#6. Yugoslavia is dead. Long live the Yugoslavians!!

At first, I thought I didn't get the memo, because by the time I got to class - early, like 6:50 -  there were only 3 seats left available.   For a moment, I actually thought that maybe I got the time wrong, and that I might be late, but no.  A real bunch of eager beavers, I'd say.  Everyone was obviously just champing at the bit.  And you could feel it in the air:  an almost palpable, nervous anticipation...

The bees arrive next month - before our next class.  I could have sworn that Ray said they were coming in May.  Not the first, nor last, time 'I could have sworn' something that was totally bogus.  So yes, with exactly 3 hours of classroom training, the welfare of tens of thousands of tiny lives will be placed in our unseasoned hands.  Just hope my back-ordered hives arrive in time.

Oh, and speaking about thousands of bees, my favorite bee factoid of the night - there are 4000 bees to the lb.

Just let that sink in for a moment.

Well, I took my place at the back of the class, which is now set up in rows of tables, not in a giant square like last time.  And as I sat down, I noticed an omen - a mystical, magical, wonderful omen (as it turned out) - in front of me -  a large, artful basket of madeleines.  There they sat, speckled with a light dusting of powdered sugar, their buttery aroma wafting around the place.  I queried my table mates as to their ownership, but was met with shrugs.  So, of course, I ate one.  Divine.  Delicately crisp on the outside, just the right sweetness.  Golden, melt-in-your-mouth goodness.  I think I will name my favorite bee queen 'Madeleine'.  (And a note to my table mate Jörg, who told me he's reading the blog - Welcome, Jörg!)

Anyway, Ray was giving us a crash course in installing bees in the hives.  I know I am not alone when I say that my greatest fear is killing the queen.  In manipulating the hive it is common to kill bees.  But you really don't want to axe the queen.  Uggh.  Anxiety, thy name is beekeeping.

So I asked Ray what kind of bees we'd be getting.  In my reading, I found out that there are several major types of honey bees, each distinct, but capable of interbreeding, each with its own characteristic strengths and weaknesses, and they originate in different parts of Europe.  Well, I thought I detected a little smirk on Ray's face when I asked the question, but hey - these are valuable bees, and we should be able to identify their pedigrees, no?  So at first, he answered - "They're bees that have been developed to thrive in NY State."  For a moment, it looked like he was going to leave it there, but he continued, getting to the heart of the question.  "Italian bees have been very popular, but they eat a lot.  They like to maintain large colonies through the winter, so they require a lot of feeding."  Yes, I'd read about the Italians.  Charming, of course, with yellowish stripes and very good-natured.  "But", Ray continued, "we use mainly 'Cariolans' - 'Yugoslavians'".  That's what he said.  Not 'Bosnians' or 'Croatians', but the good, old-fashioned, now defunct 'Yugoslavians'.

WHAT?  Was I hallucinating?  It was all I could do to stifle a squeal.  I will explain, for those of you who don't know me personally, that originally, our family name was Djurićic̀, i.e. what used to be referred to as a 'Yugoslavian' name.  Then Ray (which was my father's name, as if things could not get more weird) started talking about the Russians.  Russian bees are tough and resilient and much favored in current bee-breeding programs.  Russian bees, btw, are Yugoslavian bees that went to Russia, got the shit kicked out of them by hostile weather and murderous parasites, and ultimately managed to survive and thrive.  And, of course, I've got that base covered as well, being ¼ Russian.

Conclusion, Yugoslavia lives on, if only in American apiaries, and -

BEEKEEPING IS MY DESTINY!