Baldar: honey from the Kara-Buura hills

We loaded twenty-four hives on the lorry of Uncle Esen and took them up the hill to the sainfoin. This is called "kochevka", moving with the bees, like moving with the herds. Papa works at night, because at night the bees are home and quiet. We closed the entrances at 10 p.m., drove with the lights off for the last kilometre, and opened them at dawn.

The lorry could only get as far as the old stone sheepfold, so the last part is on the shoulders. Papa is 55. He carried six boxes.

Papa says the best honey in the world is from sainfoin (esparcet). It is a pink flower in the high meadows above our house, and in the third week of May it turns the whole hillside the colour of a girl's scarf. The honey is almost white, thick, and tastes of almonds.

The trouble: the weather. If it rains for two days, the bees stay home, and the flower is over. Papa is looking at the sky every five minutes. I told him there is a weather site in Talas. He said: "The sky is faster."

The sainfoin hillside above the apiary.

Papa says I must start with the bees, not with myself. So: the first warm day was on Friday, 4 May, and the bees came out of the winter house in a cloud. They flew in circles to see where they are, then went back in, then came out again. He stood at the door with the smoker and watched them like a father watching children go to school.

Papa says: "Count the dead ones on the ground. Fewer than last year. That is the answer."

He lost 4 hives of 62 over the winter. He is not happy and not unhappy. This is a good number.