another talk

I've just got back from another woodland charity talk.  It was to a Townswomen's Guild, and they were a considerate group of ladies, who opted to put me on first, then conduct their Guild business after the tea break, when I had safely packed up and was on my way back home.  I have sat through a lot of club business over the years, and it is interesting, in a sort of Alan Bennett something overheard way, if you are of a nosy disposition and curious about how society organises itself, but still it's nice when people think that you might have other stuff to do besides listening to the minutes of their last meeting being read, followed by a thank you for their fund raising efforts letter from the Air Ambulance, and a reminder that bookings are being taken now for the November theatre trip, and an update on who is ill and how their operations went.  They said they liked the talk, and one of them wanted my details because she helps run a WI branch and other societies and thought the talk mught be useful for those.  Further bookings from people who have already heard me speak are always reassuring.

Beyond that there isn't a lot to say about it, as I wrote at length about talks last week.  The church hall was exactly where the map made it look as though it ought to be, I was not caught up in traffic jams on the A12, the projector bulb didn't blow.  Having read the instructions on the side of the machine while I was waiting for proceedings to start, once I'd finished setting up, I saw that if the bulb failed I had to let the machine cool for a minimum of 45 minutes before extracting the old one.  On that basis I don't know why I bother to carry a spare, since no audience is going to want to wait for that long before the talk recommences.

The trouble with afternoon meetings is that they do take out a lot of the day.  I extracted my odd super of honey in the morning, which had been sitting on the kitchen worktop for several days pending a convenient moment to do something about it.  The Systems Administrator, as chief cook, had intimated that it was a tiny bit in the way, and become progressively less inclinded to avoid frying onions or performing other high-odour culinary operations.  I could see it was in the way, and I didn't want the honey to end up smelling of onions, or curry, once I'd established that it was good honey and not from the ivy.  The trouble with extracting one super (not even full) is that you end up with only a finger's depth of honey in the bottom of your honey bucket, and still have the work of washing the equipment afterwards as much as if it were a couple of buckets full.  Once I'd finished with the honey, and checked that the projector and extension cable still worked, and run through the talk, there was an odd little bit of time left that wasn't long enough to be worth going out into the garden, or starting to do anything in particular.

Driving back it looked like a beautiful sunny afternoon, which it was, but once I got home I realised it was also extremely windy.  The Systems Administrator having finished today's stint painting the house had just released the chickens, and was wandering around with a deckchair looking for somewhere that was in the sun but out of the wind to sit.  I don't think there is such a place in the front garden at this hour of the afternoon.  Apparently the house-painting is going very well.  The S.A. had to saw a small piece off the frame of the bedroom dormer window to fit the top layer of scaffolding into the available space, but says it will be easy to put back afterwards.

first (and maybe only) honey of the year

The Porter bee escape worked.  There were a few bees left in the super with the honey, and I was able to brush them gently off the combs and remove the super.  If there are quite a lot of bees left then I remove each comb individually, shake it briskly to get the bees off, and move it to a second super in a wheelbarrow parked a little way away.  I had taken a spare box with me this time, just in case, but didn't need it.  Three stray bees ended up in the kitchen.  I knew there were bees somewhere in the super from the sound, and once disturbed they fly to the window, where it is easy to place a glass over them and slide an envelope over the mouth of the tumbler to trap them.  Released outside they fly off immediately.

The honey was ready, no drips at all, and the bees were just beginning to cap it.  I got a full food bucket full, and a bit left over.  I don't know what weight that is, as I can't remember the capacity of the bucket.  It took almost exactly half an hour to spin the frames, the duration of R4's Saving Species, and longer than that to filter the honey to get the stray bits of wax out, and wash the extractor afterwards.  I washed the kitchen floor before I started, and all in all there wasn't much of the morning left over by the time I'd finished.  Home honey production is definitely a hobby and not a commercial proposition.  My extractor holds two frames at a time.  I spin them counting to sixty rotations, then sixty turning the handle the opposite way, then reverse the frames so the opposite side is facing outwards, and repeat the process.  People write about the sound of the patter of honey on the sides of the extractor, but with mine all I can hear is the mechanism squeaking.  It is helpful to spin frames of equal weight together to balance the thing, otherwise it judders and tries to walk across the floor.  The honey was delicious, the colour of pale straw.  I'll leave it for a day, to allow any fine debris to float to the surface, then use a trick taught to me by a friend, which is to lay clingfilm across the surface and remove it again.  I lose a little honey that way, but it collects any bits.  And that's it.  I won't heat it, unless I have to very slightly to soften it if it sets in the bucket before I've put all of it in jars.  Honey should be kept in an air-tight container for medium term storage, to keep atmospheric moisture out, and a big plastic food bucket with snap lid is better than keeping it in individual jars, with their screw lids and higher surface to volume ratio.  I've learnt not to bottle more than I expect to give away or sell in the near future.

Going up to the bees I was shocked at how the planting in the meadow had collapsed.  My poor little primroses, bought from the farm shop this spring, and seed-raised salvias, planted last autumn, and many others, were dangerously shrivelled, and some of the more recent shrub plantings were badly scrunched.  As the drought continues, 'recent' covers a longer span of time, until by now it can mean anything planted in the past two years.  I spent the afternoon working up there, weeding, and moving the hose every few minutes.  It wasn't where I'd planned to spend the rest of the day, but it is getting to the point where the location of each day working outside is going to be driven by which things most urgently need watering.  Plants here can take years to get their roots down, then suddenly take off when finally fully established.  An Aesculus indica, which made only sedate growth for several seasons after going into the ground, has shot up prodigously in the past year and suddenly looks like a proper young tree.  The tough bit is getting them to that stage.  This garden is designed not to need irrigation, but in weather like this it's a case of water it or lose it, when it comes to young plants.