When that happens, they rear up some new queens by feeding eggs a special substance called “royal jelly.” (Tasty as it sounds, you probably wouldn’t want any, as it comes from a bee’s head–oh, wait, so does honey.)

Then the old queen and half of the worker bees leave the hive in search of a new home.

They swarm.

A swarm of bees looks terrifying! Thousands of them in a big clump–it seems like you’re under attack!

Er. No.

Swarming bees are searching for a new home. Because they don’t have a hive to defend, they’re unlikely to sting, and they have absolutely no interest in you.

Scout bees check out potential places, using a special dance to report back with their findings. Once a good spot is located, the swarm relocates there.

All those other bees? They’re just hanging out around their queen until they get word it’s time to move on. (The queen releases a pheromone–a scent–that keeps the bees close.)

Now as a beekeeper, you don’t want your bees to move on. You want them to settle in one of your hives. So when a hive swarms, you don your protective outfit, get some helpers and go collect those bees.

How? Well, in my experience, one person stands under the swarm with a hive box, while another gives the branch a good shake, hoping the queen and enough workers land inside that they’ll settle.

Somehow, I always wound up as the person holding the box.

No, I don’t have pictures (this was in the days before everyone had a camera phone, and we were far too busy to be snapping photos). But you can imagine what it’s like.

It’s warm outside, a bit sweaty under all those layers (even if they are white). You’ve got a heavy wooden box balanced on your head and you’re just waiting for the bees to land. What’s taking so long? You peer out to see what’s going on and realize they’re about to go. You duck back under, bracing yourself for impact.

And then it comes–thousands of bees crash land on top of you, the weight knocking you down for a second, the buzzing everywhere at once. (But don’t worry, the bees are confused, not angry.)

You set the box down and get a lid on it, hoping you got the queen. Because if you did, the workers will begin to build comb and the colony will stay. But if you didn’t, you’ve lost the swarm.

It was sort of like this, but with a much bigger drop before they landed on my head, er, in the box.

Life’s an adventure!

So I said yes.

And I absolutely loved it.

Our hives looked a lot like these, only ours had big numbers painted on them. That way we could keep track of which colony our bees were from. Honey bees live in colonies of up to 60,000 individuals–all of them sisters from the same mom. (Think you’ve got issues with your siblings? Imagine what it would be like living with thousands of them!)

I’d get suited up, fire up the smoker, and crack open the lid of the hive. Smoke poured over the bees inside, keeping them calm, and I could check to see how they were doing. Was the queen laying eggs? Were there lots of workers? Did they have enough honey to get through the winter?

Then I’d find a frame for the lab’s research. A typical hive has 10 frames in it with a wooden outer, well–frame, that holds a thin layer of wax. Bees build their waxy comb onto that base, so it’s easy to pry a frame loose and lift it out to see what’s going on inside the hive. Bees store different things in different parts of the hive. Some frames contain honey, others have growing bees, called “brood.” Brood frames were the ones I needed. But not just any brood  frames would do.

I had to find one with bees that were just about to emerge from their pupal stage. After the queen lays an egg inside a cell (a six-sided opening in the wax), worker bees called “nurses” take care of it. The egg hatches, and the nurse bees feed the growing larva until it’s ready to pupate. At that point, the workers seal up the top of the cell, closing off their little sister until she’s ready to come out.

And that’s what I was looking for: bees that were just starting to emerge. I had a special carrier box to take the frame back to the lab, where we kept it in a nice warm room that mimicked the conditions of the hive. Once a day, we removed the bees that had emerged, putting them in containers, so we could study their behavior.

It was fascinating. So much so that I stayed in the lab for four years, until I graduated and left town. And bees (of all kinds, not just honey bees) now hold a special place in my heart.

Sometimes it’s worth stepping outside your comfort zone. That’s where the magic happens.