Bee season is here!

Yep, it's that time of the year again; bees are swarming and it's time to collect them - after all, freebees are hard to come by.

For those beekeepers who are fortunate enough to have had a good survival over winter, early swarms are definitely good news. Not only does that mean 10 to 20,000 free bees, it also means the hive is in good shape, and as such, may escape the terrible CCS (Colony Collapse Syndrome) that is still striking bees all over the

world.

According to my beekeeper friends, they have already picked up 10 or so swarms around Central Oregon, and are keeping their eye out for new ones. Lorin, one of my friends in Bend who is experimenting with new ways for hiving bees, said he has picked up three so far.

Contrary to the popular opinion, a swarm of bees does not mean you will be stung to death if you get near them. The so-called, "killer bees" of movie-fame can be very hostile. These escaped - and often violent - African bees invaded the U.S. from Brazil from an industrial beekeeping business attempting to crossbreed them with domestic bees for a greater honey yield.

"Our" domestic bees that we see swarming in spring and early summer are just out looking for a new home; they have nothing to protect (except the queen), and are too busy trying to stay warm and looking for a new home to be hostile. Oh, sure, if you go out and whack 'em with a stick, or pester them, they'll respond with like aggression. But if you're gentle and talk to them as you collect them and hive them, they'll just sing to you.

That's what my granduncle, Moultan Alexander Rockefeller, told me when he took me out to collect my first swarm in 1939, when I was 11 years old. "Talk to them, Jimmy," he said, as he sat in the wheelbarrow and lit up his old smelly pipe. "They're scared, they don't have a home, and you're going to provide them with a brand new one."

The first time I touched a swarm of bees I was both scared to death and thrilled. They were so hot I yanked my hand back in shock. "They're hot!" I whispered to my Uncle Moult.

"Sure, they're hot," he said, "about 90-degrees - they're always 90-degrees - inside outside, winter and summer; that's the way they keep their queen happy."

I snipped the branch off the apple tree the swarm was hanging on, and as I gently lowered the bees into a cardboard box, Uncle Moult said, "Watch for the queen, and go slow, you'll see her bodyguards protecting her."

I never did see the queen, but dear old Uncle Moult came over and watched as I lowered the swarm into the hive and gently pushed the bees around with his finger, and then, taking his now smoldering pipe out of his mouth, he pointed into the mass of bees and said, "There! There she is..." And sure enough, there was this very robust-looking bee, much larger than the others, and with about 10 bees all touching her with their antenna.

Once you have seen that, you will never be frightened of bees again.