This is a hungry time for honey bees.  Snows are melting and the days are lengthening, but trees and plants are only now coming out of dormancy.  The first spring flowers are a ways off yet.  On warm days, the bees fly from their hive in search of food, but there is little available.  Most beekeepers help things along by feeding their bees.

A few weeks ago, we gave our bees sugar syrup, but now, the hives are becoming more active.  The bees want pollen for protein, especially now that the queens are laying eggs.  The worker bees need to feed protein to the new brood.  

We found a basic chemical-free recipe for pollen substitute from the Scottish Beekeeping Association (SBA).  What follows is our recipe, adapted with acknowledgement from the SBA   Technical Data Sheet on Pollen Substitute.

Patties can be refrigerated for up to two weeks.  To store longer, patties should be frozen; thaw to room temperature before giving them to bees.

Out in the spring bee yard, the workers are flying and there is good activity in thehives.  Our bees have honey stores to eat, but the pollen patties are a nutritious addition.  In a 7-10 day period, each hive used a 4-ounce patty.  On this day, we will replenish the patties.

There are too great benefits to using pollen patties ...  the bees get the protein boost they need at the end of a long, cold winter; the beekeepers get a little peace of mind as we wait for warm, flower-filled days to arrive.

And did you know ... the two most important springtime plants for foraging honey bees are pussy willows and dandelions?  In the coming weeks, if you are blessed with a lawn full of dandelions, leave them for the bees.  The pollen from these early plants is indispensable food for the hive.

Inside the bulb, deep in the heart, is a tiny bit of DNA which contains their entire history:  the sunny stony slopes of Turkey, the slow world of design and change in the flat fields of Holland, the exhilarating days when a single bulb was worth a fortune on the Dutch stock market, the famine days of 1945 when the Dutch dug them up to eat and now, the calm days of owning the northern hemisphere in the spring.  

A tulip is cyclical.  It blooms, dies down, takes in sun and regrows, rests and cools and blooms again.  It sends out odd sweet scents, licorice or honey or pale mown grass and entices bees and gives pleasure to the gardener.  If a freak May storm should arrive and cover the buds with coats of clear frost, the tulips nod and smile for no harm will be done and the experience will be exhilarating. 
 
For a week or six, the tulips own the garden and get the music going. 

They bring in the perennials, the lilacs and the iris, and, just as the peonies fall apart and the lilies arrive and the delphiniums are gearing up, the tulips’ lips curl back and they open wide, wide to the air and, almost turning themselves inside out, they release their petals one by one.   The tall thin leaves are all that remain and these fiddle for position, twist for the light until, one day, they slowly brown and droop away for the year. 

For now, the tulip bulbs, fat and buttery, sleep in the ice cold earth and contemplate another  spring.

In my garden, the brave early buds of our rhubarb plants are a certain sign of spring. 

Faithfully returning year after year, garden rhubarb (Rheum rhabarbarum) is a healthful edible that I am grateful to see when the sun warms the soil.

Growing up, rhubarb was a food my family ate stewed and by the bowlful.  When we moved, I remember my mother bringing a rhubarb start to establish in a new garden.  This lowly vegetable – and yes, it is a vegetable –  was a "comfort food" we all enjoyed.  And took for granted.

Now, as a northern gardener, I appreciate this cool-season perennial much more. 

Reliably winter-hardy, rhubarb is ideally suited to the northern garden.  That early flush of growth we all recognize emerges from the plant crowns, which are fleshy rhizomes.  The reddish stems that appear (called petioles) are tart, but juicy and flavourful given the right sweetening.  The leaves are not edible because they contain high levels of oxalic acid.

Rhubarb has been a common plant in Canadian gardens since pioneer times.  In those early days, people relied on it as a nutritious food source after a long winter.   Rhubarb does contain   several important nutrients, including Vitamins A and C, thiamin, riboflavin, niacin, potassium and phosphorus.

According to the Rhubarb Compendium, a rhubarb plant will continue to produce leaves as long as temperatures remain cool (below 32°C).  As temperatures rise, the growth slows.  The plant may even appear to go dormant in extremely hot weather.  Growth resumes in late summer.

Rhubarb tolerates most soil types, but it grows best in fertile, well-drained soils enriched with plenty of organic matter.  The plant can tolerate slightly to moderately acidic soil (soil pH as low as 5.0), but it will do better with a pH of 6.0 to 6.8.  (A pH of 7.0 is considered neutral.)

Rhubarb loves a good feed of nutrients.  Composted manure is an ideal source as it helps to conserve moisture and preserve soil structure, while making nutrients available to plants.  Rhubarb is drought tolerant, but a mulch of straw around the crowns is useful for conserving moisture.

As flower stalks appear, they should be removed before the flowers open.  This keeps plant energy directed to the production of leaves. 

Over time, rhubarb crowns become crowded and will produce smaller stalks.  Pruning with a spade, digging vertically to reduce the overall size of the crown should improve growth.  Prune to 4 or 5 buds.  These are long-lived plants, though, and you shouldn't need to do this until crowns are 5 to 9 years old, according to one provincial rhubarb production guide.  You can also lift and divide the crowns, rather than prune, if you want more plants.

If you are looking to establish a rhubarb bed, keep in mind that these perennials like lots of room.  Place root starts 100 cm apart.  Planting any closer will crowd the plants and lessen the crop yield.  In the home garden, planting in a raised bed is ideal as rhubarb needs good drainage to avoid rot in the crowns.

Here are a few more planting tips:

• Dig  an extra large hole for the crown.
• Mix composted manure and/or peat most with the soil.
• Firm the soil around the roots, but keep it loose over the buds.
• Gently work 50 ml of 5-10-10 fertilizer into the top 25 cm.
  
• Water well after planting.
• Let the plant grow without picking stems for the first year after planting.
  

In the fall, after the first hard frost, collect and compost the last few stalks.  Spread a shallow layer of compost (or leaves or hay) to prevent winter winds from drying out the crowns.

Mmmm.  Can't you just taste this strawberry rhubarb pie?

I recommend visiting the Pie Recipe page at the Rhubarb Compendium.  So many variations on a delightful theme.

But don't forget about muffins, crumble and cake, tarts, jam, even savoury dishes. 

For years, when there hasn't been time to make a pie, I've prepared this easy, old-time Nova Scotia dessert.

PUDDING – In a medium bowl, mix together flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt.  Stir in rhubarb and raisins.  In a separate bowl, beat together milk, egg and vanilla just enough to combine; stir into flour mixture.  Turn batter into greased 8-inch (2 L) square baking dish.
SAUCE – Into boiling water, stir brown sugar and butter until sugar dissolves and butter melts.  Add lemon juice, rind and nutmeg.  Pour gently over batter. Bake in 350°F (180°C) oven for 30  too 35 minutes or until pudding is golden brown on top and centre is firm to the touch. 
Servings:  About 6
Named for a recipe made popular on a 1940s radio show,, this adaptation appeared in Canadian Living magazine in the 1980s.

So go out, pick some rhubarb and enjoy this rosy-coloured gift of spring.  It's good for you!

Did you notice I gave you a little nudge today?   I know you love your beauty rest, but truth be told, I'm hoping you will wake up soon. 

It's May.  It's time to tidy winter's leavings, don't you think?   Surely you can feel the warmth in the sun now.   Isn't it just the thing to coax you into new growth?  

I have to admit I'm longing for your soil to warm so we can really get to work, you and I. 

I've plenty of seeds and there are tiny, hopeful plants already pushing themselves into green life on my dining room table.  We owe it to them to make things ready, wouldn't you agree? 

Be patient, you say?   I know seeding and planting come in good time, but you see, it's been such a long winter.

I'm grateful for the delicate snowdrops you sent up last week when the snow seemed like it would never melt.   They made me smile. 

And come to think of it, my friend, these earliest of flowers must be a sign – a yawn – to let me know you heard me calling.   Am I right?