I have a new folder on my computer. "Bees."They arrived in early Spring. I figure they liked Duke Ellington.
Before you raise your I-love-bees-brow, know that I'm a big fan, albeit the bees we make honey with are European imports. I just didn’t want them close enough to leave their clothes on the bedroom floor.
I had no intention of some sort of mass extermination. I asked Beeguy at work. He's also an Indonesian teacher, the vicar of some sort of Orthodox Church, and a gentleman to boot. But that's another story. Beeguy keeps bees, and sells good-sized containers of excellent honey for 10 bucks.
Beeguy said there are people who will remove the hives for nothing - apiarists.
Beeguy also said they tended to be a bit fussy. They wouldn't usually remove hives from difficult places. They might have to be poisoned. He said that with the calm of a man who believes in bee heaven.
The Whole Sick Crew (I figured the guests needed a literary handle) were obviously hunkering down for a nuclear winter. Two floors up, in a void over the stairwell. Entry via gaps in the eaves above the porch, their own private Leederville making-babies-with-the-big-girl pad. Absolutely no easy access to humans. No hatch on the inside, and a really long ladder above the ground. The tin roof slopes up at about 45 degrees for about a metre to the wall of the room above.
I would have kept them if coffee plants weren't self-pollinating.
Problem is, that small void is open to the BIG void above my bedroom (there's a joke in there somewhere) and that would give them space enough to make a 1:2 scale replica of Elizabeth Quay in wax, replete with river of honey.
I've lived in this house-on-its-side for 15 years. There's a park the size of the Amazon but with more trees 40 metres to my left. My view is modern grunge. Why now? I even avoided playing Ellington (except the Indigos, of course).
I found Beeman. Unlike Beeguy, Beeman is not an amateur enthusiast. He's a Belgian.
Beeman removes hives. He has a website and a phone number. He calls you back. He charges $200 for a normal job...
His highly-trained assistant, Hector the Ladder Rat arrived within the hour. He had EQUIPMENT.
We discussed the location. He looked up. "Won't need to remove the hive. We'll spray them. Won't kill them, just make them move on." He started donning EQUIPMENT, and banished me inside. There was obviously magic business going on. He knocked on the door 10 minutes later. "I got 'em". Ah, good man, Hector.
Except he didn't. There were a few dead bees on the ground, and the odd Bedouin heading North, but otherwise, I had no way to tell.
They were there the next day, in a neat holding pattern as they waited their turn to land. Ah, but Beeman guarantees his work.
Hector came back. I'll give it another go," he said. "Otherwise I'll have to hire a bigger ladder and take sheets off the roof."
We went through the go-inside-lest-you-see-I'm-dousing-The-Whole-Sick-Crew-with-soapy-water duet, and I snuck out though the pagola and looked through the gate. He was at the top of the ladder, pumping his sprayer. Then the Battle of Helm's Deep was re-enacted only better. A vast host streamed out wielding war clubs, then took off en masse, casting a shadow over whole suburbs.” Fly, my pretties. Fly.”
They came back. Took a few days, but gradually the bee-traffic got back to normal. Like cars coming off the Narrows.
I resolved to call Beeman first thing the next morning, so I got back to him three months later.
This time Beeman came. Hector "wasn't doing a good job" he told me. Shame. I liked the Ladder Rat. Beeman threw his hands in the air when he saw the situation. Couldn't be done. No access. Too dangerous. No chance. I told him we could cut a personhole in the plasterboard. (I actually said “manhole”, but I find it potentially vulgar when written down.)
"Yes, but that would be very difficult. Expensive."
"How much, Beeman?"
"$700 less what you paid before."
He cut the hole. This involved, of course, protective EQUIPMENT and me being banished due to magic soapy water. I supplied most of the tools. He took the hive away, leaving me with the suggestion I seal the gaps in the eaves pretty quickly. I also learnt that removing hives, it seems, is never neat. Some bees die. I gave them a quick salute before vacuuming up the collateral damage. "One last flight down the tube, guys."
I now have a large hole in the ceiling above the landing. I got enough of the honeycomb for a kilo and a half of excellent honey. The Whole Sick Crew took their show on the road.Except they didn't. Beeman took the hive in the daytime. Some bees came home to an empty bedroom that evening. They were still there this morning. At that point I Googled bee poisons...