Busted! Once we admitted we couldn't keep this batch of honeybees, the phone book gave us a single qualified lead: a certified beekeeper who offered removal service. Sure, there were other companies offering bee removal, but by the end of the weekend, these bees were our special little guys, or gals actually, and we weren't going to let just anybody touch them.

So we called Bee Busters, and left a message about our problem. The next day, we called them again, and left another message. Apparently we weren't the only people in California with this problem. Finally we got an apologetic callback from George. At least, as apologetic as a cranky old guy, who's very confident about his skills, ever gets. He agreed to come over in two days, mid-afternoon. "We've been really busy," he explained. About 6:00pm, the day of our appointment, I called George's cell phone. "It's a good thing you called. We're so busy, I lost your address," he explained without any hint of embarrassment. When you're very very good, you can act like that and still stay in business. I figured we'd called the right guy.

I expected George to be encased in kevlar body armor, face invisible behind safety netting. Instead, he walked up in fatigue pants, a baseball cap, and a tee shirt, carrying a cardboard box. He said, "Okay, where are they?" I almost asked, "Oh right, are you just going to scoop them up and throw them in your box???" I probably should have said that, because that's exactly what George did. See the bees covering the comb under the lid? All that, and more inside, took just 3 days.

The guy had steady nerves, and he wasn't hasty.

He was kind enough to put on his gloves and veil, but mainly for dramatic effect, because I was taking pictures. He complained the whole time he wore them, and took them off as soon as he could.

George scoops them up, and throws them into the box. Once there were a few pieces of comb in there, the bees thought it was home. I was surprised, both that he threw them and that they didn't mind. George said, "When you live in the same house with a thousand of your relatives, you get used to some jostling."

Once there were enough bees in the box, the rest seemed to decide that's where the heart is, and they began walking up the side of the barrel and down into the box.

It ain't over until the queen is in the box. She hid in the barrel as long as she could. Finally George found her amongst the garbage and the flowers. He carefully picked her up and dropped her in the box. The rest of the bees followed her in, post haste. George sealed the box with duct tape, and that was that.

George is an ornery old cuss, and I don't think that bothers him one bit. When he saw I was interested, he began coaxing me closer and closer, until there were bees crawling around on both of us. He figured, "If you want to take pictures of bees, you better get used to them." He charged me for one hour of labor, as he had estimated over the phone, but he spent over two hours out there. I guess he doesn't charge for the information, lessons, and practical "bees on" experience. He's out of Pescadero, CA, and if you need a bee keeper, you can't do better than Bee Busters. If he asks you, though, tell him: no, you don't want to hear any jokes, thanks.

Back
 
Intro Before Swarm Busted Boxes Dirt Planters After
 
Next
 
 
Back to the Galleries Index
 
NuMoon Home