by RON MIKSHACalgary, Alberta

-THE BEEKEEPERSOF HUNGARY

The monk called out to his dog."Pempo!"

"Pempo?""Yes," eighty-nine year-old Father

Celerin said, "From Meh-pempo. It meansroyal jelly. I found him years ago, a tinypuppy which would not grow. Its parentswere also very small. So I fed to him royaljelly, to see if he would grow or not. Andlook at him now! He is a real dog!"

We walked with the frail monk throughthe monastery's gardens, past fig trees andmaples, acacia and linden. Dr. Eszter Pappheld his arm, delicately balancing the eld-erly Franciscan. Pempo, the dog, dartedaround the hives.

Father Celerin's assistants blew smokeat the colonies, nearly dormant under thegraying skies of early October. Pemposniffed at the smoke, then at the beeswhich retreated into the thick-walled blueand green hive chambers. The youngerassistant pointed to a particularly busyhive, bits of goldenrod pollen on the legsof a few bees struggling at its restricted

Father Celerin with his dog,Pempo, which comes from Meh-pempo (royal jelly).

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entrance. "Here, open this one." Theywanted to show their best hive to the visi-tors from Canada.

We were in Hungary. Southern Hungary,where early Huns and Magyars tamed theendless plains from the barebacks of whitestallions. Sod was turned over, exposingsome of the richest, blackest soil inEurope. Here, in the city of Szeged, alongthe Tisza River, Franciscan monks hadfounded a monastery five hundred yearsago. The original ancient structure stillstands - through wars and floods andfamines. Behind the centuries-old stonefence, amidst the figs and acacia, FatherCelerin tended his bees.

The care of bees in central Europe has along and honorable history. We were sur-prised to learn that the first bees were keptby the churches and farmers mostly for thebeeswax the hives might provide. Honeywas a delightful by-product. The RomanCatholic Church required candles - lots ofthem - and, by decree of the Pope, they hadto be pure beeswax. Bees, honey, andbeeswax became part of the social and cul-tural fabric of the people of Hungary.Today, a thousand years after the countrywas settled, there are more hives of bees in

(Reprinted courtesy of the Canadian HoneyCouncil's Hivelights magazine.)

this small nation than there are in all ofCanada. And Hungary has become a majorhoney exporting country, with thousandsof tonnes shipped to Germany and Britaineach year.

Father Celerin was not a primitive bee-keeper, but he seemed to be very tradition-al. His bees stayed in the same location allyear. They were housed in bulky, thick-walled boxes that kept the bees warm anddry through Szeged's cool, wet winter. Heused moveable frames, but much deeperthan the North American standard, andhives expanded their brood nests left and.right, not up and up as we allow in Canada.His bees were the gentle, indigenousCarniolan. They tend to make small winterbrood nests and consume little honey.Indeed, I was surprised at the scant storesleft in the hives as winter was approaching.But the small colonies develop quickly inthe spring, creating ample populations togather surplus from the black locust blos-soms. Black locust, or acacia as it is calledin Europe, is the primary honey source. Itis clear and mild and commands a highprice throughout the continent. It comparesvery favorably to our best clover honeys.

To my eyes, I thought the monk's bees

Father Celerin on the far right, author is second from the left.

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Dr. Jozsef Varnai's (right) apiary two hours west of Szeged, Hungary.Author on the left.

245 hives in one location on the Varnai farm. I questioned the wis-dom of placing this many hives together. Read the Doctor's answer.

Author with Mrs. Blasinszky in her Honey Market.

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were unsatisfactorily weak. But we sawquite a similar condition in Dr. JozsefVamai's bees, two hours west of Szeged.In the almond and peach-growing hillsnorth of Pees, Hungary, the medical doctorkept 245 hives on his hobby farm-all inthe same location 1 Like the monk, thephysician did not move his hives and hiscolonies did not look very promising. Butit was October.

"They can make fifty kilos each," Dr.Joe told Eszter. She interpreted hisHungarian. I was doubtful. That's a hun-dred pounds. Dr. Joe saw the skepticism onmy face.

"Really," Dr. Joe said. "Last year wasthirty kilos, but the year before was seven-ty. All from these trees." He puffed bluesmoke from his cigarette and the sparsebees withdrew from the top bars. Dr. Joepulled out a frame, revealing a few scat-tered cells of healthy, sealed worker brood.I still couldn't believe these bees mightmake a hundred pounds of honey in thespring - let alone survive the winter.

Then, the doctor waved his armstowards the thousands of acres of acacia.His hobby honey farm sat on the edge of asmall mountain. Below him, the densegreen blanket of acacia would blossomthree weeks earlier than the trees thatstretched high up the side of the hill. Blacklocust (Robinia pseudo-acacia) is aremarkable tree. Lovell described it as aminor honey plant in its native AlleghenyMountain domain, a fickle honey producerfor ten days each May. But others are moregenerous in their description. McGregorstates that locust yields two thousandpounds of honey per acre - under favorableweather conditions. The tree was intro-duced from America to Europe and inHungary it has found very favorableweather conditions. With 5000 acres oflocust within two miles of Dr. Joe's hives,the potential crop was in the millions ofpounds. Suddenly, the 245 hives crammedtightly together behind his barn did notseem so overwhelming.

But what about colony strength? "1 feeda lot of sugar, tons," said the doctor."There is lots of pollen early in spring-time. These bees build up very quickly."

I studied the small wire fence surround-ing the bees. It wouldn't prevent the inva-sion of black bears. "This fence," said Dr.Joe, "is to keep people out."

"What about bears? You must have aproblem with bears, you're surrounded byforest."

"No, no bear problems. Never.""Are there no bears here?""Yes, yes, we have bears," said Dr.

Jozsef Vamai, "but in Hungary, we keepthem all at the zoo!"

Not all Hungarian beekeepers keep theirhives parked in the same spot year round.Back in Szeged, we dropped by theBlasinszky's Honey Market. The tiny storeon a busy street was operated by elderlyMrs. Blasinszky. Her son, the third-gener-ation beekeeper in the family, trucked four

American Bee Journal

Outside from the BlasinszkyHoney Market in Szeged,Hungary.hundred hives all over the country, chasingthe bloom. They used rather conventional(from a Canadian perspective) Langstrothhives, lifting and moving single-storycolonies by hand and supering at each newlocation. They sold their honey a kilo at atime at their small honey store.

Eszter and I watched as a steady flow ofSaturday morning shoppers queued up atthe counter. From plastic bags and wovenbaskets, customers pulled out glass bottleswhich were weighed, filled fromBlasinszky's drums, then weighed againby the elderly matriarch. The honey choic-es were acacia, linden (which we call bass-wood) and mixed wildflower. Most clientspurchased the higher-priced acacia, but wewatched as one gentleman bought fourlarge jars of the relatively cheap, dark,mixed wildflower.

Lining the walls of the little store werepre-bottled glass jars and plastic bears fullof golden honey. Everything - includingbottles of pollen - was labeled by source,locality, and year of production-like finewines. These people took the productionand consumption of bee products ratherseriously.

The highlight of any beekeeper's trip toHungary is a visit to the national beekeep-ers' museum, in Godollo, a few kilometerseast of Budapest. Located in a botanicalpark next to an apiculture research center.The museum was built in 1983 as a show-piece for the International ApimondiaConference, held that year in Budapest.Before touring the museum, Eszter and Iwere led through the laboratories.

"Here, we measure wing veins," Zsuzsasaid as she held a ruler against the largescreen of a projection microscope. "This ishow we know whether a Hungarian queenbreeder is producing pure Carniolanqueens or not." She shifted the measuring

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Display of antique skep beehives at the National Beekeepers'Museum in Godollo, Hungary.stick several times, holding the ruleragainst a variety of enlarged bee's veins.Zsuzsa made notes on a tablet. "If the sam-ple is not Camiolan, the queen breederdoes not get a license to sell queens. Wewish to keep as pure a strain of bee as possi-ble in our country."

The young scientist explained how theCarniolan bee had evolved in Austria,Slovenia, and Hungary. It was the nativebee for this part of the world, adapted tothe local climate and considered the per-fect insect for Hungarian honey produc-tion. "She winters well with small popula-tions, builds up very quickly in the spring,and she is the gentlest of all bees." I senseda feeling of national pride coupled withpractical economic acumen.

"Bees, beekeeping. These are importantto us," Zsuzsa said. "We know we musthave pollination for sunflowers, fruits,even our clovers. But we also have manypeople who love bees and keep bees. InCanada, you have three times the popula-tion. But we still have more beekeepers.Here in Hungary, sixteen thousand peoplekeep bees. And our size as a republic issmall." I was aware of how small Hungaryis today. It takes only a few hours to crossthe country by car, either north to south orwest to east. In area, Canada is one hun-dred times larger than Hungary. Yet some-how, somewhere, there are 600,000 hivesof bees - roughly the same colony count asCanada. "We export much honey, ten thou-sand metric tons each year, and our peopleeat even more than that, so production isvery high."

We stopped in the director's office.Amid glass cabinets piled high with theAmerican Bee Journals, British BeeJournals, and hundreds of technical bee-keeping books and abstracts, we were toldthe history of the laboratory and its func-tions today.

"It started from a grant by the Emperor,in the nineteenth century. A hundred

hectares were given for the botanical studyof all plants useful to the bee," Zsuzsa said."Today, the grounds are much smaller andwe have fewer hives for experimentation.But we test for diseases - especiallyAmerican foulbrood. And we licensequeen breeders. We also keep a voluntarydatabase of beekeepers and apiaries so wecan alert people when agricultural sprayingmay occur. Also, we tell beekeepers abouttiming of blossoms, so they may movetheir bees to new sources at different timesof the year. Now, if Imay, please come toour museum."

We were led from the laboratories to ahexagonal-shaped building filled with dis-plays of ancient hives and beekeeping tools.Early extractors, similar to the one inventedin 1865 in this part of the world, sat near asolar wax melter. A range of hives -Dzierzon, Huber, Langstroth - were arrangedupon the floor. We carried Benny, our bigstuffed Canadian bee, and Zsuzsa aIiowedhim to sit among the hives and equipment fora series of photos for our web site.

At a glance, we observed a thousandyears of progress in European beekeeping.From skep to box hive. From immovableframes to fully modern colonies. Andamong the antique skeps, the beehiveapartment dwellings, the long boxes withfanciful entrance plates, and the Buckfasthives, I saw the bulky, insulated units ofthe same style which the monk, FatherCelerin, was using to hold his twentyswarms. Part history, part present.Museum items still in use in parts of thecountry by people who love their bees andtheir traditions.Acknowledgments

The author would like to express histhanks to Dr. Eszter Papp for arranging thevisits to the beekeepers, for taking thesephotographs, for interpreting the conversa-tions, and for marrying the author. Thisarticle first appeared in the CanadianHoney Council's Hivelights magazine.

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