Another post about smells. When I sat down next to the hive last week, I noticed a strange, different odor coming from the hive. It was sweet... but not necessarily pleasant. Pungent, floral (maybe?) but also kind of musty.
Alarmed, I stood up, walked 10 feet away and sat back down on the ground. Maybe it was me? God only knows. Nope, no creepy smell. (Side note: when visiting a beehive, it is always best to smell like nothing. Nothing! No sweat or body odor, but no deodorant, perfumes, fabric soaps, etc. Finding a happy, fragrance-free medium is genuinely a challenge, let me tell you.)
SO. It was definitely coming from within the hive. My first thought was that it could be American Foulbrood. A horrifying thought, as AF means the brood in the hive essentially rot and turn to goo, and the bacteria is so persistent that it can be contagious for up to 35 years. There is only one way to eliminate it: to burn everything. To light the hive, the bees, the woodenware, everything that might have come into contact with the disease, on fire. For obvious reasons, I was concerned.
Then, a hopeful thought crept into my head. I remember when having read Sue Hubbel's book, she discussed a similiar fear. One autumn, she noticed a strong, unusual odor from a hive and considered the possibility of an American Foulbrood infestation. Through her knowledge of regional plants and beekeeping in general, though, she deduced that it was a product of the autumn nectar flow, specifically, the nectar being collected from Snow Asters. The aster is a wildflower. Surely this could be my answer! I have yet to investigate, but I am almost certain that when I drove here to the hive today, I smelled a similar smell when passing an overgrown farm field now full of wildflowers.
When I sat next to the hive today, I smelled the same odd smell, but this time, I forced myself to think of it as a honey smell, and I felt better. I'll find out on Tuesday when I open up again.
Alarmed, I stood up, walked 10 feet away and sat back down on the ground. Maybe it was me? God only knows. Nope, no creepy smell. (Side note: when visiting a beehive, it is always best to smell like nothing. Nothing! No sweat or body odor, but no deodorant, perfumes, fabric soaps, etc. Finding a happy, fragrance-free medium is genuinely a challenge, let me tell you.)
SO. It was definitely coming from within the hive. My first thought was that it could be American Foulbrood. A horrifying thought, as AF means the brood in the hive essentially rot and turn to goo, and the bacteria is so persistent that it can be contagious for up to 35 years. There is only one way to eliminate it: to burn everything. To light the hive, the bees, the woodenware, everything that might have come into contact with the disease, on fire. For obvious reasons, I was concerned.
Then, a hopeful thought crept into my head. I remember when having read Sue Hubbel's book, she discussed a similiar fear. One autumn, she noticed a strong, unusual odor from a hive and considered the possibility of an American Foulbrood infestation. Through her knowledge of regional plants and beekeeping in general, though, she deduced that it was a product of the autumn nectar flow, specifically, the nectar being collected from Snow Asters. The aster is a wildflower. Surely this could be my answer! I have yet to investigate, but I am almost certain that when I drove here to the hive today, I smelled a similar smell when passing an overgrown farm field now full of wildflowers.
When I sat next to the hive today, I smelled the same odd smell, but this time, I forced myself to think of it as a honey smell, and I felt better. I'll find out on Tuesday when I open up again.
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