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Goodreads asked Jacqueline Freeman:

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Jacqueline Freeman My book," Song of Increase," is certainly about bees, but it's not just for beekeepers. Through story and example, these lovely bees contribute to the relationship we humans have with Nature and I revel in that partnership.

It's late fall and today I went out to spend a bit of the chilly morning in the bee house, even though I don't really have any tasks this time of year. I told myself I was making sure everyone was all buttoned up for winter, but mostly I wanted to be in their presence yet another time. Putting my ear up to the side of the hive, I heard the rich vibration of their hum as they clustered together for warmth. I love that sound, how it thrums through my bones.

I rarely open a hive in cooler weather because taking the cover off releases all the heat they've stored up, Instead I gently hefted the back of the hive an inch to feel how much honey was inside. The weight tells me if they've got enough food. Heavy means they've got a winter's worth set aside and all is well.

Alas, one of my hives was decidedly light. This early in the season, that means starvation.

Bees need a winter's worth of honey for two reasons, food and warmth. Eating honey keeps them in good health. As fuel, it also keeps the winter cluster warm. Warm bees eat less honey while stressed bees go through it much faster.

Normally bees gather plenty of honey through the year. Bees store the honey in broad wax honeycombs which surround the clustering bees and protect them from the cold, like the insulated walls in your home. When their comb-walls are insulated, bees stay warm more easily.

In the cluster, they eat, rest and build their reserves. In slow rotation, each bee rises to the outside of the cluster to become a "blanket bee," one who uses her body as a protective shield, keeping everyone beneath her warm. When she gets chilled, she burrows down into the cluster to absorb heat and build her reserves for another round.

We've had an unusually rainy fall in the northwest this year, and it hasn't gotten too cold -- not even frost yet -- so the bees are still active. Bees can't fly in rain so they couldn't get out to harvest nectars from the blooming flowers. Instead of adding honey through the autumn months, they were stuck inside and, of necessity, ate what they'd stored. When I looked inside, I found rows of empty comb, a true emergency. My heart panged and I was grateful I noticed this in time to make a difference.

Much as I try not to interfere with their natural situation, having half as many fall harvest days put them in a difficult spot. I walked back to my kitchen, got a shallow dish, placed chips of wax on it and poured honey onto the comb. Giving them wax mounds to stand on prevents them from falling in the sticky honey and keeps everyone safe. I put the dish inside the top bar hive, way at the back. They'll have that dish of honey cleaned up in 24 hours and I'll replace it with another. Each bee will swallow a drop and fly up onto the empty comb where she'll deposit it into an empty cell, building another insulating wall that the bees can eat in February.

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