Summer is in full swing, and we are checking annual tasks of
our list. The peas have been picked, shelled, and frozen. I pulled out the pea plants and took down the trellis. Done. The garlic is harvested and drying
outside. The meat chickens are resting peacefully in freezer heaven. I’ve
started making pickles. The first tomatoes from the high tunnel are ripe.
Zucchinis are coming in at a rate of three per day, which adds up faster than
you might think.
There was a surprise addition to the list this week—harvesting honey. The story begins with my friend Jane, whose favorite hobbies are online shopping and watching the Cubs. She found a good deal on a honey extractor, which is a giant centrifuge that spins the honey out of the comb. She knew we needed one because, if you are a loyal reader, you may recall that I tried EVERYTHING to get honey out of a single frame last fall. I ended up with a big sticky mess and about a half cup of honey. Spinning is definitely the way to go.
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| The honey extractor: motor on the top, rack for frames inside |
What I didn’t realize was that we would be using the
centrifuge so soon. I thought we would wait until fall. Our bees made honey
last year, but did not make it through the winter. When we got new bees this
spring, I thought we left all the honey in the hive to support the bees until
pollen and nectar was abundant. Unbeknownst to me, Terry had pulled out some of
the honey-containing combs and stored them in his shop. Terry was, therefore,
practically giddy when the giant box showed up at the house. He wanted to begin
at once. “It’s good to do it when it’s hot out,” he said.
I looked at the frames, which had been stored in a plastic
bin the bottom of which was coated with honey and bugs. Also, there were
suspicious bubbles here and there.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked. “It hasn’t fermented?”
“It’s fine!” Terry insisted. “It can’t ferment. It’s too thick.”
I conceded the point. After all, archeologists have found
honey in Egyptian tombs thousands of years old that was still perfectly edible.
Terry assured me that all the impurities would be filtered out.
We assembled the extractor by putting on the legs and the cover.
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| Assembled with bricks to hold it steady |
We put it outside on the patio in the afternoon sun so the
honey would heat up and flow more readily. Terry put brick on the legs to minimize
shaking. The combs were not uniformly full of honey, so there was no way we
could balance it perfectly.
Our first problem was that we didn’t have an uncapping knife. This is a heated knife that melts the top of the comb off, opening each cell. We tried scoring the comb with forks. We loaded the frames in the extractor.
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| Frame loaded in the rack |
And started it spinning. Honey and wax bits appeared on the side of the centrifuge.
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| If you look closely, you can see wax and honey drops on the sides |
We were puzzled at first that we didn’t seem to be getting a
lot of honey out of the comb. The frames remained heavy. I got out my
beekeepers’ book, which explained that we had a reversible extractor that would
only remove honey from the outside of the frame. Duh! You would think I didn’t
use a centrifuge nearly every day of my research life. So we spun one side for
a while, then reversed the frames.
We had to stop for the day before we were done with the
first two frames, and we didn’t get back to it for a few days. Honey has lasted
for thousands of years in Egyptian tombs. Meanwhile, I watched YouTube videos
from which I learned that the best thing for uncapping is an electric carving
knife. Eureka! I already owned one! Also, to clean the extractor, you should
start with cold water, which solidifies the wax so it flakes off. Warm water
will melt the wax, and then you will have a right mess. The honey should be
filtered as it is removed from the extractor. Collect the honey in something
that has a spout at the bottom so you can draw off the honey after the foam has
settled on the top. A paint filter over a five-gallon bucket with a hole and
hole cover (commercially available) works great. I never heard of a paint
filter, but I do own a set of soil sieves that range from coarse to exceedingly
fine. I don’t use them for soil. I got them for cleaning dry beans, but have
found other food-related uses from time to time.
Electric knife in hand, we finished spinning the rest of the
frames in one day. We had enough honey to barely come up to the hole in the side
of the drum. Terry tipped the drum while I held two of the coarser soil sieves
over a large bowl. I don’t have pictures because it was just too sticky. We
managed to remove all of the wax flakes.
Here’s the honey in the bowl.
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| After the first filtration |
The only thing I had that opened on the bottom was a 1-liter gravy separator. It works like a separation funnel, if you’ve ever had to endure Organic Chemistry. You pull the handle and a valve opens on the bottom. I put about half the honey in that.
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| Honey settling in a gravy separator |
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| The bubbles coming to the top |
The rest went into a 2-liter pitcher. Our total honey production at this point was 2.3 liters.
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| 1.3 liters of honey in a pitcher |
As instructed, I left it overnight. In the morning, the top was indeed covered with foam. I expected air bubbles, but it had the consistency of marshmallow fluff. I drew the honey off the bottom of the gravy separator as planned, but it wore out my hand holding the trigger that long. I took the foam off the pitcher with a spoon, which worked quite well.
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| Honey fluff |
I was so amazed by the foam that I had to show Terry, even
though I knew he’d seen it before.
“Oh yes!” he said. “That’s valuable! People use that for
stuff.”
“For what?” I asked. “Honey whoopie pies?” The only time I
remember buying marshmallow fluff was when I was making whoopie pies, which
were really good BTW.
Terry couldn’t exactly remember. He has a tendency to think
lots of things are more valuable than they actually are. This is why he is a
packrat.
I ran the honey through three ever finer filters and was pleased with the outcome. It’s a wasteful process. No matter how hard you try, some honey is left behind with every transfer. Nevertheless, we ended up with four lovely pints of honey. And the clean up with cold water was much easier than I thought it would be.
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| The final product |
One more skill to add to our resume!
