Dandelion: The Bee Plant That Doesn’t Need Bees

Some things I didn’t know about dandelions until today: Dandelions don’t need bees. Or any other pollinators – not even wind or gravity to move their pollen. Each dandelion flower is made up of a hundred florets, each an individual mini-flower that gives up the plant’s own tissue to create a seed. Each seed is unpollinated, a clone, identical in genetics to the original dandelion that arrived in North America centuries ago. Looking at a field of dandelions is the same as looking at a field of clones and it’s the same as looking at the same flower that our ancestors saw.

Dandelions don’t need bees at all. Most common dandelions reproduce through apomixis. They produce seeds without pollination. No pollen transfer. No fertilization. Each plant creates clones of itself. So while bees visit dandelions for nectar and pollen, they aren’t helping the plant reproduce.

Photo by Олександр К on Unsplash

That runs against the usual story we tell about flowers and pollinators. In this case, the relationship is one-sided. The bees take what they need, and the plant carries on without them.

Dandelions show up early. In many places, they’re the first thing people notice in spring. Bright yellow, everywhere at once, and full of bees. It’s easy to assume they are the first and best food source for honey bees. They aren’t.

Before dandelions bloom, bees are already working. Alders, maples, willows, elms, and even skunk cabbage come first. These plants provide much of the early pollen that gets colonies moving again after winter. Dandelions arrive a bit later, and by then, the colony is already expanding.

Even then, dandelion pollen is not ideal food. It is abundant and easy for bees to collect, but it lacks a complete balance of essential amino acids. Bees can use it, but they do better when it’s mixed with pollen from other plants.

As a honey plant, dandelion is inconsistent. In some years and places, bees may store a modest surplus. The honey is strong, deep yellow, and granulates quickly. Most of the time, it’s not worth extracting.

But dandelion arrives at the right time. It provides nectar and pollen when colonies are building. It helps bridge the gap between early trees and later flows.

Dandelions are not invasive in the ecological sense. They are naturalized. They prefer disturbed ground like lawns, roadsides, compacted soils. They follow human activity rather than reshape ecosystems. You don’t see them taking over intact prairies or forests. You see them where people have already changed the land. That’s a twist, isn’t it? Dandelion is a species that does better because of people, not worse.

Dandelions are also useful to people. The leaves can be eaten, especially when young. The flowers can be made into wine or syrup, or sewn together to make temporary sweaters. The roots can be roasted and brewed as fake coffee. For centuries, they were carried around the world as a medicinal plant, which explains how they spread so widely.

If you’d like to hear more about this amazing yellow and green weed, listen to this episode of the About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity podcast.

I hope you enjoy this blog and the podcast episode – available everywhere you get your podcasts, and at this link.
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/dandelion-the-bee-plant-that-doesnt-need-bees/id1760959092?i=1000762147786

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March is Orange Blossom Month

I just released a podcast episode about citrus trees. I’ve been trying to find honey plants in bloom during each month. I’ve been surprisingly consistent since I started this series in July with sweet clover. This is March, there is usually an orange tree or two blooming somewhere in Florida, Texas, Arizona, or California this month, so I created an episode about orange trees.

I’ll start with something that sounds trivial but isn’t. Oranges don’t grow in orchards. They grow in groves. It’s a small linguistic difference, but indicates history, geography, and culture all tangled together.

Say “orchard” in central Florida and you’ll immediately identify yourself as someone who has never driven down a sandy trail between rows of citrus trees with sticky side mirrors and bees bouncing off your windshield.

I know a bit about Florida citrus because I kept bees in the groves there for about 10 years back in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Back then, there were nearly a million acres of citrus.

You could pull off the road almost anywhere and grab an illegal orange or grapefruit for a quick snack. Try that today and you’ll likely be standing in someone’s driveway. The groves are disappearing.

At its peak, Florida produced about 12 million pounds of orange blossom honey each year. Today it’s down to a quarter of that. The acreage has collapsed. Disease, development, and changing economics have taken their toll.

In this episode of the About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity podcast, I look at the death of Florida’s citrus groves. Along the way, we visit the trees, their flowers, orange blossom honey, and beekeeping in the Sunshine State.

I hope you enjoy this blog and the podcast episode – available everywhere you get your podcasts, and at this link.
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/march-is-orange-blossom-month/id1760959092?i=1000756871427

Posted in Bee Yards, Beekeeping, Commercial Beekeeping, Culture, or lack thereof, Honey Plants, Podcasts | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Serving the Perfect Cup of Tea

The classy, practical Umi Tea Set

The perfect cup of tea starts with honey. At least, that’s how the royals do it. It’s hard to argue that anyone else would know better. They’ve got history, experience, connections and money. And tea is important in their part of the stratosphere. So how do you do tea, if you want to do it royally?

Begin by putting honey in the cup. Not sugar. Brew the tea –  100C for English breakfast tea, or 70C for green tea, measured with a thermometer. (Butler style, I dunk in a clean finger – you get to know the temperature with experience.) Black tea should be brewed for five minutes, and not consumed at all, while green tea should only get three minutes, then enjoyed vigorously.

If you must use milk, as the Queen herself did, it goes in last. Now, you might sit back and watch the clouds in your tea, but proper etiquette demands that you stir the concoction – never in circles! – but slowly back and forth, like the paddle of a canoe that will never cross a lake. Oh, and never let the spoon clang against the side of the bone china while paddling or you’ll be having tea with the servants before you know what’s happened. (If they let you join them.)

Remember, the honey goes into the cup before the tea. That’s easy to remember – add the best first. What sort of honey should you use? The mildest you can find. It should be white, never amber, and very neutral in flavour. Buckwheat or manuka will turn your tea into medicine. I know. I have been eating a spoonful of manuka every day and I tried some in today’s green tea. I won’t make that mistake again.

How much should you use? Well, that depends on the type of honey. If you use a high fructose honey, such as tupelo, one or two small drops is probably plenty. On the other hand, honey that’s high in glucose (such as canola), is not as sweet and may take a spoonful. You really should work this out for yourself – I don’t know how well your taste buds control your life. What I do know, however, is that a good cup of green tea with honey in mid-winter will make life worth living.

To really enjoy that tea, you need to consider the cup, too. We are excited about the Umi Tea Set, which we discovered a couple of weeks ago. It is double-walled glass, which gets rid of the cup handle, so it becomes simple and clean – without burning your hand when you hold it.

Our set came with an acacia serving tray and hand-blown cups and kettle. The double-layered insulated cups are especially nice because we can watch the honey dissolve in the cup. It’s a winner, a keeper, and about $100 US – here’s a link. It arrived safe and very durably wrapped, direct from the tea set factory. Go get it and enjoy!

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When Bees Finally Get a Bathroom Break

March is a confusing month here in Calgary. Three weeks of it belongs to winter. Snow sits around in gray crusty patches that melt, refreeze, and melt again. Nights are cold enough to freeze the ground solid.

But when I stand beside a beehive at noon, you can feel that the sun is stronger. That tiny bit of warmth is enough to trigger one of the most important events in the honey bee calendar.

The bathroom break.

Honey bees spend the winter clustered inside their hive, eating honey and keeping the colony warm. But unlike humans, cattle, dogs, or politicians, they absolutely refuse to relieve themselves in their own home.

Bees treat the inside of their hive like a sterile nursery. It contains brood, honey, pollen, and the queen. Defecating inside would invite mold, disease and parasites into the colony.

These streaks are from the bees defecating. It’s not a good sign – they should have been strong enough to fly far away from the hive.

So they hold it.

For weeks. Sometimes months.

A winter bee can store waste in her hindgut until it reaches nearly a third of her body weight. Imagine carrying around a heavy backpack full of all of the winter’s lunches.

Eventually, the colony waits for a suitable day: sunshine, calm winds, and temperatures warm enough for flight muscles to operate.

The sky fills with bees. And then—well—relief happens. Tiny yellow, brown, and black droplets scatter across the snow.

To a beekeeper, those dots can be comforting. They mean the colony survived winter. Of course, bee droppings occasionally become someone else’s problem.

Years ago, I kept a bee yard behind a very expensive house in Florida. One day the neighbor, a lawyer, stopped me and asked if I knew where I could buy a million tiny diapers.
He pointed at his car.
Yellow spots everywhere. I moved the bees that night.

But stories about bee droppings gets even stranger.

During the Cold War, mysterious yellow droplets reportedly fell from the sky in Southeast Asia. People believed aircraft were spraying chemical weapons. The phenomenon became known as “Yellow Rain.”

Old-fashioned Yellow Rain.

Analysis of the samples revealed something strange. Partially digested pollen grains. Scientists eventually concluded the “rain” may have come from mass defecation flights of giant Asian honey bees. When thousands of bees take flight and lighten their digestive load at the same time, the results can look surprisingly like a yellow shower. Sounds weird that they would mimic a traditional Roman public bath, but you can never tell about bees.

If you are curious about this complete story, and the bees’ digestion system, and how bees can fly on cool winter days, jump over to my podcast for the rest of the story.

You can enjoy this podcast episode wherever you listen to podcasts.

Check out the About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity podcast.

Posted in Beekeeping, Podcasts, Tools and Gadgets | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

An Apiary in a Box

The image above is from the BeeCube website. Inside that box is an entire apiary. It can be loaded on the back of a truck and hauled off to a new location – wintering spot, spring build-up, pollination, summer honey production. Open the door, and you are immersed in the bees’ world. The colonies each have a separate exit to the flowers beyond their hives, which are clustered inside. The beekeeper enters the BeeCube to do inspections, super the colonies, feed or simply encourage them. Colonies are fully accessible inside, fully free to fly outside. This is a new innovation here in Calgary. I have never seen anything quite like it here.

This photo, taken in northern Croatia by my family in 1983 shows the same basic principles of the BeeCube – a doorway (behind the wagon), a hallway for the beekeeper to open the backs of hives, bee exits facing out, and a way to move the entire apiary to new pasture.

The BeeCube is much more advanced, with insulation and sensors, but the basic idea has proven itself over generations.

I saw another version of the BeeCube a couple of years ago, in Israel. It’s manufactured by a company called BeeWise. I visited their corporate headquarters where 70 employees worked in the development of an apiary-in-a-box that included cameras, sensors, robotic frame manipulation, and even an extractor inside each unit.

BeeWise development shop at the BeeWise Campus in Israel. Here are three units (out of many) being tested before deployment. Primary clients are in the pollinator business. (photo: Miksha)

I recently chatted with Herman van Reekum, founder and chief innovator of BeeCube in Calgary, Alberta. We talked a bit about the development of the BeeCube as well as other projects he is designing at Beekeeping Innovations. You can enjoy this podcast wherever you listen to podcasts.

We discuss the advantages of the BeeCube and other new developments that Herman creating – a beekeeper’s app (Be the Bee) for recording and analyzing bee colony health and management; and, Global Bee Digest, a Substack newsletter that aggrandizes current news and research in bees and beekeeping. Listen to the podcast to learn the whole story.

Beekeeping Innovations: https://www.beekeepinginnovations.ca/

BeeCube: https://www.beecube.io/

The Global Beekeeping Digest: https://globalmobility.substack.com/

The BeeCube in action.

Check out the About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity podcast.

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Wintering at 50 Below in the Yukon

Yukon Apiary of Etienne Tardif: YouTube Channel

The Yukon is not usually considered ‘beekeeping country’, but there is some great beekeeping science going on up there right now. Etienne Tardif, an engineer with a fondness for spreadsheets and experimentation, has been keeping bees for 15 years in this cold territory in Canada’s north.

On a recent episode of the About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity podcast, we chat with Etienne about keeping bees and wintering in a place where the thermometer dips to minus 50 (C or F – they are about the same at that depth of cold), and bees have only about 12 weeks to do all of their business. To top it off, there’s no agriculture nearby (so, no canola or alfalfa). The bees pick from sparse berry bushes and goldenrod when those plants are in bloom. Crops are not enormous in that part of Canada.

Nevertheless, Etienne has been able to successfully winter – in single-storey hives! – and produce honey. Wintering depends on appropriate equipment, knowledge of nest volume, and understanding the positive role that carbon dioxide can play in helping bees get through the winter.

Don’t miss this podcast. Etienne and Ron discuss successful wintering tips that can be applied anywhere that bees have to take a cold-weather break.

Check out the About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity podcast.

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Sylvia Plath, the Beekeeper’s Poet

Today, February 11, is the anniversary of the death of a great poet, Sylvia Plath. The daughter of a bee scientist, Sylvia spent her brief life writing about love, loss, disappointment, and nature. Don’t skip this short (20 minute) podcast episode. You will be surprised.

Smoke. A beekeeper’s smoke. This, from a PBS dramatic documentary about Sylvia Plath, is how she seemed to remember her father. Enjoy my podcast episode about the famous poet.

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Dead Bees in the Snow!

Bees that died in the snow. A backyard tragedy in Calgary, Canada.

Lots of worrying going on this week, especially after the heavy snow that fell across much of North America. New beekeepers (and some of us old ones) worry when we see ‘lots’ of bees in the snow during winter. The black dots (above) are frozen stiffs – bees that left their hive and didn’t make it back, or maybe bees that died inside and were carried out by undertaker bees. To me, this is a really sad sight, but not a disturbing one.

If we assume that northern hemisphere honey bee colonies drop their populations from 30,000 bees in late October to 15,000 in late February, that’s over one hundred dead bees every day. We’d much rather see them outside the hive than piled up on the bottom board. One might argue that the dead bees in front of the hive might have lived all winter. Perhaps they were otherwise healthy bees looking for winter flowers. That’s possible. It’s also possible that these were weakly bees taking cleansing flights (honey bees will not defecate inside their hive unless the entire colony is weak and dying). The poor insects were not strong enough to make it home after visiting the bushes.

Regardless the cause, a few dozen bees in the snow does not generally mean trouble for the wintering colony. More worrisome is a prolonged cold spell. When it’s especially cold, the bees don’t even try to fly out to exercise their monthly constitution. That’s when we should worry.

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Arizona was Swarming – in January!


I don’t know a lot about Arizona, but my niece, Monica Miksa King, has been living there for a while and professionally rescues honey bees. So, when my curiosity peaked about bee conditions in the desert during January, I invited her onto the About Bees Culture and Curiosity podcast. We talked about Africanized bees, swarms, pesticides, swimming pools, the Southern Arizona Beekeepers Association, and beekeeping in general.
(You can find our Arizona podcast here.)

This winter has been a bit wetter than last year in Arizona and honey bees are swarming already. Especially feral Africanized ones. I know that because I chatted with my niece, Monica King, who is just outside Tucson. On our podcast, we talk about swarming, AHB (the Africanized Honey Bee), serious pesticide damage, bees in swimming pools, and bee rescue work.

Earlier in the day that we recorded the podcast, Monica had visited a hobbyist student of hers whose colony suffered a massive die-off. She described bees showing neurological damage with wings fluttering and bodies flopping. The colony was down to half a frame of bees, but nevertheless had started queen cells. Watch her sad video, below.

Regarding pesticides, Monica said that she herself reacts with burning eyes, burning nostrils, and a stinging face around pesticide-killed colonies. This happened while she was trying to help that suffering colony, so she was sure they were dealing with chemical poisoning. Monica’s student was trying everything to save the dying bees: probiotics, protein patties, syrup, comb replacement, robbing screens, reduced space for warmth. But Monica doubted recovery.

Tucson in January isn’t the shut-in month it is for northern beekeepers like me. While much of North America was buried under winter storms, Monica described her winter with lows in the 40s (5C), highs in the mid-70 (22C), winter rains in some areas, and wild brassicas and mustards (locally called bladderpod and London Rocket), already turning fields and pastures yellow. In rainy years, she said, the region’s bees can brood up early and swarm, especially where early-blooming plants like African sumac trigger buildup. As a live-removal specialist, Monica is already getting two to three calls a day (too many for her to handle alone), so she triages, passing appropriate jobs to her trained students.

Monica described her removal methods in detail: working at night for safety, using red light to see, preserving brood combs by rubber-banding them into frames, transporting brood and bees in nuc boxes, and using a bee-vac to collect stray live bees for later reintroduction. Her removals aren’t just a single visit. She spends hours in driving, preparation, cleanup, rehabilitation, feeding, and requeening.


this podcast episode 


There are already over 75 episodes of About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity. And you can listen to all of them completely free. I’m amazed that I have so many already. Sort of like when you are extracting honey. At first, just a few drops piddle out of the extractor, then a few hours later, you have some containers filled. Soon, a big truck arrives to haul off a semi load of 65 big steel drums of honey. It’s been like this with the podcast.

By now, almost everyone knows how to access a podcast. Mine – About Bees, Culture, and Curiosity – can be found on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Podbean, iHeart Radio, Player FM, Deezer, and a dozen other places – including this special website for my podcast. Go to your favourite app on your phone or computer and enjoy.

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The most important beekeeper you never hear of

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You probably know that Karl von Frisch figured out how honey bees use their waggle-dance to communicate. He won the Nobel Prize for that and for other studies of bee behaviour. I think it was well-deserved and his experiments withstood criticism and independent confirmation. (Although there are still a few distinguished scientists who contest the theory.) His discovery was intuitive and required hundreds of replicated experiments conducted over years of work in personally risky circumstances in Nazi Germany. (Von Frisch had some Jewish heritage.) But there is another scientist who came close to figuring out many of the things which von Frisch discovered. The other scientist did his experiments in America, decades earlier. But he’s mostly unknown, largely forgotten.

Charles Turner is likely the most important biologist you’ve never heard of. Charles Henry Turner (February 3, 1867 – February 14, 1923) published at least 70 papers, mostly on animal behaviour. Years before von Frisch realized that bees possess colour vision and can recognize and remember patterns, Turner had published his own results on exactly the same thing. Turner also published the first research showing that insects can learn and solve problems. At the time, in 1900, it was generally believed that invertebrate activity was due to reaction to chemical and physical stimuli, without the need for neural discernment. Following Turner’s discoveries, we have seen that insects of all sorts exhibit signs of personality and certainly demonstrate problem-solving skills. Turner’s experiments created a new field of science focused on cognitive ability in insects and other invertebrates.

Turner’s father, from Canada, was a church custodian. A church custodian who was known as a master of debate and who – in the 1870s – owned several hundred books. Charles Turner’s mother, who was from Kentucky, was a nurse. Our budding scientist was born in Cincinnati where he attended public schools and graduated as class valedictorian. Charles Turner studied biology at the University of Cincinnati, graduating in 1891 – the same year he published his first paper (“Morphology of the Avian Brain”) in the Journal of Comparative Neurology. He followed that with another avian neurology paper, this time published in the prestigious magazine Science. He earned his MSc just a year later. His research moved from dissections and interpretations of bird nervous systems to spiders, river shrimp, and insects. Turner was also the first to demonstrate Pavlovian conditioning in an insect. In 1907, Turner became one of the first African-Americans to receive a graduate degree from the University of Chicago. His doctorate, “The Homing of Ants: An Experimental Study of Ant Behavior,” was emblematic of his work in the learning and thinking patterns of invertebrates.

One of Turner’s biggest discoveries involved honey bees, which he trained to recognize shapes and patterns and which – he discovered – could remember the colours of hidden trays of sugar syrup, returning to the correct colours even when tray positions were scrambled.

Dr Charles I. Abramson, a professor at Oklahoma State, investigated Charles Turner’s life. Abramson, in his piece “A Study of Inspiration” describes Turner’s honey bee research:

“Turner begins the paper with a scholarly review of the literature in which the various theories of why bees should see colors are enumerated, followed by a discussion of the limitations of the existing data.

“To investigate the problem, he studied honey bees in O’Fallon Park in St. Louis. He designed various colored disks, colored boxes,and “cornucopias” into which the bees were trained to fly. Thirty-two experiments were designed, and controls for the influence of odor and brightness were instituted. The results of his experiments showed that bees see colors and discriminate among them. It is interesting that in considering the results of his experiments, he believed that bees may be creating, in his words, “memory pictures” of the environment. The idea of memory pictures is certainly contemporary.

“The second paper of the series on honey bee learning was stimulated by the color vision paper. The methods used were identical to those in the color vision paper with the exception that various patterns were used, as were colors. The use of patterns and colors on the same target is the first use, in my opinion, of the compound-conditioning methods popular in contemporary studies of animal discrimination learning. The study contains 19 experiments and the results show that honey bees can readily distinguish patterns.”

Although he earned his PhD as a magna cum laude graduate at the University of Chicago, Turner didn’t find the sort of work that such a brilliant scientist would be expected to receive. He ended up with no laboratory to direct, no grad students to mentor, and no position at any research university. He applied to various universities, but was routinely rejected due to his race. Consequently, Turner spent most of his career as a high school science teacher at the Negro Sumner High School, conducting his experiments at a city park, paying for his spare-time research out of his own pocket.

Historian W.E.B. Du Bois wrote:

Charles Turner “became a teacher in a small colored Methodist school in South Atlanta which had at the time about a dozen college students, no laboratories and few books. He received inadequate pay and a heavy teaching load . . . but the only appointment carrying a living wage that he was able to get was in the Negro Sumner High School in St. Louis. There he stayed until he died of overwork. He was a promising scientist; with even fair opportunity he ought to have accomplished much; but his color hindered him.”

Charles Henry Turner died young from a heart attack, passing away in 1923 at the age of 56. For a comprehensive biography and an analysis of the science behind Turner’s work, I invite you to read “A Study of Inspiration” by Charles I. Abramson.

Most of the material in today’s blog comes from various papers by Abramson, who has researched Turner’s life for years. You can download Dr Abramson’s biography about Dr Turner, see a brief review in Nature, or read more about Turner (and see some family photos) at Abramson’s Charles Henry Turner website. It would be a nice tribute to Charles Henry Turner if you could read more of his story on this anniversary of Dr Turner’s birth.

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