Life at Sledding Hill

Broke another tiller blade, eh?

The Bear River area is somewhat infamous for this mineral abundance. Our tractor dealer up the valley in Middleton, frequently greets us with “how’s life down on the rocks?”  We’ve also heard the answer “rocks” given to a question about the most common crops grown in our area.

We suspect that back when the Western Land Grants were being offered to encourage settlement in the Prairies, farmers in this part of Nova Scotia likely signed up in droves.  We imagine the conversations went something like this.

Oxen were indispensable rock management solutions

Government: If you move to Saskatchewan, you can have 1000 acres of flat, rock-free, fertile soil and more sunshine than anywhere else in Canada. Of course, we need to mention that it’s minus 40 in the winter and the black flies in summer can be the size of pterodactyls.

Farmer: You had me at rock-free. Where do I sign?

Government: Right here.

Farmer: Done. (pause) What’s a pterodactyl?

There's a rock wall under there.

Flash forward 142 years, and here we are, novice homesteaders trying to revive agriculture in a region that previous generations abandoned for land that was easier to cultivate.  And we find ourselves, much like earlier generations did, pondering the best way to turn this curse to our advantage, or at least into less of a curse.

Idea 1: Rock walls.  We’ve been using them in the landscape to define borders.  While earlier occupants of Sledding Hill probably didn’t have much use or time for ornamental landscaping, they certainly had a use for walls, and we do find the remnants of old stone walls occasionally while clearing new areas.

Rustic stone bench

Idea 2: Ground stabilization.  Since we have dug our irrigation ponds, we have found that it doesn’t take nature very long to start filling them back in.  Cattails intrude, rot, and gradually shrink the pond.  Heavy rains erode banks.  We’ve taken to laying landscape fabric on some of the more vulnerable banks and covering them with rocks to prevent erosion and vex unwanted vegetation.

Idea 3: Foundations and platforms.  While the early settlers used the massive stones here for house foundations, the largest heaved into place by teams of oxen, we use them for more ornamental purposes.

Idea 4: Pure decorative landscaping.  This use we brought with us from the West.

Huge granite slabs cap the stone foundation of our house

In a previous life designing urban residential landscapes, I used to take clients to a rock yard, where we would select boulders much like those plaguing Bear River.  The client would pay as much as $0.40/lb. for 3-6 ton boulders, plus $1500 to have them delivered and sensitively placed in their landscape.  In some cases, streets needed to be blocked to have boulders craned over homes into backyards.  Think permits, insurance, etc.  The cost could get quite ridiculous.   Here, people push them over cliffs or bury them to create a smooth lawn surface.

Cheers! (cranberry lavender cocktail)

Our decision to start placing boulders on our front lawn and re-cast these nuisances as features has prompted a head shake or two from a few neighbours.  But, once our plantings begin to mature and more of our hardscaping is completed, we think our intent will be clearer.  Maybe it will start a trend.

We’re learning to love being on the rocks.  It’s just another unique aspect of life here at Sledding Hill.  We’re coining the new saying.  “When life gives you rocks, you’re probably in Bear River.”

Cheers!

Beauty after a snowfall

As someone who grew up with comparatively subtle weather cycles, the degree to which having four distinct seasons directs and enriches life here continues to be a source of fascination for me.

I’ve mentioned before that winter is my favourite season in Bear River because of its beauty, the slowed pace, the visibility of wildlife, and the cozy comforts of our overachieving wood furnace, especially when a Nor’easter is giving our old house a serious workout.  This past winter was a bit of a letdown in that regard… not that I’m complaining.  A mild winter is easy on our heating budget, our perennial crops, and our new landscape additions.  But, it does have us looking to spring with perhaps higher expectations this year for that ‘shock and awe’ seasonal impact.

Spring began and ended in May of 2010

That’s a pretty big burden to place on a season that many people here think of as the transition from Mud season to Bug season.  To be honest, our last two springs here haven’t quite delivered that feeling of exhilaration and renewal you might expect after snowy winters.  They were on the cold and windy side with multiple freeze-thaw cycles that were very hard on plants. And instead of refreshing spring showers, we had some landscape scouring North-Atlantic gales. The first trees to venture into bloom/bud around our property under those hostile conditions were those with brick red flowers and bronze new foliage.  Tennis clap for the red team – much better than gray twigs — and probably stunning if their green-leafed neighbours hadn’t missed their cue. But brick red alone just didn’t convey that refreshing spring vibe.  Bulbs, too, were slow to emerge.  Instead of the gradual, well-orchestrated progression from crocus in February to tulips in May, everything waited until May to come up in a storm and frost ravaged cacophony.  And by then, we were already well into Bug season.

Starting salad greens in the greenhouse helps combat a slow spring arrival.

But so far, this year looks very different.  With the pond ice already gone, we see cattails and bulrushes sending up new growth.  A stroll around the ponds yesterday revealed beefy bullfrog pollywogs, giant diving beetles, dragonfly nymphs, and goldfish all coming out of their winter torpors and sunning themselves at the surface.  Green as well as bronze new growth is just beginning to appear on the trees around our property and the earlier season bulbs are making their appearance on cue.  So far, there has been minimal mud or bugs.  And as I type this, I just heard the thunder of what appears to be a respectable, yet mild-mannered spring shower, sans flying debris and ice needles!

Of course, spring isn’t officially here yet.  That will happen when the Spring Peepers announce its arrival.  For those in the West, Spring Peepers are tiny tree frogs – less than an inch long – that have very big voices.  As soon as the ice retreats from pond edges, even when it is still quite cold, these little frogs re-animate (some partially freeze over winter) and head from woods and thickets to marshes and ponds where they begin calling for mates.  It starts as just one or two in the evening but, over a week or two, grows to hundreds and hundreds of voices.  To live in proximity to a Peeper breeding area as we do, is a real treat.  The sound is LOUD and wonderfully hypnotic.  Last year, the Peepers didn’t make their entrance until mid-April.  But the way things are looking this year, we may be hearing from them this week.  We can’t wait!  Here’s an audio link of what the sound is like.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SM6leUVorY

Long time, no blog! 

One of our lavender products, which later won an award.

2011 was a surprisingly eventful year for us at Sledding Hill.  It began with the commercial launch of our lavender condiments and a whirlwind of production, sales, and marketing activities that swept us up.  This continued through the farmers’ market season where we maintained a presence at a minimum of 2 markets every week, while putting well over 20,000km on our car, making sales calls, training and monitoring production, and buying equipment and supplies.  We even participated in a trade mission to Barbados hosted by provincial and federal agencies; and although this might sound like a vacation, believe me, it wasn’t.  The walking pneumonia I returned home with in June was a testament to the crazy pace.  Needless to say, blogging dropped off our priority list.

Gord (not Martin) painting the roof trim of the lower roof peak. Notice his lack of falling... show off!

Throughout the summer, we often commented to each other that we felt we were on a runaway treadmill and longed for the Fall (Autumn) when we hoped the pace would slow. 

Well, the Fall came, and the pace did slow, but not in the way we would have hoped.

October was a cruel month, punctuated with news and events that were alternately devastating and exhilarating.  One week we would literally be facing the end of the business, the next we were on top of the world. This rollercoaster pattern continued to repeat until October 27, 2011 when it derailed with a resounding crash.

Morphine, good.

While I was painting the highest point of our roof trim (Gord had done 90% of the trim already), the inadequately-secured platform/ladder configuration of our own inferior design, collapsed.  The foot of the ladder I was standing on lost its purchase and kicked out away from the house.  I rode it to the ground, 20 ft. below and landed flat, face-down on top of it.  I remember thinking, “huh?” and “oh —-!”  followed by a skeleton-rattling BAM!

Miraculously, I not only survived, but was able to walk, with assistance, to the paramedics’ gurney, calmly thanking people who had come to help, assuring them I was going to be fine, and casually accepting the paramedics’ offer of morphine after I got a glimpse of one misshapen forearm.

Knife and fork food for someone with two broken arms. Seriously?

Two days and one surgery later, I was home with BOTH arms in casts.  Diagnosis: two broken arms above the wrist and lots of deep painful bruising. Prognosis: full recovery with no lasting effects. 

So. Very. Lucky.   Breaking both arms is inconvenient to say the least, but it could have been much, much worse.

It’s been 2 and 1/2 months since the accident. The casts are off, the bones are set, the pins holding them together have been removed, and I’m typing this — well on the way to realizing that prognosis.  Our business hasn’t stopped, nor has the rollercoaster of achievements and failures.  But, the realization that Life at Sledding Hill could have taken a much more permanent turn for the worse last October has us counting our blessings and keeping everything in perspective as we fall forward into 2012.

Our resolutions for 2012? Be grateful, stay off of ladders, and turn a profit. 

Happy New Year!

It has been some time since our last post.  It seems that launching our lavender products to the universe started a series of events in motion, and we’ve been scrambling to keep up with all of them.

This is the beginning of the travel season.  Visitors and seasonal residents are starting to arrive in Nova Scotia, and many of our retail customers are extending their hours and stocking their shelves.  So, orders have been coming in, testing our production procedures and ability to meet demand.  A lot of unexpected press has helped fuel some of the demand.  All good stuff…  but challenging nevertheless.

Gord with our first commercial orders, packed and ready to deliver.

We’re also prepping fields for 800 new lavender plants.  We need to amend our soil with lime and grit for drainage.  We’ve been sourcing that and lining up equipment. 

Our greenhouse is in full swing now and needs daily attention.  Regular farmers’ markets start up this month, so we are gearing up for those. We’re also preparing for a trade mission to the Caribbean next month.  Throw in income taxes, car repairs, yard work, home repairs, and computer failures and you’ll understand why we haven’t been able to blog lately.

But, just the other day, one of life’s miracles stopped us cold for a moment.  Our neighbor’s hen hatched three of our hens’ eggs. 

Here’s the background.  Our neighbor has a number of bantam (miniature) hens that have a tendency to go broody.  Broodiness is a hormonal change in a hen that makes her switch from egg laying mode to hatching something mode.  She will stop laying and obsessively sit on a nest – even if there are no eggs in it.  Some hens can starve to death waiting for something to hatch.  Rather than trying to snap her hen out of it, our neighbor decided to let it hatch out some chicks, but she didn’t want any more bantam chickens.  As none of our full-sized hens have shown signs of broodiness, we gave her 3 of their eggs.  Her little hen adopted the strange oversized eggs immediately.

Peeps 1 and 2 just starting to explore while peep 3 hatches

20 days later and voila! Out popped 3 little, mottled peeps.  Clearly these were not the hen’s offspring, but she fell madly in love with them just the same.  It is so remarkable to see how, within 24 hours, these peeps are out exploring and able to feed themselves, but race back to hide under Momma at her first cluck of warning.

Chicken eggs are fascinating.  They’re little animal seeds.  They stay viable for quite some time at room temperature after they are laid, just waiting for the right conditions to occur before they start developing.  When the peeps hatch, they don’t need food or water for 24-48 hours.  They just live on the remaining yolk in their bodies. This allows the mother to continue on the nest, incubating un-hatched siblings.  Once the babies start to explore though, momma has to get up to keep tabs on them and the broodiness spell is broken.

It’s so beautiful to see nature flawlessly at work.  Moments like these put everything back in perspective.

Bernard or one of his ladies visits us daily

Adjusting to life in rural Nova Scotia has been full of surprises, particularly when it has involved interacting with the local wildlife. During our time in Vancouver, our exposure to wild creatures was limited to just a few species, unless we went out of our way to drive to the Reifel Migratory Bird Sanctuary. At home, waking up to the sound of Crows, Pigeons, Starlings, or Seagulls was all we could expect to experience. As far as mammals were concerned, the only creatures around were the occasional Raccoon or Squirrel appearing on our deck, or smelling “eau de skunk” whenever one would trundle through the night on the lawn in front of the condo.

One would expect a bit more wildlife in a rural location but the contrast is proving to be remarkable. Yes, we are still visited by crows, starlings, pigeons and the odd seagull or two, but now we count many more unusual birds as regular visitors. Since moving to Bear River, we see Ring Necked Pheasants in our yard each day. They have become such a common sight in the neighbourhood that we now watch for ‘Bernard’ or ‘Bernadette’ to stop in and scour the lawn below the bird feeders or simply to cross our fields.

Red Bellied Woodpecker feeds as the Evening Grosbeak keeps watch

The list of regular visitors to the old apple tree is growing longer each year. During the winter of 2009/10 we were visited by just the usual fare: Black Capped Chickadees, Dark Eyed Juncos, Blue Jays, White Breasted Nuthatches, and American Goldfinches. This past winter has added quite a few more birds to the list. We now routinely see Evening Grosbeaks, Common Grackles, Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers, Mourning Doves, along with a stunning pair of Northern Cardinals and a less common Red Bellied Woodpecker.

Last spring and summer brought an even wider variety of animals to the yard, especially since we put in the ponds. In spite of the excavation, we were serenaded by Spring Peepers, and several other species of frog. The water also attracted more than a few odd visits. One morning we awoke to the splashes of a full grown Cormorant hunting for some of the goldfish in the lower pond. Since then we have seen Belted Kingfishers, several kinds of Swallow, a Wood Duck, a Hooded Merganser, a Green Heron and even a porcupine at the water.

Some of the potatoes we managed to grow

Not all of our wildlife experiences have been as pleasurable or benign as our interactions with the birds. Creatures both great and small are always looking for ways to take advantage of what we are doing here. While a Yellow Warbler sang sweetly in our apple tree last summer, a pair of Painted Turtles moved into the upper pond, and discovered the water lily that I had just planted there. One lily pad after another drifted away, as the reptiles had their snack. All this took place while our potato field was being silently ravaged by Colorado Potato Beetle. I tried to get ahead of them by manually picking off the critters but eventually gave up the battle. Surprisingly we still managed to scratch a few potatoes out of the ground, but far fewer than we had hoped for!

Hector lost his life in defence of the flock

Later in the year, as winter neared, a herd of white tail deer took to grazing our newly planted orchard. There is nothing sadder looking than deer pruned fruit trees. Shortly before Christmas, a Red Fox tried to make off with our chickens. Hector, one of our roosters, gave his life in defense of the flock, though the fox was unable to carry him off. We also have been told to be on the lookout for Coyotes, Mink and possibly Black Bear, though we have yet to spot any of them.

A Virginia Ctenucha Moth visiting our Black Currants

There have certainly been ups and downs in our experiences with Nova Scotian wildlife, but all in all, we are thankful that we are able to interact with these creatures each day. Bald Eagles and several species of Hawk or falcon are frequently sighted overhead, (much to the alarm of our flock of chickens). Between watching Ruby Throated Hummingbirds squabbling over finders rights to our flowers, or doing our best to get a step ahead of the local deer population, our lives are enriched in the process The list is only bound to grow.

Our well with house in the background doubles as a great cocktail table

On our property, we are both blessed and cursed with an abundance of water.  It literally seeps up out of the ground year round in various places all over our hill.  This carries a couple advantages from a rural living perspective. 

First of all, our well only needs to be about 6 ft. deep and is positioned high enough up our hill that its bottom is actually higher than the roof of our house.  This means we have good water pressure even if the power goes out and our water supply never runs low even though we share the well with another household. 

Just dig a hole and it fills with water!

Next, it means irrigation of gardens is a fairly easy problem to solve.  In our case, we simply had to dig two big holes in the ground and they became irrigation ponds in no time.  It turns out that just at the base of our hill is a clay deposit.  So, it was just a matter of hiring a large excavator for a couple days to clear two 8 foot deep depressions  in the clay.  A few days and one heavy rainstorm later they were full to overflowing.  Oops – had to call back the excavator to add extra culverts for drainage.  Not only do these ponds provide a convenient source of irrigation for our greenhouse and yard, they are a handy resevoir for firefighters in the event of a home or brush fire.  They also provide wonderful habitat for a variety of wildlife just outside our windows.  It’s our own private wetland.

Within a couple months after digging, plants and wildlife started colonizing.

We are very lucky.  One thing we didn’t know when we purchased the property is that just on the other side of our road – just 100 metres closer to the river – there is NO water near the surface.  Properties there need drilled wells 30 ft. or more and still experience water shortages.  It seems curious to us that we can have so much surface water on a hillside while houses closer to the river have to dig so deep.  The water must take a dive under rock just as it reaches our house.  We remarkably also have a relatively dry basement.

A creek on a neighboring property has changed course onto ours.

Of course, this blessing can also be a curse, particularly when it comes to planting the hillside.  The springs are migratory.  Frost heave and settling causes them to relocate on a regular basis.  This means an area that is well drained and ideal for planting one year, might be a bog the next.  For plants like lavender that can’t stand wet feet, this isn’t an acceptable situation.  In addition, heavy rains, on top of snow, on top of ground with a high water table can cause spontaneous creeks to form and existing creeks to change course, washing out prepared fields.

Right now, we’re comfortable planting our lavender in a couple of spots.  But, it’s pretty clear that in the future, we will need to lay drainage tile strategically in the hill to manage the flow of all this water regardless where it comes from or in what quantities.  Another project for the list!

liquid gold

Still, we are very grateful.  Having an abundance of fresh, clean, safe water direct from the ground without any treatment necessary is a luxury on this planet.  I am reminded of this every time I taste tap water that I get in city restaurants and it has a flavour.  Also, both Gord and I have lived in places where human pressure on limited fresh water supply has resulted in water rationing,  boil water advisories, or water that routinely has a noticeable color in the tub.  We are very fortunate to live on our seeping hill.

Rosemary now blooming in the greenhouse

Ever since we first set foot in Bear River, one lesson has been repetitively driven home. “It’s All In The Timing”.  Certainly our experiences with the tractor, the honeybees, and setting up the greenhouse and orchard have all echoed this sentiment. My latest lesson to bring this point home has revolved around growing perennials from seed.

I have to admit here that I’m a bit of a seedaholic. If I ever stumble across something that is a bit unusual or exotic, and it has a seed, chances are that I’ll buy it if only to see what comes up once planted. Out west I actually managed to germinate Loquats and Jackfruit from grocery store purchases, and now I have Lemon and Pomegranate seedlings set to move to the greenhouse.  Late last fall, I began to think that I should try growing some less readily available Lavender plants from seed. We could easily use the seedlings to boost our field planting, and any extra would help us save some money in landscaping the grounds.

Since I already had a packet of seed, and with the season winding down, I figured nothing ventured, nothing gained. The seeds were planted in flats with only one month to go before Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. I planned to start them in our spare bedroom, and keep them growing through late winter. By the time the sun rolled northward again, the plants ought to be a decent size, or so I thought.

Three Lavender seedlings still struggle

Well, it really is “all in the timing”. By applying a little bottom heat, over a hundred seedlings rocketed out of the ground, eager to find the sun. Unfortunately they had sprouted in the depth of winter. In spite of being placed in a south window, the tiny seedlings grew long and spindly in their search for light. If that weren’t enough, they were so fragile that most were lost to damping off. Seedling after seedling fell over in the prime of life, rotted off at the base, all this in spite of having been planted beneath a fine layer of sand. Yesterday (March 15th), I moved the five survivors to the greenhouse. Three of these have survived the move. I hope they live to see the light of June.

All the Arisaema seedlings are thriving

This first effort began in November, and everything looked promising through mid January. With that in mind, I started a new batch of seeds shortly after the new year. These were for an exciting and unusual species of “Jack In The Pulpit” (Arisaema consanguineum). These seedlings also rocketed out of the ground, but since their germination coincided with lengthening daylight, they are thriving where the Lavender seedlings failed. Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to start early. It really is all in the timing!

Our first lavender product -- Lavender Pepper

On Sunday August 15, 2010, Gord and I opened up a card table on the bank of the Bear River just behind The Flight of Fancy and arranged on it: a basket of cucumbers, several basil plants, and three  jars of a herb/spice blend that we called Lavender Pepper. It was our second appearance at the market, and we were hoping to test market this product in advance of future lavender crops. The lavender we used came from a certified organic source called Beach Lane (now Seafoam Lavender Farm) in Seafoam, NS.  We continue to buy from them. The spice jars came from Canadian Tire and had circular labels that we had printed with our home laser printer and had cut out by hand.  We placed a sample dish of the product out for people to smell.

We sold all three jars.

Each week we brought more items and each week we found additional customers.

The following week, we brought eight jars and sold them all.  The week after that, people came to our table asking for the lavender pepper they had heard about.  By that time we were offering lavender sugar as well as shortbread made with it.  These were a hit.  Customers began asking for other lavender products like lavender salt or jelly… and so it went.  Each week, our table had a few more items on it and each week, we found additional enthusiastic customers.  By September, we had been asked if we wanted to take over a spot at the Annapolis Royal Farmer’s Market that was being vacated for the remainder of the season on Saturdays.  That added a second market to our schedule. We started getting requests for credit card orders and shipping, so we built a web site for people to order online. We were so excited when one of our first web orders shipped to Nunavut!

Gift buying season taught us the importance of packaging.

In November, we were invited to sell at a special Tri-county Harvest Fair in Yarmouth.  The reception was overwhelming.  We love Yarmouth! Then came the Christmas Markets – gift buying season – and sales continued to be strong.  By this time, we had a variety of lavender products available: Pepper, Sea Salt, Sugar, Simple Syrup, Shortbread and Caramels.  Also around this time, we were being approached by area retailers offering to carry our products.  We were familiar with the regulations surrounding the direct sale of our food products.  But, wholesaling to retailers, we imagined, was a bigger deal.  We were right.

mmmm -- stuffed jalapenos (see recipe under "Notes" at facebook.com/sledding.hill.growers)

Fortunately, the NS Department of Agriculture was extremely helpful.  They visited our farm, sat down with us over a snack of stuffed jalapenos and tortilla chips, listened to our business goals, and laid out the steps we needed to take to get to the next level.  They later followed up with specific resources and contact information of various individuals in provincial and federal departments that we would need to connect with.  We are so grateful for this assistance.  Often times, simply finding out what the requirements are and getting straight answers to questions is the hardest part of working with government agencies.  Their assistance and encouragement is a big reason why we have been able to enter the food business as complete neophytes and get product to market so quickly.

In February, we were thrilled to learn we had been accepted into Taste of Nova Scotia in advance of our products being available for 3^rd party retail.  We regarded this as a real vote of confidence in our products, and we are proud to be members of this organization.  You can read the write up on the Bear River Board of Trade web site.

Two days ago, our labels came back from their Canadian Food Inspection Agency (CFIA) review with specific changes that needed to be made to conform with federal legislation.  These all revolved around wording and point size – easily addressed.  And so with that final hurdle crossed, our first 4 products will be sailing off the production line in approximately 2.5 weeks, ready to be stocked in retail stores anywhere in Canada.  Our first official order has already come in from Saltscapes Restaurant and General Store in Truro.  Yes, Saltscapes as in the magazine… they’re opening a store.

Our first products on shelves will be: Lavender Simple Syrup, Lavender Jelly in two sizes, Lavender Pepper (the very first Sledding Hill product), and Lavender Sugar.

Chili products are already in development

So, what’s next?  Well, we have additional lavender products, most notably the shortbread, that we need to ready for 3^rd party retail.  This involves locating a commercial kitchen or co-packer (production facility) in Nova Scotia that is set up to produce baked goods or candies.  The co-packer we are contracting with to produce the jelly, syrup, and dry goods is Terra Beata Foods, Ltd. in Lunenburg.  They are a great fit for most of our products, but they can’t produce our shortbreads because they maintain a gluten-free facility. We also have some chili products in development already that are getting rave reviews in taste tests.  We’ll be offering these at our market tables this summer.  We’ll also be looking into export possibilities.

The learning curve has been steep on so many levels and will continue to be as we grow.  But, now that we have been through the process once and laid the groundwork, we anticipate being able to release new products more quickly in the coming months and years… as long as people continue to buy them!

The sun may be bright, but it is still too cold for ladybugs out there.

I’ve lived in homes that variously had mice, cockroaches, silverfish, ants, termites, or even geckoes.  But, it wasn’t until I landed here in Nova Scotia that I discovered houses can be invested with ladybugs.  We have such a house.

Okay, ‘infested’ is an exaggeration, but as I write this, I would guess there are, on average, two ladybugs crawling in every one of our home’s 18 windows. Apparently, this is not uncommon in houses like ours.  Our foundation is made of stone with the occasional gap where old mortar has fallen away.  Our exterior basement access has a wooden hatch that is designed to keep out the rain but that’s about it.  Our basement floor is dirt and our wide plank (2”X12” or 2”X14”) floors that have been around since the 1840’s have gaps between them wide enough for a pencil to fall through in places.  So, it isn’t really a surprise that critters can find their way into the house.  The question I have is why ladybugs? and why now? Shouldn’t they be hibernating or dead or overwintering in a warmer climate or something?

We all want to hibernate at this time of year

Fortunately, Gord is a walking natural history encyclopedia and he has provided a reasonable explanation.  Hibernating is what they are trying to do.  The cracks in our home’s exterior seem like reasonable winter shelters to the ladybugs. They crawl in intending to enter a state of torpor and wait the winter through.  The problem is that they make it all the way into the basement where the temperature is not cold enough to trigger hibernation. So, they work their way upward toward warmth and light in search of food.  They end up frustrated against sunny windows where they eventually succumb to exhaustion, starvation, or the vacuum.  There’s not a lot we can do.  Putting them outside either kills them or starts the cycle again.  We’ve tried putting some in the greenhouse, but that’s not a sustainable activity given their numbers.

There are many places along the stone foundation that critters can squeeze into.

It’s sad. Ladybugs are the goodwill ambassadors of the insect world.  No matter how phobic people can be about insects, the ladybug is usually the one exception.  Who doesn’t like ladybugs?

Tightening up the house over time as budget permits will probably help reduce the number of insects that are trapped.  I suppose we should just be grateful they aren’t skunks.

Fear turns to respect after you've had some experience with bees

Our beekeeping generates a lot of interest.  It seems many people share our fascination with these insects, and we get a lot of inquiries from people who are thinking of getting bees of their own.  

Bees are remarkable, alien, and complex creatures.  A bee colony in many respects functions as a single organism with each individual serving as a multi-functional sensory device for the hive. 

Communication within the hive can take place very quickly, especially in the presence of danger.  Imagine being able to mobilize 30,000 soldiers in seconds to defend your home.  Bees can do that. 

Gord's reactions aren't as severe as mine

This prospect frightens a lot of people.  It probably explains why about 25% of people who notice our hives will announce that they are allergic to bee stings, conjuring images of fatal anaphylaxis, when the actual percentage of the population with this degree of sensitivity is more like 3%.  Not that we will argue with anyone about it, though.  Bee stings hurt, and most people do have some level of unpleasant reaction to them.  Gord’s level of sting sensitivity is pretty low, along the lines of a mosquito bite that hurts for a few minutes at first and disappears after a day or so.  I, on the other hand, can have widespread swelling up to 6 or 7 inches from the sting site that throbs, aches, and then itches like poison ivy for 3-5 days.  I wouldn’t describe myself as being allergic, but it is an unpleasant reaction that is more severe than most.

We all have days when we feel like this.

You might wonder why I would want to keep bees given this sensitivity.  As I mentioned in my post Memories of Bees, I have strong nostalgic and sensory associations with bees.  I also have been stung enough and observed bees closely enough for my fear to have transformed into respect.  Honeybees, at least the European variety, are not inherently aggressive, but they are defensive.  And what they perceive as a threat may not be obvious to humans.  So, occasionally, while someone might feel that s/he has been unjustly attacked, there is usually a self-defense reason that makes sense to the bee.  Perhaps the hive is being visited by skunks in the night, and the bees are being indiscriminately defensive.  Perhaps your scent, natural or artificial, is triggering an alarm response for some reason.  Perhaps there is a problem in the hive and they feel vulnerable.  Just like when people behave unexpectedly, you may not always be able to pinpoint why.  But generally, bees will treat humans just like any other obstacle in their flight path, swerving around you or bouncing off and then continuing their flight.  I’ve found that the more I observe bees and learn about them, the easier it is to avoid being stung.

Drones developing their mojo under Evangeline's branches.

Most people know that a honeybee colony consists of one queen that lays eggs and  thousands of workers (her offspring) that collect nectar.  But, the story is more complicated than that.  For example, the hive also contains drone bees.  These are male bees that hatch from unfertilized eggs. Their role in reproduction is to spread the queen’s genetic material to other hives.  They fly about on summer afternoons looking for young queens from other hives to mate with.  Somehow, males from all the hives in a certain region will congregate in a specific area with specific characteristics.  Young queens from other hives will also instinctively be drawn to these areas.  If a drone successfully mates, he dies shortly afterward.  If he doesn’t mate, he returns to the hive to try again the next day. Unfortunately for the hive, drones are extra large bees that eat a lot.  So, if food supplies need to be rationed, the drones are expelled from the hive or killed and their corpses unceremoniously tossed out.  When times get tough in the bee world, it takes more than charm and good looks to get by.

One day, the black pollen of these poppies is on the menu. The next day, it is white clover.

Another fascinating fact we have learned since taking up beekeeping is that worker bees go through various occupations as they mature.  The workers that we see leaving the hive and returning with food are the senior citizens of the bee world who are nearing the end of their natural lifespan.  The lion’s share of a worker bee’s life is spent in the hive; cleaning, tending to young, directing traffic, keeping inventory, and managing the queen’s affairs.  Then one day they reach a certain age and some switch flips in their brains. They head to the hive exit synchronously with all the other workers whose switches have just flipped.  There, under the tutelage of senior workers, they emerge into the sunlight en masse and take wing for the first time in their lives.  They hover back and forth facing the hive, getting their bearings, finding their wings, practicing landing and taking off.  The lesson doesn’t last long.  Within an hour, they are off foraging within a 5 mile radius of the hive and returning with pinpoint accuracy with the precise pollen or nectar the hive has directed them to collect. These orientation flights take place almost every afternoon in the summer.  When Gord and I first witnessed one, we thought the bees were swarming.  Nope.  It’s just a retirement party.

I don't know if frogs eat many bees. But, they'd probably try at least once.

When I first learned about this phenomenon, I questioned the evolutionary logic.  Wouldn’t it make more sense for the young vigorous bees to be responsible for maintaining the food supply?  But, then it occurred to me that foraging is the most dangerous occupation of all for a bee.  Alone and vulnerable outside the hive, it is subject to predation, accidents, and harsh weather.  From an efficiency standpoint, it doesn’t make sense to expose young vigorous bees, with a lifetime of potential productivity in front of them, to the risks of foraging and hive defense. 

People could learn a lesson or two from bees.  Let’s hope both species survive long enough so that we can.