When I awoke the next day, I was pleasantly surprised by the simple but perfectly delectable breakfast waiting for me under a steel cover, accompanied by a matching set before Holmes and a fresh paper sitting on the chair: I saw no sign of a housekeeper, and it was not known to me that Holmes could cook such a fine meal. I tried my best to suppress my shock, but as always, my ever observant friend had picked up on it.
"I see from the look in your eyes that you are quite bewildered. Yes, I'm afraid that I was unable to secure anyone that could cook and keep quite as well as Mrs. Hudson when I first migrated to the South Downs, and as such have taught myself these skills. They are not bad things to know, and I daresay I could live quite comfortably should the whole rest of the world should deign it necessary to waste away. Yes, Watson, I am indeed quite comfortably self-sustained on this plot of land. So long as my bees keep up, I should have also the luxury of a store of honey, which is more than could be said for my life before in London, I am sure. Would you like some on your toast? I do think it does wonders for the bread. There, not too much, yes, that should do it."
Breakfast thus finished, I made to pick up the paper, eyes already ghosting towards the agonies column. It was a mechanical gesture, automatic in the presence of Holmes, and I was much jolted when Holmes wagged his pipe at me and gesticulated for me to drop the paper. "Come now, Watson. Let England out of your wary eye for a day. You are in a beautiful countryside; let us walk, and you may make the inquiries for which I know you ache. Oh, don't look so surprised. You know my methods."
We made our way out into the road, but I found myself lacking in interest about his retirement: it was clear that he had a quiet life now, and there is very little to inquire about and even less to report. Instead, I found the conversation turning towards the topic, yet again, of his bees. He immediately became more animated and discussed extensively the behaviour of the insects. At some point, the subject turned to the life cycle of an average worker bee, and he delivered a most riveting account.
"You see, in addition to honey, bees are capable of producing another substance, called royal jelly. It's the sole diet of a larval bee for the first few days after it hatches from the egg, until they start eating beebread - most delightful concoction of pollen and honey, it is. They are quite helpless at this point, the larvae. Quite so indeed, until they turn into pupa and are sealed into the cells – did you know that an adult bee must chew her way out of the cell? No? Well you do now, good friend. She does so, and lives for at most a few months, all the while caring for her eventual replacements.”
“Do they not have the opportunity to become queens?”
“I’m afraid not, Watson. But next time in the apiary, I shall point out to you particular cells which show the eggs who are destined for royalty, as well as the shells of the regular infants of the bees.”
And with that promise, Holmes changed the subject, asking of my life, of London, of the arts in the city, and would speak no more of the bees, leaving myself to wonder at how the bees could so miraculously know how to act once trapped in a cell – how amazing instinct was! But as much as I attempted to flank in the question, Holmes would have nothing of it. I have seen before how that great mind is able to switch so completely from amongst topics, and never had it frustrated me so.
- Dr. John H. Watson
--------------------------------
Reading: http://www.countryrubes.com/images/The_Life_Cycle_of_a_Bee_updated_9_09.pdf
1) I knew that bees would make royal jelly, and I’ve actually had some before (it was pretty awful), but I didn’t realise they also made beebread. Now I kind of want to try that!
2) I find it so fascinating that they literally chew their way out of their cells. I thought only birds would peck their way out of their eggs, but to “hatch” thrice (once out of the egg, once out of the pupa shell (I assume that happens?), and once out of the cell itself) is pretty cool.
3) They only live for a few months at most … that’s so sad …
Question: It’s so miraculous that they know how to get out of the cell once trapped – would they respond the same way if trapped in anything else? Or is it just for that short time that the instinct kicks in?
To look for: Sealed pupa cells.
Thursday, 27 October 2011
Monday, 17 October 2011
A Visit to South Downs
There's a short summary at the end if you're pressed for time.
----------------------------------------------------
I have written of the adventures taken up by my esteemed friend, and often these are written fervently from my notes in an attempt to strike a balance between that which is eloquent and that which I could commit to paper before Holmes could change his opinion. I have no shortage of incredible cases in my notebooks, itching to be brought before the public eye, but alas, those whose reputations upon these notes could ride are too great of persona to endanger.
There has always been, however, one aspect of Holmes's life which he would have no qualms of my writing, although unfortunately it could not hope to be as riveting as those tales of ingenuity and wit which captured the attention of the London public all those years ago. Many times I have been petitioned to reveal more of the current situation of my dear friend, and it is with the hope of securing a better picture of his lot that I found myself on a train to his estate in Sussex, where he has been spending his years of retirement dividing his time between the conundrums of philosophy and the keeping of bees in a dreadfully hermit-like fashion.
I admit myself to be utterly ignorant of any matters pertaining to his rural way of life, and it was with equal parts apprehension and intrigue that I greeted the great detective at his door. I had little to fear, of course, but was quite alarmed when he began immediately to implore inquiries upon me.
"My word, Holmes, I have not eaten a banana, and what should it matter if I have had alcohol?" I had finally exclaimed in defiance of his questioning. I had not been drinking, I proceeded to inform him, but I could not understand why it could be of importance.
His answer did surprise me, and I must say that we have had much too low an opinion of bees. After chiding me for not reading his book, he went on to explain the sensitivity of bees towards all sorts of scents and smells that could come off of a body. "Far be it from my purview to concern myself with your diet, Watson; that is for your lovely wife to watch - do give her my regards, if you could - but the hives have a much more attuned sense towards chemicals than even the best of us."
I expressed my surprise, and Holmes went on to elaborate. "They are irritated by perfumes, colognes - I hope you have not worn any? Good. I myself have taken to eschewing them. The poor bees: intelligent as they are, they have naught but flowers upon the forefront of their minds - should you look like one or smell like one, I guarantee you they shall treat you as one. Will you be wearing gloves, Watson? I do not, but perhaps you would like a pair. Yes, here you are, and veils to protect our faces. Could you man the smoker? Take care that you do not burn them, but the smoke does do wonders to calm the poor things; people say it seems to them that there is a fire nearby, in which case I daresay that they must be scared out of their wits by the frequency of flames in their environment. Well, we are quite prepared, I think! Quiet now, they are gentle creatures, and don't take kindly to gregarious behaviour."
And so, dressed in a disorienting veil and lumbering after Holmes with a smoker in hand, I proceeded to watch as Holmes carefully stood to the side of his hives and inspected the bees. The buzzing was gentle, and I admit myself to have been quite hypnotised by the diligent workers. Unfortunately, so complete was the enchantment that I quickly forgot to tend to my duties, and the buzz quickly grew agitated. Chuckling, Holmes took the device from my hands and waved me backwards, calming the bees by himself and restoring the hive to the state in which he had found it.
It was with good humour that he spoke to me afterwards, asking with jest if it had been an instructive experience. I replied that it had indeed. "Did you happen to see the way they responded to my laughter? No? No matter, we can go again tomorrow, but they became much more weary the moment I opened my mouth. Truly, they are extremely sensitive beings."
As I settled into bed that evening, I found myself thinking back to the bees. Truly marvelous creatures they were, and I had a glimpse of understanding into why Holmes felt content in keeping them in his own isolated little patch of earth. I found myself wishing that I had not opted for gloves, wondering how having one's hand in a fuzzy congregation of bees could feel. It brought slight colour to my cheeks to think of how negligent I had been of my duties, and remembered with intrigue how the bees had retreated so quickly in the presence of smoke, and could not help but brood on how the smoke affected the bumbling animals.
All in all, it was a gentle and peaceful dream, full of friendly bees, into which I drifted.
- Dr. John H. Watson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Reading: http://video.about.com/smallfarm/Beekeeping-Safety.htm
Three Things:
Questions: Does anyone know exactly why they flee from smoke, or what it does to their state? Like, does it calm them? Frighten them? How do the bees feel like??
----------------------------------------------------
I have written of the adventures taken up by my esteemed friend, and often these are written fervently from my notes in an attempt to strike a balance between that which is eloquent and that which I could commit to paper before Holmes could change his opinion. I have no shortage of incredible cases in my notebooks, itching to be brought before the public eye, but alas, those whose reputations upon these notes could ride are too great of persona to endanger.
There has always been, however, one aspect of Holmes's life which he would have no qualms of my writing, although unfortunately it could not hope to be as riveting as those tales of ingenuity and wit which captured the attention of the London public all those years ago. Many times I have been petitioned to reveal more of the current situation of my dear friend, and it is with the hope of securing a better picture of his lot that I found myself on a train to his estate in Sussex, where he has been spending his years of retirement dividing his time between the conundrums of philosophy and the keeping of bees in a dreadfully hermit-like fashion.
I admit myself to be utterly ignorant of any matters pertaining to his rural way of life, and it was with equal parts apprehension and intrigue that I greeted the great detective at his door. I had little to fear, of course, but was quite alarmed when he began immediately to implore inquiries upon me.
"My word, Holmes, I have not eaten a banana, and what should it matter if I have had alcohol?" I had finally exclaimed in defiance of his questioning. I had not been drinking, I proceeded to inform him, but I could not understand why it could be of importance.
His answer did surprise me, and I must say that we have had much too low an opinion of bees. After chiding me for not reading his book, he went on to explain the sensitivity of bees towards all sorts of scents and smells that could come off of a body. "Far be it from my purview to concern myself with your diet, Watson; that is for your lovely wife to watch - do give her my regards, if you could - but the hives have a much more attuned sense towards chemicals than even the best of us."
I expressed my surprise, and Holmes went on to elaborate. "They are irritated by perfumes, colognes - I hope you have not worn any? Good. I myself have taken to eschewing them. The poor bees: intelligent as they are, they have naught but flowers upon the forefront of their minds - should you look like one or smell like one, I guarantee you they shall treat you as one. Will you be wearing gloves, Watson? I do not, but perhaps you would like a pair. Yes, here you are, and veils to protect our faces. Could you man the smoker? Take care that you do not burn them, but the smoke does do wonders to calm the poor things; people say it seems to them that there is a fire nearby, in which case I daresay that they must be scared out of their wits by the frequency of flames in their environment. Well, we are quite prepared, I think! Quiet now, they are gentle creatures, and don't take kindly to gregarious behaviour."
And so, dressed in a disorienting veil and lumbering after Holmes with a smoker in hand, I proceeded to watch as Holmes carefully stood to the side of his hives and inspected the bees. The buzzing was gentle, and I admit myself to have been quite hypnotised by the diligent workers. Unfortunately, so complete was the enchantment that I quickly forgot to tend to my duties, and the buzz quickly grew agitated. Chuckling, Holmes took the device from my hands and waved me backwards, calming the bees by himself and restoring the hive to the state in which he had found it.
It was with good humour that he spoke to me afterwards, asking with jest if it had been an instructive experience. I replied that it had indeed. "Did you happen to see the way they responded to my laughter? No? No matter, we can go again tomorrow, but they became much more weary the moment I opened my mouth. Truly, they are extremely sensitive beings."
As I settled into bed that evening, I found myself thinking back to the bees. Truly marvelous creatures they were, and I had a glimpse of understanding into why Holmes felt content in keeping them in his own isolated little patch of earth. I found myself wishing that I had not opted for gloves, wondering how having one's hand in a fuzzy congregation of bees could feel. It brought slight colour to my cheeks to think of how negligent I had been of my duties, and remembered with intrigue how the bees had retreated so quickly in the presence of smoke, and could not help but brood on how the smoke affected the bumbling animals.
All in all, it was a gentle and peaceful dream, full of friendly bees, into which I drifted.
- Dr. John H. Watson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Reading: http://video.about.com/smallfarm/Beekeeping-Safety.htm
Three Things:
- How sensitive they are to the things like CO2, alcohol, bananas!
- Smoke calms bees - that's pretty cool to me.
- I never knew that some people would go in to work with bees with bare hands. That's amazing.
Questions: Does anyone know exactly why they flee from smoke, or what it does to their state? Like, does it calm them? Frighten them? How do the bees feel like??
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Test, and Apology
This is just a post to test if I've done everything correctly.
In addition, it is an apology for starting this blog so ridiculously late. Better late than never, I suppose, but I never thought IB would be so consuming. By the time I was finished, I wanted to de-stress and burn some Spies in a videogame.
So. My apologies, and to make up for it, I will try to make every post as interesting as possible.
In addition, it is an apology for starting this blog so ridiculously late. Better late than never, I suppose, but I never thought IB would be so consuming. By the time I was finished, I wanted to de-stress and burn some Spies in a videogame.
I swear, it's much less disturbing in-game.
So. My apologies, and to make up for it, I will try to make every post as interesting as possible.
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