When the second warm day of the year arrived nearly a month after the first, our hive was morbidly silent. My husband and I crouched in front of our hive desperate for a sign of life. We thought we’d done everything right. We’d left several frames full of honey. We added a few sugar-filled frames as a precaution. We were bereft and completely mystified. How could our hive have survived the worst part of the winter, then perished in the final days as spring and its promise of pollen was in sight?
In the end, it wasn’t enough. And I couldn’t help but think that we weren’t enough. We’d failed our bees just as I had feared we might since the day we brought them home.
…soon, we will start again with new bees in our hive. I remain an urban beekeeper.