
By Cynthia Houng
From a distance, the trees appear draped with lace. White lace, spun by expert fingers, then looped over the almonds' grey branches in exuberant swags. Up close, it's not lace, but thousands of tiny, delicate white flowers. The almond trees are in full bloom, and the bees are here.
Look carefully, and you will see stacks of small white boxes, no larger than a banker's box. White, rectangular, they house the honeybees responsible for pollinating acres upon acres of almond trees. If the bees do their job, the almond farmers can look forward--provided that the weather cooperates--to a nice, healthy crop. If the bees fail, then hard times are in order.
Almonds are a major cash crop in California, and 120, the road to Yosemite, is lined with almond orchards. Around Oakdale, the landscape changes, and almond trees and processing plants begin to appear by the side of the road. A full 100% of San Joaquin Valley's almond crop relies upon honeybee pollination. In early spring, local hotels fill up with beekeepers, some traveling thousands of miles, coming from as far away as Florida. Some 2,200 tractor-trailer loads of bees arrive in the San Joaquin Valley during the almonds' bloom period. Anxious growers survey the bees--and reject those that they deem too weak to perform their task.
Bees are expensive. The Almond Board estimates that "bee rentals" comprise some 20% of a grower's annual expenses.
Most years, the pollination business is fraught with anxiety. Almond trees bloom early, towards the end of February and beginning of March. Spring rains and uncertain temperatures mean that the bees may or may not have enough time to complete their task before the almonds finish their bloom. Too much rain, too much cold, and the bees sit idle in their boxes.
This year, however, colony collapse disorder has thrown a new wrench into the delicate process.