Every beekeeper remembers their first hive. Ours arrived on a sunny May day — but not before a bit of a road trip.
We set off bright and early for the lovely town of Tring, an hour and a half away, to collect our very first nuc. There was a mixture of excitement, nerves, and the slight awareness that we were about to become responsible for several thousand winged ladies.
We suited up on arrival, feeling equal parts professional and slightly ridiculous, then carefully loaded our nuc into the car for the journey back.
Another hour and a half later, we pulled up at the farm where our girls would be living. Robert, being Robert, gave the pallet we’d picked as a hive stand a thorough stress test — no wobbles were allowed on his watch.
Our glamorous second-hand hive was ready and waiting. We’d spent the past week cleaning it within an inch of its life and painting it the perfect shade of lilac. She looked beautiful in the sunshine, and we couldn’t wait to see her filled with life.
The nuc was opened, frames carefully transferred, and the girls began exploring their new home without much fuss. It was strangely calming — just the steady hum of bees, the smell of fresh paint and wax, and the satisfaction of finally doing what we’d been dreaming about for months.
Once everything was in place and the lid was on, we did what any sensible new beekeepers would do: we sat down by the hive and had a celebratory snack. Strawberries, fresh from the punnet, shared in the company of our new colony.
That May afternoon was the start of something bigger than we’d imagined — weekends in bee suits, learning as we go, and the quiet joy of watching our lilac hive come to life.
Honey, we got bees!
