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How to Build a Bee Skep

For centuries, beekeepers have used “skeps,” carefully designed domed baskets, to house their hives. Bees need a clean, dry place to make a home and “I guess beekeepers got tired of using hollowed out logs,” explains Kennard in a softly accented but very British voice. Northern European beekeepers migrated from logs to straw skeps somewhere between 800 and 1200 AD. Bridal couples in medieval Holland were given a skep to parade around the village as a symbol of starting a new home, and a swarm of bees as a wedding gift. But, once the modern Langstroth box hive was perfected and came into common use, bee skeps fell out of fashion.

Today, beekeepers are required to be able to easily open their hives for inspection and mite prevention, so skeps can no longer be legally used to house bees. And, you pretty much have to destroy your hive to get any honey. You can use a skep to capture a swarm, though. And they look pretty sweet and old-timey.

Although they are impractical for bees, Charlie says that there are lots of folks like him who want skeps. “I like having them around, because I guess I just like archaic things.”

If you are intrigued, as Charlie is, with the look and feel of an antique farm and garden, you might want to look at how to make a traditional English straw bee skep. Be forewarned, skep-making is a long and crafty process. It’s an ancient art, after all. And, there are ancient materials and tools involved. Plus about two days of repetitive work that can be hard on your wrists and fingers. Still curious? Here’s how to make one of your own:

Materials: First you need skep-making straw. Charlie uses “Harding grass” (Phalaris aquatica) which is considered an invasive grass, so gather it freely. Other grasses can be used, like rye straw. You’ll also need some cane for binding the grass together. Dried and split blackberry canes can be used, or purchase 5 mm rattan cane (the kind used to cane chairs).

Tools: If you’re going to do it right, you’re going to need old school tools, made from bones and stuff. Here’s what Charlie uses: A comb for removing the seed heads and straightening the grass stems, a hollow cylinder – called a “girth” – for shaping the grass coils (this one is made from a cow horn), an awl or two for pushing the cane through the coils of grass (turkey bones work well), a mallet (made from a tree branch), and some water in a bucket with a cup to wet down the canes and make them supple enough to bend (Charlie uses an abalone shell for this).

Then you need a lot of free time and some patience.

How to make a bee skep:

1. Soak your cane in water. As you take one out, put another in so that you’ll have soft cane throughout the process.

2. Comb out a handful of grass to make sure there are no leaves or seed heads. Smooth, soften and “de-kink” it with your comb. A leg protector can come in handy here, especially if you’re not too good with a sharp things.

3. Make sure your straw is pliable. A mallet helps.

4. Start by making the top of the basket. Take the end of your pre-soaked cane and insert it through the end of the straw bundle, then start wrapping the cane around the bundle to make the start of a coil. The smallest coils come first, so it’s the hardest part. Make three wraps of the cane, then put the third wrap through the middle. It’s called a “binding stitch.”

5. Sew the coil. Use an awl to make a space in the coil where you want your stitch and push the cane through the awl space and pull it out the other side. This can get tricky as you make the first coil.

6. Use the “girth” to add more straw to the end of your bundle. Make sure you put the ends of the new straw inside the existing coil straw so they don’t show. Try to get it to full thickness as soon as you can without making it look lopsided.

7. Stitch it up. Interlock the stitch you’re making with the two stitches right above it in the row you just coiled. Stitch spacing is crucial. The stitches have to look uniform, If they are too far apart, your skep will look wonky. This is the part that takes days and wrecks your hands.

8. Keep a uniform diameter. As you are stitching each coil, use a pattern cut of out cardboard that is the exact size of the inside of the skep as a guide to make sure your skep has a uniform diameter. The dimensions of skeps vary by tradition, but most have a slight bulge in the middle, and are narrower at the bottom. It makes carrying them easier.

9. Leave space for an opening. Be sure to leave about a 6-inch space in one coil without stitches for an opening to the skep. Charlie puts the entrance to the skep at about ¾ the distance from the top to allow easy bee access.

10. Cut out the hole. Once the skep is finished, cut out the space you left for the hole. Done. A perfectly made bee skep. If you’re storing it outside, be sure to put it in a little niche, under an eve, or somewhere where it will be protected from the elements.

This article first appeared on Modern Farmer and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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In the great garden of Gaia, where consciousness bloomed like endless fields of wildflowers, there stood an extraordinary structure known as the Hive of Spheres.

Unlike ordinary beehives that housed honey and workers, this hive was the home to countless thoughts and dreams of humanity that pulsed with activity during daylight hours. Each sphere, centred on Gaia’s core, was stacked on top of the earth. Each layer vibrating at its own unique frequency of thoughts.

In the sphere closest to Gaia’s heart, the Extractosphere buzzed with thoughts of resources drawn from the Earth’s flesh – oil, minerals, and precious metals. These thoughts were heavy with purpose but tinged with worry, like bees carrying too much pollen.

Beyond it lay the Makeosphere, where creative thoughts transformed raw materials into tools and treasures, their energy spinning like workers crafting honeycomb.

Moving outward, the Packosphere hummed with thoughts of containment and preservation, while the Tradosphere buzzed with the exchange of goods and services, thoughts darting back and forth like bees performing their waggle dance. 

Further still, the Servosphere swirled with thoughts of helping and healing, and in the outermost ring, furthest from Gaia’s embrace, the Usosphere glowed with the consumption of all that had been extracted, made, packed, traded, and served.

During the day, humans moved through these spheres like busy worker bees, their thoughts confined to the rigid geometry of their roles and working their magic transforming products and services between the layers.

But as twilight descended upon Gaia, something remarkable happened. Just as bees return to their hive at dusk, humans returned to their homes – but their thoughts did not rest. Instead, they took flight into the night like luminous dream-bees, seeking the mysterious Change-Flowers that bloomed only in moonlight.

The Change-Flowers were unlike any other flowers in Gaia’s garden. Their petals shimmered with possibilities, each one reflecting a different potential future. Their stems grew from the rich soil of Gaia, but their blooms reached up towards the heavens of infinite potential. As the dream-thoughts settled upon these flowers, something magical occurred.

A young woman’s anxious thoughts about the Extractosphere’s drain on Gaia landed on a Change Flower’s midnight-blue petals. In its reflection, she saw new ways of harvesting energy from sun and wind. 

An elder’s worried thoughts about the Packosphere’s waste found a flower with silver-green petals that showed him visions of natural packaging that returned to the earth like autumn leaves.

Night after night, the dream-thoughts gathered nectar from the Change-Flowers, transforming fears into visions of possibility. 

They carried this precious cargo back to their sleeping humans, drop by drop, night by night. 

Slowly, the rigid spheres of the hive began to shift and flow, their boundaries becoming more permeable, their purposes more aligned with Gaia’s rhythms.

As the seasons turned, the Hive of Spheres gradually transformed. The Extractosphere learned to take only what could be renewed. The Makeosphere began creating in harmony with nature’s patterns. The Packosphere discovered the art of impermanence, while the Tradosphere found ways to exchange that enriched all participants. The Servosphere expanded to care for all of Gaia’s creatures, and the Usosphere learned the joy of using less to live more.

And so it was that the nightly dance of dream-thoughts and Change-Flowers slowly healed the relationship between humanity and Gaia. 

The Hive of Spheres remained, but it now pulsed in harmony with the planet’s heartbeat, its boundaries soft and flowing like honey, its purpose sweet with the nectar of consciousness transformed.

For just as bees are essential to the flowering of plants, so too are dreams essential to the flowering of human consciousness. And in the garden of Gaia, both continue their eternal dance of transformation. 

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