My hives make it to spring. Most of the time anyway. In the years I’ve been keeping bees, the overwinter loss rate has averaged 24% here in Missouri, while my own loss rate has been just 4%. So in my apiary, a queenright hive in October will almost certainly still be queenright the next April. I’m not sure how much credit I deserve for this—all of my colonies are descendant from a single Carniolan nuc I bought about 10 years ago, so maybe I just hit the genetic jackpot. But assuming I have at least something to do with the overwinter success of my bees, what’s the reason?
Mite management is at the top of my list. Every year I have a plan to manage mites, with the goal of ensuring each hive can raise winter bees in a relatively mite- and virus-free environment. A surprising number of beekeepers still don’t attempt to control mites, or if they do, it consists of a single application of oxalic acid or chemical strips in the fall after much of the damage has been done. Still, heavy losses are often chalked up to non-mite causes, usually the weather. Or a mouse getting into the hive, or small hive beetles, or wax moths. And on the web these ideas are constantly reinforced by other beekeepers who use the same excuses for their high losses. The unfortunate consequence is that those beekeepers are way more likely to repeat the same mistakes over and over again.
Mid-winter check of the in-hive fondant
Good winter prep is the other thing I consider important to honey bee survival. That means being conservative with the honey harvest (even if you have to leave money on the table), feeding weak colonies through the fall, setting up hives to reduce drafts and condensation, providing dry feed during the cold months, and then jumping right back in as winter starts to wane (the beekeeping season begins well before the honey flow).
All of this requires a lot of hard physical work. Most people envision beekeeping as a leisurely hobby, where you get dressed up in a funny costume a couple times a year, enjoy a never-ending supply of fresh honey, and humble brag about taking the occasional sting to “save the bees.” I suspect many losses each winter can be traced back to beekeepers who never adjust to the harsh realities of beekeeping, which is more elbow grease and math than almost any of us expected when we put together our first hive.
To be sure, I’ve seen diligent beekeepers lose hives despite extensive mite management and careful planning—most notably The Duvall Beekeeper, who’s pushed the limits of Excel to try and understand the reason for his losses. A lack of thoughtful effort isn’t to blame in his case; others I’m sure are in the same boat.
Late-winter pollen feeding
And sometimes I fail to live up to my own standards. The hive I lost this winter was queenless after swarming last spring, and I finally got it queenright in September. It was too late to build up a population of winter bees, so it didn’t make it. Totally my fault. In my own journal I wrote that it had a low chance of survival, but instead of just combining it with another hive I rolled the dice. And lost. Hopefully that’s a lesson learned.
Regardless of how many lessons I learn and how much I try to be a good beekeeper, I never feel like I’ve done enough to prepare my bees for the winter. I always feel like I’m forgetting something or that I could’ve done more—certain most of my colonies will die before spring. This may be a healthy paranoia in the same way that parents who worry about their kids are probably good parents. If you care enough to second-guess your decisions, then you’ve likely done a pretty decent job and your bees stand a good chance of beating the averages.