We now have bees

The hive arrives

So now we are hosts to a bee hive and, apart from knowing I am allergic to bee stings, there is very little else I know about them. Fortunately, the hive belongs to Mana and Michelle, and most of my observing is (and will continue to be) done from a distance.

The nucleus hive arrived just before dusk and we chose a place where it would get the sun, but would also be protected from high winds. Mana and Michelle donned their white overalls and masks and carried the box across to tie it down on a pallet. The tape across the entrance was removed and immediately a number bees emerged to observe and report back to their fellows that they were in a new location.

The bees take their first look around

For the next week I observed from a distance. Using a pair of binoculars, I could see movement, but Kay (whose father kept bees for many years) went closer and reported back that she had seen a dead bee being thrown out of the hive. A number of bees were out scouting, but most of them stayed indoors. We closely scrutinised every plant that was in flower to see whether the bees were working. All we found was another dead bee caught up in a spider’s web down by the wetland.

Then we had several days of cold, overcast weather with high winds, so there was nothing to observe. Then came a gloriously sunny morning and the bees were out to work.

Currently, I have several books on bees and beekeeping borrowed from the library. It’s another world!

 

Two ends to the day

Morning sky and crescent moon

In spite of it being mid-summer, we had nine days in succession when the days dawned through mist, and most of them were dominated by cool, boisterous easterly winds. It was a pleasure to wake with the obvious promise of a proper sunrise.

The warm glow intensified on the horizon, silhouetting the trees on the hills, while in the sky above the stars faded, leaving only a crescent moon. It was worth getting out of bed and setting up the camera

It was a Saturday and we had planned to drive out to Kaiangaroa, to have a meeting with Mana Cracknell and to spend the evening at the sports club and enjoy the seafood smorgasbord. There were a few chores to complete, a trip into Waitangi to refuel the wagon, and a lunch to pack. Kaiangaroa is quite a long way in Chatham island terms, so we also packed up a tarpaulin, two squabs and a duvet, in case we didn’t feel like driving home that night. There are several good places to camp if needed.

Lunch was at the Ocean Mail reserve where the Department of Conservation has built a substantial day shelter and toilet facilities. It’s a popular place to picnic, and since the sheep were removed from the area some years ago the regrowth of trees and the replanting of others has changed the landscape. On the other side of the road the reserve includes a boardwalk through the wetland, but the shelter is built alongside the beach. It’s a view that would cost millions anywhere else.

Mana and I had a number of aspects of history to discuss, one in particular being the lay line against a star group that guided canoes to the island from the Mahia Peninsula centuries ago. I first learned of this lay line when I stayed for several days on the marae at Mahia with a fisheries group.

But Mana and Michelle are ardent beekeepers and have about 50 hives located across the island. That led to an earnest discussion on the role of bees in pollinating the native species of trees and the boost a hive would give to my plantings. Yes, they would put one of their hives on my section.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Kay watching the coastline as the tide changed and the incoming waves recovered the inshore rock pools. There was quite a good swell beyond the breaking waves and, as the pools filled and the rocks were covered, it brought a surging surf on to the beach.

As the evening approached the fishing boats began to return to the wharf and unload their catches of crayfish, cod and groper. One fisherman had taken the day off and had spent the time with his two young sons, the youngest of whom indignantly protested his ability to land the big groper he was claiming as his own.

The seafood dinner was all that one could wish for. The club puts the dinner on for the tourists as a fundraising effort, and the contributing cooks vie for recognition of their prowess. My pick of the evening was, of all things, a minced paua (abalone) lasagne. There was also an exceptional fish pie and a crayfish curry.

The centrepiece was a huge crayfish surrounded by portions of tail meat. There was plenty for all, but it was interesting to watch one or two of the tourists whose eyes were obviously bigger than their appetites and piled their plates unreasonably high.

Crayfish delight

We enjoyed it immensely.

Our intentions of camping for the night changed with the unexpected gift of a couple of large blue cod and we set off for home as the sun was setting just after 9 pm. The first few miles had the sun direct into our eyes, and then as we came back through the familiar surroundings of the Ocean Mail reserve I stopped and took another photograph as the last of the sun sank below the horizon.

There were two ends to the day and we had enjoyed them both, and all that lay between.

Evening sky

 

Would-be woodman in the woodlot

the end result

An old island identity, David Holmes, was fond of a particular saying: “He who cuts wood is warmed three times.” In my experience it is more like four or five times, before the final comfort by the fireside.

Eight years ago I planted a woodlot of eucalypts to provide a independent and sustainable source of firewood for my woodstove. Even though my cousin has a considerable number of large gorse bushes that give a clean and hot fire, I was intrigued by an article I had read on the growing of coppices.

Part of the woodlot

The tree is planted and then harvested leaving a stump from which new shoots arise and can be harvested again in six or seven years. In the meantime, the trees provide valuable shelter. I chose two species of eucalypt. Both have grown well, but the better of the two has been Eucalyptus nitens. It has produced good straight stems with few lower branches.

I have now cut down my first tree and in its eight years it achieved a height of about seven metres and a stump diameter of about 400 millimetres. Cut into stove-sized lengths it has been stacked to dry for several months before I split the blocks with an axe.

My new chainsaw cut through the tree like a knife through butter, and I kept remembering my father’s guidance when for the first time as a boy I helped him fell a tree.

Safety has to be paramount. There is nothing as dangerous as a falling tree, particularly if care has not been taken to direct its fall in the desired direction where it will do the least damage to other trees, and if a proper safety exit is not assured as it starts to fall.

I cut off a branch that was on the uphill side, and then cleared that area so that I could quickly get behind another tree.

The first cut was made on the downhill side about halfway into the trunk, and then another cut was made from above and down at an angle to meet the other. The wedge of wood fell out and I moved to the uphill side to start the final cut horizontally and above the opposing first cut. I cut a third of the way and paused. The tree shivered and the cut opened slightly. I cut a little deeper and heard a cracking sound. It was time to move back to safety. Slowly the tree moved and then toppled, to fall almost exactly where I wanted. The only casualties were a couple of flax bushes that will soon recover.

tidied up, we wait for the regrowth

The fallen tree was soon trimmed and cut into blocks, but the tidying up of the branches and carting the wood up to the house took another two mornings. I felt quite pleased with myself when I looked at the final result.

 

draped like soft lace

caught on a misty morning (click for detail)

The red spider’s web reminded us of a previous occasion we had admired the nocturnal creation of an arachnid.

There have probably been several generations of spiders involved, but the web has always been woven in the same place on our northern deck, stretched from one of the roof supports to the edge of the side railing. It is a place that is subject to wind gusts that can instantly destroy the web, but it is also an area where fantails chase insects and welcome swallows swoop in for a quick bite.

The Moriori called the island Rekohu — a place of misty skies— and it is on such mornings that a new spider’s web glistens in the early light. It was draped like soft lace, but its creator waited patiently at its centre.

 

a seat to enjoy

As it was in the beginning. . .

It now seems like years ago (it probably is) when I gathered truckloads of broken schist rocks from the quarry and brought them back to build walls alongside the path to the front deck. It was hard work and I know I could not lift some of those rocks today.

There was one part of the bank where I needed to put in a retaining wall to stop the clay slumping on to the path. A couple of posts concreted into place and backed with some half-round timbers fitted my need. Then I stood back and saw how easy it would be to make a seat on which Kay and I could sit and watch the light fade over the bay.

It was a pretty barren hillside at that time. In the process of removing the gorse, a lot of topsoil was scraped away and the new plants did not like the raw clay and peat.

a mellow seclusion

Now the trees have grown and the view of the bay is lost (unless I mutilate a large pohutukawa, which I have no intention of so doing) but it has become a very sheltered place to enjoy an evening drink and let the winds pass overhead.

It was from this seat that Kay spotted the red spider’s web.

 

Web site of a different kind

click on this for greater detail

Nature can play some strange tricks.

The other evening, while we were enjoying an ‘end of day’ drink, Kay noticed we had a scarlet spider’s web stretched across two branches of a pohutukawa tree. It warranted getting the camera.

This is the second year we have been visited by tuis. Last year a couple of them tore most of the flowers off the kowhai trees, seeking their nectar. This year we have had up to three pairs, making a morning and evening foray across the flax flowers in the wetland, squabbling vigorously in the ribbonwoods and having a ball in the pohutukawa (which, if you are not familiar with, is the native New Zealand Christmas tree). The tui have a fascination with the brilliant red stamens and the red pollen in the masses of flowers.

Pohutukawa in bloom

The poor spider, having worked so hard to spin her web and make it near invisible to passing insects, found it liberally coated with pollen and fallen stamens.

Next morning we went out to inspect the web again. It was no longer red. The spider had spent the night eating the old one and a brand new creation stretched across the same two branches. There was a reward — the web contained a large, fat cicada that the spider was addressing in earnest.