If there’s two words together guaranteed to divide a room full of beekeepers, it’s ‘ivy honey’.

Ivy honey is produced by honeybees foraging on nectar from the flowers of the ivy plant (hedera helix). Abundant from late summer through autumn into early winter, ivy provides valuable late-season food for honeybees and other pollinating insects, in the form of pollen (protein) and nectar (carbohydrate). As food for humans, ivy honey has a distinct and delicious taste, with medicinal properties in the same league as Manuka, making it especially helpful as expectorant cough remedy and anti-inflammatory treatment for respiratory disease.

Yet many (most?!) beekeepers deride the stuff. Largely because it crystalises (sets) really quickly in the cells of the comb, making it impossible to transfer from hive to jar without a whole load of extra work. But mainly because (so they will tell you) it smells and tastes different to other honeys – and (so they will tell you) not in a good way. (It actually doesn’t. But more on this later). Some will even tell you that it’s bad for the bees (and here I quote an actual beekeeping tutor, with half a century’s beekeeping experience) ‘because it sets hard in their stomach and kills them’ ….

I’ve often puzzled over this particular nugget of misinformation; why would honeybees (in all other ways super-intelligent) make such an effort, deliberately collecting and storing food that will kill them?! Did none of them (not even one, out of the average 50,000 living together in a hive ) ever notice their myriad sisters’ dropping dead after lunch… and make the connection?? And, if eating ivy honey does kill them, how have they survived, as a species, this last 30million+ years??

Of course, I now know this particular beekeeper’s myth to be exactly that – a myth. Ivy honey does not kill honeybees. It does, however, set really solid, really quickly, in the cells of the comb, meaning a whole load more faff than usual for the beekeeper, hoping to get it out of the comb and into the jar. Which is, I suspect, the real reason so many beekeepers do not like the stuff. This, together with the characteristic smell and alleged odd taste …

… All of which turn out to be additional knobbly nuggets of beekeeping folklore.

Yes, it is true that, freshly packed by the bees into their hexagonal comb cells, ivy honey does have a distinctive sweet & tangy floral aroma; the same fragrance as ivy flowers themselves (Walk past an expanse of ivy in flower on a warm sunny afternoon, and there it is). In the enclosed, warm space of a beehive, that aroma is unmistakable. And does indeed hit you full-force, when those frames of honey are lifted, fresh, from the hive. But here’s the thing … that smell (or ‘stench’ as I’ve heard some beekeeper’s call it!) very soon mellows – as does the taste, transmuting into something altogether more delicious – or, it would, if you bothered to keep it long enough to find out.

And therein lies the key. Many beekeeper’s have never eaten ivy honey. Why? Because they’ve heard the ‘tastes bad’ myth from other beekeepers (who heard it from other beekeepers …) … meaning the ivy honey gets left on the hive or (if they believe in the ‘kills bees’ myth) is removed and discarded (yes, really). Or else they’ve stuck a finger into a fresh frame of ivy honey, straight from the hive, straight into their mouth, and found the hit of unfamiliar flavour to be just too much. Thus the idea perpetuates, that ivy honey is not worth the bother, on account of the distinct smell, the odd taste, and the extra work (oh, and, of course, it’s legendary bee-killing powers …).

But, oh – what a treat they’re missing!

As I have just found out, when I gave ivy honey a go myself for the first time this week; just a couple of frames from my two strongest hives – leaving most still there for the bees.

Yes, it took a bit (erm, quite a lot) more work. Because, whereas most honeys run like liquid gold out of the frame, flowing freely, ivy honey (set hard in the comb cells) has to be coaxed out, gently but determinedly in a step by step process that does take a while (and creates quite a bit of washing up). Indeed, quite a faff. But the result? Several jars of creamy-smooth, delicious soft-set ivy honey. And not a whiff of bad taste about it.

I’ll be spreading it on toast and stashing a jar or three away for the inevitable winter cold and flu season. Because this is where ivy honey’s greatest value lies – in it’s manuka-like medicinal powers. Which, unlike the ‘tastes-bad-&-kills-bees’ is not a myth but a reality supported by an increasing body of scientific research, demonstrating ivy honey’s antibacterial, anti-inflammatory qualities. Plus of course, the simple fact that it tastes good (although, shhhh … don’t say this out loud in a room full of beekeepers …).

Where does the time go, eh? Five months since my previous blog-post; such a lot has happened.  Time to reflect, while pondering a forwards plan.  Two years since deciding to return to beekeeping (after a lapse of nearly two decades) and little more than a year since I began with my first single hive of bees, I feel I can now call myself a ‘real’ beekeeper, having ticked off a number of fundamentals on the apiarist’s learning curve:

Did a Beekeeping course (not once but twice, sixteen years apart); check.  Acquired my first honeybee colony and a whole load of equipment (a mix of new and pre-used); yup.  Negotiated an out-apiary (being unable to keep them at home in my small town garden) and there sited this first colony, very soon accompanied by a second, duly sited alongside; yes and yes.  Negotiated a second out-apiary, and here sited a third colony.  Overwintered all three, thus going into spring with three strong colonies across two very different apiary sites; check.

So far so good … and then:

Lost the first colony (alive and well in February; suddenly dead in March) most probably due to my own error.  Consoled myself with the remaining two colonies, planning ahead for all that lovely honey to come … only to have both of these teeter towards failure in May/June, as Colony No2 turned out to be overly swarmy and Colony No3 fell victim to the site-owner’s penchant for weedkiller; double whammy.  Fortunately, I had by this point (back in April/May) got all adventurous, putting into action all that I’d read about raising new colonies as ‘splits’ (one each from my two then-still prolific surviving colonies).  Result: two offshoot colonies, both going strong.  Thus I was able to save the two failing colonies; taking a frame of eggs from one of these ‘splits’, I combined the two failing hives together, adding in that frame of eggs, from which I hoped the bees would raise themselves a new queen.  Result: two weak queenless colonies transformed into one, complete with new, healthy and productive queen, all (by July) doing well in their new shared home at my original Sennen site.  Here, they have gone from strength to strength, so much so that I have recently split this now-prolific combined colony, rehousing half into the vacant hive (previous home of deceased Colony No1). Fingers crossed they will raise their own new queen, and I’ll go into winter with two strong colonies again on that original site, at Sennen.  Meanwhile, a new opportunity presented; a quiet corner of a field at Crows-an-Wra (a tiny hamlet about three miles inland from Sennen; a convenient and manageable distance from my original site).  Here I am siting the two April/May offshoot-split colonies; one in the long-empty ‘spaceship’ Eat Natural hive, and the other in a more standard ‘National’.  Meaning four strong and healthy colonies (two on each site) going into winter; hopefully they will both survive, to have a head-start come next spring.  Joining me on the learning curve, my granddaughter continues to enjoy visits to the bees; donning her miniature beesuit (the smallest size available) and gloves, she is confident and knowledgeable, and always happy to end a hand.

Alongside all of this I’ve been processing wax and making candles (watch this space for future details on where and how to buy), and experimenting with sowing and growing pollinator-friendly flowers, on both apiary sites and also in my garden at home.  The one thing that hasn’t properly happened  (yet!) is honey harvest.  What with bee losses and so much change: repeating steps, backtracking, troubleshooting and restarts, taking the bees’ precious food (which they work so hard to produce) is way down on my ‘must do’ list.  It is a long-shot but I’m hoping I may still get to take off some honey this season.  Not impossible (still a few weeks to go yet, before the autumn wind-down) but unlikely; bottom line being that, whatever honey my bees do manage to make and store, they need it more than me.  There is always next year, and in the meantime I can satisfy myself with knowing that I’ve learned a lot in this first year, and will continue to do so …