immediately surrounding their cluster and ultimately starve, even if there’s more honey mere inches away. If it’s too cold, the little darlings can’t get to it.
I opened my colonies a month ago and fed a few dry sugar. I just take a peek under the inner cover. That’s where the bees generally are. If I see stored honey, I call it good. If not, I put a sheet of newspaper on top of the bees, spritz it from a spray bottle of water and dump dry sugar on top of that. Then I spritz the top of the pile of sugar and close ‘er up.
Long ago Paul told me he prefers to work Winter bees cold, and he’s my guru. I rarely light a smoker. Just pop the top and get ‘er done! Work fast and don’t fuss. At least that’s the way I do it.
But maybe there’s such a thing as too cold. Lately it’s been challenging to arrange clearance to get through the locked gates on the private road to my billionaire’s bees. I finally got an appointment to get in to feed one colony the other day. I gave it dry sugar nearly a month ago. Then I re-checked the forecast. It was mid-20s in the afternoon (no problem) but followed by an overnight low of -8 with a wind chill of -20! In March! I postponed my plans at the last minute when I saw that overnight forecast. So despite what I just told you, I decided not to work ‘em cold, at least not that day. My guess is that I could have gotten away with it, but I was reluctant to open the hive just prior to such an extremely cold night. I can’t give you a scientific reason, but my gut told me not to do it. I’m a risk taker, because that’s how you learn. But these aren’t my bees. Now if the overnight forecast that night had been for eight degrees above zero with no wind chill, instead of minus eight with a wind chill on top of that, I’d go for it.
Gentle reader, in beekeeping, timing is everything. We do what we need to do, when we need to do it. I have no interest in killing bees by chilling bees, but I also can’t let them starve. It’s a balancing act, keeping God’s favorite insects alive.
Now back to Ukraine, land of many beekeepers. It’s one thing to feel disheartened, quite another to take action. A quick Internet search on Ukraine humanitarian aid would give you plenty of choices for how you could make a difference. Katya Yushchenko recommends UnitewithUkraine.com. And it never hurts to say a little prayer.
Thank you! May God bless Ukraine
