First Beekeeping Experience

I didn't know this was going to be one of the new skills I was going to learn for 13skills.com, but my husband got the "bug" and we are now beekeepers.

Early last year, we attended beekeeping classes at the local Oklahoma State University extension office. The instructor was very informative and other fellow beekeepers attended to help field the mass of questions the students asked during breaks.

For the last day of class, we attended a hive building workshop.We took the grand kids with us, thinking they might enjoy learning how to build a bee hive. They ended up being very helpful and enjoyed nailing and gluing the frames together.

Tom watched endless hours of videos on the internet to prepare himself for the two hives he was going to get in the spring.

Then my friend, Dottie, called.

She had a friend that wanted to get rid of the beehive filled with bees on her property and we were free to take them. As this story unfolds, you'll see we made lots of mistakes. It was definitely a learning experience.

On a cool, rainy day, Tom and I loaded up early in the morning and followed my friend Dottie to the property where the bees were located. This is before we learned that bees do not like rainy days. We did learned that the bees had not been handled in over two years and may even have some Africanized traits in them. We were nervous on our first bee experience, but we braved on, donning our bee suits.

Tom's suit was a nice jacket with a zip-on hood and veil. I wore a coat with a veil that tied around my chest and waist. Dottie helped us into our gear. As she zipped Tom into his veil, the zipper head came off into her hands. We didn't know what the problem was, but we tucked everything into the Velcro  flap at his neck and continued on.

In the drizzly rain, Tom cracked open the bee hive to peer inside. We had never seen so many bees in one place! Angry at being disturbed on a chilly, dripping day, the bees boiled out of the hive and swirled around us. Many of them landed on my back, turning my coat black with bees.

Several times, we walked away from the hive to reorient and to let the bees settle down a little. Unfortunately, Tom kept getting stung. It seems there was a gap in the suit where the zipper had malfunctioned. Bees also were slipping up under his jacket where his pants had slipped down (as they usually do). Later, Tom estimated that he had been stung about twenty times at the base of his throat and a few more times in other places. Luckily, he wasn't showing any allergic reaction and didn't even swell.

After all that work (and agony on Tom's part) the bees didn't like the new home we had provided for them and flew away.  Even though Tom had to evaluate seriously whether he wanted to pursue beekeeping further, he decided in the long run that he still was interested. He has learned a lot and now has four hives to manage and thoroughly enjoys his hobby.

Deer Hunting

This is the buck my husband shot last fall. My grandson, Joseph, had never been hunting before and begged his grandpa to go. Luckily, Tom has access to a posh deer stand that even a 10-year-old can be comfortable in. The stand is enclosed and large enough to comfortably fit three chairs, accessible by a spiral staircase.

Although I'd been up in the deer stand with my husband several times, I chose to stay back at the camper with my granddaughter. This was "male bonding" time for Tom and Joseph.

While Kinzie and I played board and card games, Tom and Joseph took the short trek to the deer stand, spotting three deer on the way. Things were looking good already!

Unfortunately, it was nearly dark before this buck ambled into view. Tom took his shot, sure he had hit the buck, but it scrambled into the woods without falling.

In the waning light, they searched for signs of the deer, but were not successful in finding it or a telltale trail. Disappointed, they admitted defeat and returned to the camper for dinner and hot chocolate.

The next morning, Tom rose early for another day of hunting, while the grandkids and I peacefully slept in.

About the time I was expecting him to return for breakfast, Tom called, wanting help dragging a buck out of the thicket. Excitedly, the kids and I dressed and raced to meet Tom to help.

Turns out that he was successful in hitting the buck the night before. After hunting from the stand that morning, Tom decided to try one more time to locate the deer he was so sure he had hit. Sure enough, he found the trail in the bright morning light and followed it all the way to the thicket where the buck lay. The subfreezing overnight temperatures preserved him long enough for us to find him.

 Tom and I tried to prepare the grand kids for the upcoming field dressing of  the buck, giving them the option of staying in the truck during the process. Both children seemed willing to participate, so we trudged through the thorny overgrowth toward Grandpa's prized buck. They were fascinated by the animal and touched it's horns and coat while Tom prepared his tools. Before making the first cut, Tom warned the kids again of what was to come but they had come too far to miss the event.

As Tom slid his knife into the hide, Kinzie, my grand daughter exclaimed, "Now it's dead!" Every knife slice through the hide, brought another, "Oh no. Now it's Really Dead!" We tried to explain that the deer was already dead before we got there, but she didn't seem to comprehend that.

My poor husband had to listen to all kinds of comments while trying to field dress the deer. We each had grabbed one leg to help steady the buck while he worked. Blood spattered a bit as Tom used a hatchet on the pelvic bone. Joseph was ecstatic, knowing his enthusiasm would aggravate his sister.

Finally, Tom and I each grabbed a horn and drug the buck to the truck, grand kids in tow. Later, as we hung and quartered the deer, Tom gave each child a deer leg to play with. We were surprised to discover the kids playing for hours, making foot prints in the dirt with their hooves.

Also, as grandparents, we enjoy creating a little havoc with the kids' parents. This time, it was watching the looks of disgust as they try to be polite to us when their children excitedly presented the deer legs to their parents. I love being a grandma!

Learning New Skills in 2013

I have recently discovered a fascinating podcast by Jack Spirko called thesurvivalpodcast.com. For many of you, the mere word "survival" conjures up visions of cammo-wearing, assault rifle-toting, redneck fear mongerers.
I assure you, this is not the case at all.
My ever-patient husband, Tom, watches me taking copious notes on gardening techniques, generator and battery tips, cooking ideas and more.
Now, Jack has challenged his listeners to learn thirteen new skill in the year 2013 and as even developed a website just for this challenge called 13skills.com
These skills don't necessarily have to be prepper based.
One of the skills I chose was to improve my writing and starting this blog seemed to be a good idea.
I also have included some of the other more run-of-the-mill skills like canning, wild game processing, etc.
So, why would I think that learning new skills would be worthy of blogging about?
Well, for one thing, I'm fifty years old with grandchildren, and take my word for it, learning new skills at this age, really is more difficult.
That realization is really hard on the ego, too.
Regardless, I invite you to go along with me in my quest to learn "new tricks."
We'll explore the frustrations of learning something new and laugh at ourselves at the same time. (Or you can laugh at me, therefore taking the pressure off of you.)
Let me first tell you why plumbing is NOT on my list of skills to learn.
A few months ago, our tub backed up and my husband was not in a hurry to fix it so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Instead of using the small pipe snake, I decided that this clog needed the bigger, professional snake that we stored in the garage.
Even at fifty, I'm pretty strong, so I lugged the 75-lb. snake into the house and proceeded to remove the screws from the part where you flip the toggle to plug the drain.
I don't know what that part is called, but I've seen my husband remove it previously and so that is what I did.
I stuck the snake down the hole and worked it as far as I could.
I also remembered where he'd had trouble in the past getting it into the right place, so I proceeded to ram the snake repeatedly down the drain pipe, fully expecting to fix the clog.
After several minutes, I was have no luck, and sweat was streaming down my face. (Wait, I'm a girl. Perspiration glistened on my cheek.)
I kept repeating to myself, "My husband has done this--so can I!"
Finally, something gave and I heard water trickling as the tub began to empty.
Elated, I started cleaning up and turned to the lavatory to wash my hands.
No water! Hmm.
Apparently, I had disconnected the drain pipe from the tub, slamming it into the water supply pipe and dislodged it also.
Luckily, I did have enough smarts to turn the water off at the main, so that there was not a mud slick under the house.
That only helped a little in getting me out of the doghouse because the crawl space under the house is very shallow. My instructions at this time was to be prepared to call the fire department in the event that Tom got stuck while trying to get to the drain.
I sat in the office with tears streaming down my face while listening to my husband grunt and groan with every scooch and wiggle as he slid his full frame past spiders and God knows what else under the old house.
Yep. No more plumbing for me! The good news is that my husband now is very expedient in fixing any plumbing problems as soon as they occur, just in case I change my mind.