Frames Stuck Together From Propolis: Why Breaking Them Costs You Bees

You lift the hive cover and immediately know you're in trouble. The frames aren't individual components anymore - they're a solid mass. Propolis has welded every surface together. The top bars have bonded to each other. The frame ears sit cemented to the hive body rabbets. Burr comb bridges the space between boxes. You need your hive tool, leverage, and about thirty minutes you didn't plan to spend.

Then you start prying. The frames crack apart with resistance that feels like breaking plastic rather than separating wood. Bees who were clustered in those propolis-sealed gaps get crushed as the frames snap free. More bees get pinned when you try to push frames back together after inspection. By the time you replace the cover, you've killed what one research study estimated as roughly 30 bees per inspection for a "careless beekeeper" working heavily propolized equipment.

Multiply that across weekly inspections during active season, and the body count adds up. Some beekeepers report killing "a handful or two" of bees every single time they replace boxes. Others describe spending hours scraping propolis just to make equipment workable again. The substance beekeepers once tried to breed out of bees - because it made comb honey look messy - turns out to perform crucial hive sanitation functions. But it also creates a management problem that doesn't have simple solutions.

Heavy propolizers exist. Some colonies produce minimal propolis and frames stay relatively mobile all season. Other colonies seal everything so thoroughly that breaking apart equipment becomes an operation requiring multiple hive tools and deliberate force. The variation appears partly genetic. Beekeepers who've kept bees from different suppliers report dramatic differences in propolis production between lineages, even in identical environmental conditions.

Here's what actually happens when you work with heavily propolized equipment, why breaking things apart kills bees, and how beekeepers are adapting their management to reduce casualties.

What Propolis Actually Does

Bees don't collect propolis. They collect plant resins from tree buds, sap flows, and botanical sources, then mix those resins with wax and saliva to create propolis. The resulting substance functions as antimicrobial coating, structural sealant, and general-purpose construction material. In tree cavities - the natural home for honey bee colonies - bees coat interior surfaces with propolis to create a protective envelope.

Inside managed hives, bees apply propolis according to their evolutionary programming. They spread it on rough surfaces. They caulk cracks in equipment joints. They reduce entrance sizes, particularly in fall when defending smaller openings becomes easier. They entomb animals too large to remove - mice, snakes, or voles found dead inside hives get mummified in propolis layers that prevent bacterial decomposition from contaminating the colony.

Research shows propolis provides genuine antimicrobial benefits. The resin compounds inhibit bacterial and fungal growth. Colonies with access to propolis show better disease resistance than colonies prevented from collecting it. For decades, bee breeders selected for low propolis production because the substance made extracting clean comb honey difficult. Recent understanding of propolis's protective functions has reversed that breeding pressure somewhat, though commercial operations still prefer moderate rather than heavy propolis production.

The problem emerges in how bees interpret "rough surfaces needing coating" and "cracks requiring sealing." Frame top bars present rough wood surfaces. The narrow gap between top bar and hive body inner cover reads as a crack. Frame ears sitting on hive body rabbets create another gap. Bees systematically coat and fill all of these spaces with propolis, effectively gluing the hive into a sealed unit.

In cold weather, propolis hardens to cement consistency. Beekeepers describe it feeling like trying to break apart something bonded with epoxy. In warm weather, propolis becomes sticky and adhesive. It coats hive tools, transfers to gloves, and creates strings of amber goo between frames as you pry them apart. Neither condition makes inspection easier.

The Mechanics of Stuck Frames

A frame stuck with propolis isn't uniformly bonded along its length. Bees concentrate propolis at contact points - where the frame ear meets the rabbet, where adjacent top bars nearly touch, where bottom bars approach each other. These concentration points create strong bonds while leaving other areas relatively clear. When you pry the frame loose, force concentrates at these bonded points until something gives.

What gives is usually the propolis bond itself, but the breaking process crushes bees. Here's why: Bees cluster in the spaces between frames. The gap that should be bee space - approximately 3/8 inch - gets reduced when propolis builds up on top bars and frame edges. Bees still fit in there, but barely. When you insert a hive tool and apply leverage to break the propolis bond, bees in that compressed space have nowhere to go as the frames separate.

The motion happens faster than bees can react. Even though you're moving deliberately from your perspective, the actual moment when propolis cracks happens suddenly. The frame that was solidly stuck breaks free with a snap. Bees positioned in the gap at that moment get caught between moving surfaces. It's not dramatically different from what happens when you replace boxes and bees get crushed between the rims - except that stuck frames create more separation points where this can occur.

Forum discussions among beekeepers consistently mention killing bees when working with heavily propolized equipment. "I seem to crush a handful or two of bees" appears frequently. "A few bees get squished" and "some bees always get caught" represent common reports. Experienced commercial beekeepers acknowledge higher casualty rates when working yards known for heavy propolis production. Nobody likes it, but it's treated as an unavoidable consequence of working stuck equipment.

Research from Scientific Beekeeping quantified this issue through controlled trials. They deliberately crushed approximately 30 bees per inspection on test hives, estimating this matched "the amount of bees that it seems that a careless beekeeper kills every time he or she opens a hive." The study monitored these colonies over eight months, comparing them to control colonies that didn't experience intentional crushing.

The colonies survived the repeated crushing without showing measurably worse outcomes compared to controls, suggesting colonies can absorb inspection casualties as routine operational losses. But "survives without measurable decline" and "isn't affected" are different conclusions. A colony losing 30 bees per inspection multiplied by weekly inspections equals hundreds of bees killed over a season. For a colony maintaining 40,000-60,000 population during summer, these losses represent a small percentage. For smaller colonies or those already stressed, the mathematics change.

The Compound Effect of Multiple Separation Points

Breaking apart a heavily propolized hive creates dozens of separation events. First you separate the outer cover from the inner cover - often stuck together. Then inner cover from top box - usually bonded along all four edges. If you're working double deeps or multiple supers, each box separation involves breaking propolis seals around the entire perimeter.

Once boxes are separated, frame manipulation begins. The first frame - typically an outer frame - requires breaking it free from both the adjacent frame and from the hive body wall where propolis has sealed it. You might kill a few bees just getting that first frame out. Then as you inspect frames, each one needs separation from its neighbors. Push them back together and you risk pinching bees between top bars that want to seat tightly against each other.

Beekeepers working 10-frame equipment report particular difficulty. Ten frames pushed tightly together leave minimal working space. Bees fill any gap immediately. When you try to push frames back together after inspection, bees seem magnetically attracted to exactly where the frames need to seat. Multiple beekeepers describe this phenomenon in similar terms - "like steel to a magnet" - suggesting it's genuinely difficult to clear bees from those specific contact points.

Eight-frame equipment provides slightly more working room. Some beekeepers specifically choose eight-frame boxes partly to reduce propolis management issues. The extra space between frames when nine are used (leaving one out for working room) makes frame manipulation easier. Whether this actually reduces bee casualties during inspection depends on handling technique, but it at least changes the geometry slightly.

Plastic frames generate their own propolis issues. Bees often build excessive burr comb along plastic top bars, apparently because the smooth plastic surface doesn't provide adequate grip for normal comb attachment. This burr comb combined with propolis creates bridges between frames that require cutting rather than just prying. The cutting motion introduces another opportunity for bee casualties as you slice through areas where bees cluster.

Timing and Temperature Effects

Cold weather makes propolis management worse. When temperatures drop below 50°F, propolis hardens completely. Spring inspections in northern regions often involve working with equipment that's been sealed solid all winter. The propolis hasn't just hardened - it's had months to cure into maximum strength bonds. Breaking these apart requires serious force.

Beekeepers describe needing multiple hive tools, working from multiple angles, and sometimes giving up on smooth inspections entirely in favor of just breaking things apart as efficiently as possible. The increased force required means less control over how frames separate, which means more bees caught in the process. Spring inspections in cold climates consistently generate higher bee casualties than summer inspections in the same apiary.

Summer presents opposite problems. Warm propolis becomes sticky rather than brittle. It doesn't snap cleanly - it strings and tears. Tools get coated. Gloves become tacky. The propolis smears across surfaces rather than breaking free as discrete pieces. This makes cleanup harder but might actually reduce bee crushing because frames don't separate with sudden snapping motions. The sticky propolis provides gradual resistance rather than brittle failure.

Inspection timing relative to daily temperature patterns matters. Early morning inspections when propolis is cooler and harder might generate more crushing. Midday inspections when propolis has softened might reduce sudden separation events. However, midday also means maximum flight activity, which creates different handling challenges. There's no clearly optimal temperature window that solves all problems simultaneously.

The First Frame Problem

Beekeepers universally acknowledge that removing the first frame presents the greatest difficulty. This frame - typically an outer frame containing mostly honey - sits bonded to the hive body wall on one side and to the adjacent frame on the other. It has nowhere to go except straight up, which means breaking propolis bonds on two parallel surfaces simultaneously while lifting against gravity.

Different techniques exist. Some beekeepers start with the flat end of the hive tool, scraping along the top bar to break the horizontal propolis between frames. Then they use the hooked end to lift, hoping the frame has enough clearance to move. Others work the tool along the side, breaking the bond to the hive body first. Still others insert wedges or multiple tools to pry from several angles simultaneously.

None of these methods completely eliminate bee casualties. The first frame removal kills bees almost every time when equipment is heavily propolized. Beekeepers report that after getting the first frame out and set aside, subsequent frames come easier. The empty space where that first frame lived provides working room. You can angle frames into that gap, twist them slightly to break propolis bonds, and generally maneuver with less force required.

Some beekeepers run nine frames in ten-frame equipment specifically to address this issue. The extra space from the missing frame makes the initial separation easier. When you push frames together before closing up, they automatically space themselves with slightly wider gaps. This means less propolis bridging between frames during the interval until next inspection. However, it also means bees often build burr comb in the extra space, which creates different but related problems.

The alternative - running 11 frames in ten-frame space - is sometimes suggested to prevent burr comb entirely. If frames are crushed together so tightly that bees physically can't build between them, you eliminate one issue. But you exacerbate the propolis problem and make frame removal even harder. Most beekeepers consider this a worse trade-off than living with some burr comb.

What Bee Removal Efforts Actually Accomplish

Before setting a box back down or replacing a frame, beekeepers attempt to clear bees from contact surfaces. This involves smoking, brushing, or herding bees with a hive tool. The goal is having no bees positioned where surfaces will meet when you complete the motion. In practice, this rarely works perfectly.

Smoke encourages bees to move down between frames, which is exactly where you don't want them when you're about to push frames together. A quick puff clears the top bars momentarily, but by the time you get the frame positioned to seat it, bees have returned. They move that quickly. Beekeepers describe trying to time the motion - smoke, wait a second, place the frame immediately - but the window is narrow.

Brushing bees aside works better for clearing specific spots but takes more time. You can't brush every potential contact point before making a move. Some beekeepers try herding bees with breath - gentle puffs from their mouths rather than smoke - which clears surfaces without driving bees deep into crevices. This requires getting close to the work, which increases sting risk but might reduce crushing.

The observation from Scientific Beekeeping's crushing study bears repeating: when researchers began crushing bees deliberately with a roller, bees on top bars immediately disappeared between frames. They didn't cluster defensively or react with alarm pheromone as expected. They just fled downward into the gaps. This suggests that bees recognize the crushing threat and attempt to escape, but they escape into spaces where they're actually more vulnerable to being caught between moving frame surfaces.

Another finding: beekeepers who inspect frequently often become less careful about bee casualties, not more. When you're managing dozens of hives on a schedule, the time spent meticulously clearing every bee before every motion becomes impractical. You develop faster techniques that accept some casualty rate as normal. Commercial beekeepers openly acknowledge this trade-off. They move faster because they must, and they kill more bees as a result, but their operation economics depend on inspection speed more than minimizing every bee death.

The Propolis Scraping Debate

Should beekeepers scrape propolis off equipment regularly, or leave it in place? Arguments exist for both approaches. The scraping advocates point to easier hive manipulation. If you remove propolis buildup from top bars and rabbets after each inspection, frames remain mobile. The next inspection proceeds smoothly without breaking bonds.

The leave-it advocates argue that bees will just reapply propolis anyway. Why spend hours scraping when the bees treat your cleaned surfaces as fresh canvas requiring immediate coating? Some beekeepers report that propolis removal seems to trigger increased propolis production, as if the colony recognizes the defensive layer has been compromised and works to restore it.

Practical experience suggests a middle approach. Scraping off extreme buildup - the lumps and bridges that make frames genuinely difficult to manipulate - makes sense. Leaving thin coatings that don't materially affect hive operation avoids creating unnecessary work. But this middle ground requires judgment calls about what constitutes "extreme" versus "acceptable" propolis levels.

Many beekeepers report simply accepting that certain colonies are heavy propolizers and adjusting expectations accordingly. These hives get inspected less frequently. When opened, the beekeeper accepts that more time will be required and more bees will likely die. The trade-off is having genetics that demonstrate good propolis collection, which correlates with better disease resistance.

Equipment maintenance during off-season represents ideal propolis scraping opportunity. Dead-out equipment, extra boxes stored in the shop, spare frames not currently in hives - all can be systematically scraped, cleaned, and prepared for next season. Winter provides time for this work when bees aren't present to immediately reapply propolis. The equipment starts spring clean, giving beekeepers at least a few weeks of easier manipulation before heavy propolis production resumes.

Alternative Management Approaches

Some beekeepers have moved away from traditional frame-by-frame inspection specifically to avoid stuck equipment problems. They conduct what they call "quick checks" - lifting the cover, observing bee population on top bars, perhaps removing only the outer honey frames without touching the brood nest. If everything looks normal from the outside (good flight activity, appropriate seasonal behavior, no obvious problems), they leave the interior undisturbed.

This approach contradicts standard recommendations for disease inspection frequency. Most extension services suggest monthly inspections minimum during active season. The inspection-minimizers argue that breaking apart hives causes more harm than the early disease detection provides benefit. They point to their own loss rates - which aren't notably worse than beekeepers who inspect more frequently - as evidence that hands-off management works adequately.

Foundationless beekeeping advocates sometimes report less propolis trouble. The theory is that bees given freedom to build natural comb create better-proportioned bee space naturally. Without foundation, they're not forced to work within spacing determined by manufactured equipment dimensions. Whether this actually reduces propolis production or just changes where bees apply it remains debatable. Foundationless frames still get glued to hive bodies and to each other.

Top bar hives eliminate the propolis-between-frames problem by having no frames in the traditional sense. Each bar sits separated from adjacent bars by design. Bees still propolize the bars to the hive body, but removing a single bar doesn't require breaking it free from neighbors on both sides. However, top bar hives introduce different complications including comb attachment issues and honey extraction challenges, so they're not clearly superior for propolis management overall.

Some operations use plastic frames specifically because they're less likely to accumulate propolis buildup in the same patterns as wooden frames. Bees do propolize plastic, but the smooth surfaces reportedly make scraping easier when it becomes necessary. However, plastic frames create the burr comb problems mentioned earlier, so this represents trading one difficulty for another rather than eliminating problems entirely.

The Commercial Reality

Commercial beekeepers running hundreds or thousands of hives can't afford to spend extra time gently coaxing apart stuck frames. Time is money at scale. A beekeeper managing a 500-hive operation who spends an extra 10 minutes per hive dealing with propolis has just added 83 hours - more than two full work weeks - to that inspection cycle. That's economically untenable.

Commercial operations develop techniques that prioritize speed. Multiple hive tools. Aggressive leverage using hive bodies as fulcrums. Quick prying motions that break propolis bonds with single sharp movements rather than gradual pressure. These techniques kill more bees per hive than careful hobbyist approaches, but they're necessary for maintaining inspection schedules that keep operations profitable.

The implicit calculation is that bee casualties from rough handling cost less than the labor time saved. A colony maintains 40,000-60,000 bees during peak season. Killing 50 bees during inspection represents 0.08-0.12% of colony population. If those 50 deaths let the beekeeper inspect the colony in 15 minutes instead of 30, the time savings across hundreds of hives justifies the casualty rate. The colony replaces those lost bees within days.

This logic holds until the beekeeper encounters colonies that are already stressed. Small colonies, queenless colonies, disease-affected colonies - these can't absorb casualties as easily. A 50-bee loss to a 10,000-bee struggling colony represents 0.5% of population, a more meaningful impact. But identifying which colonies can afford rough handling and which can't requires judgment that itself takes time. Most commercial operators default to consistent handling across all hives because the alternative adds complexity without clearly improving overall outcomes.

The equipment standardization in commercial operations helps somewhat. If you're running all-medium boxes on all hives, you develop muscle memory for how much force breaks propolis on that specific equipment. You know the angle that works. You can work faster because every box handles identically. This reduces variation and might actually reduce bee casualties per minute of handling time even if it doesn't reduce casualties per inspection.

The Genetics Question

Breeding programs traditionally selected against heavy propolis production because it complicated commercial honey operations. Queens were rated partly on how much propolis their colonies deposited, with preference given to lines that produced minimal amounts. This selection pressure continued for decades, creating stocks that use significantly less propolis than feral colonies.

Then research emerged showing propolis's antimicrobial properties and its benefits for colony disease resistance. Suddenly the substance beekeepers spent a century trying to eliminate looked like something valuable. Some breeding programs reversed course, deliberately selecting for increased propolis production. Other programs maintained their low-propolis selection on grounds that management difficulty outweighs disease resistance benefits.

The result is substantial variation in propolis production across queen sources. Beekeepers who purchase queens from different suppliers report dramatic differences in how much propolis their colonies produce. Italian stocks tend toward moderate propolis use. Russians often produce heavy amounts. Carniolan lines vary significantly depending on specific breeding source. Some VSH (Varroa Sensitive Hygiene) lines also show increased propolis collection, possibly because the genetic traits bundle together somehow.

If you're dealing with consistently heavy propolis problems, requeening with different genetics represents a viable long-term solution. This doesn't fix the current season's stuck frames, but it changes the baseline for future years. One caution: low-propolis genetics might correlate with worse disease resistance. The beekeeping literature isn't completely clear on whether this trade-off is real or which direction of correlation proves stronger across different environments.

The feral colony research complicates this picture. Studies of feral colonies - those living independently without human management - show they typically produce substantial propolis. Surviving without treatment requires every advantage, and propolis's antimicrobial properties apparently provide meaningful benefit. This suggests that low-propolis selection might compromise survival characteristics that matter for colony health even if it makes human management easier.

When Stuck Frames Become Equipment Failure

Extreme propolis buildup can damage equipment beyond just making it hard to work. Frames bonded to hive bodies for multiple seasons sometimes can't be removed without breaking the frame itself. The wood joints fail under prying force before the propolis bond breaks. You end up with a destroyed frame still stuck in the hive body, requiring tools to extract the remains.

Similarly, hive bodies left assembled too long develop propolis bonds so strong that separating them splits the wood. Corner joints crack. Box edges splinter. What should be routine manipulation becomes equipment destruction. This matters economically because replacing damaged equipment costs more than the time spent managing propolis before it reaches destructive levels.

Some beekeepers report that certain wood types resist propolis buildup better than others. Pine - the standard hive material - reportedly accumulates propolis readily. Cedar or cypress supposedly resist somewhat, though these claims aren't well documented. The wood surface finish might matter more than species. Rough-sawn lumber provides more surface area for propolis attachment compared to planed smooth surfaces. Painted equipment reportedly collects less propolis than bare wood, though paint requires maintenance that adds different labor costs.

The frame joint design affects failure patterns under prying stress. Box-jointed or finger-jointed frames withstand lateral forces better than frames assembled with simple nails or staples. When you're torquing frames against propolis bonds, joint strength determines whether the bond breaks or the frame does. Premium frames cost more initially but survive rough handling longer, potentially providing better economics across multi-year use cycles.

The Underlying Question

All of this circles back to a fundamental question: how often do hives really need full frame-by-frame inspection? The American approach to beekeeping emphasizes frequent intervention. European beekeepers often inspect far less frequently, arguing that excessive manipulation causes more problems than it solves. Some experienced American beekeepers have moved toward less-invasive management after decades of traditional intensive inspection schedules.

The disease inspection argument for frequent opening sounds logical. Early detection of foulbrood, nosema, or other diseases lets beekeepers treat before problems become terminal. But in practice, most diseases progress slowly enough that monthly inspection versus weekly inspection doesn't materially improve outcomes. By the time symptoms are visible, the disease has already established. The week or two between inspections rarely makes the difference between treatable and untreatable situations.

Swarm prevention represents another justification for frequent inspection. You need to check for queen cells weekly during swarm season to catch preparations before the swarm leaves. However, this only matters for beekeepers who prioritize swarm prevention over other colony outcomes. Some beekeepers accept that strong colonies swarm and manage around that reality rather than trying to prevent it through intensive inspection schedules.

The bees themselves vote with their behavior. Colonies worked frequently show stress indicators that colonies left alone don't demonstrate. They become more defensive. They use more resources rebuilding disrupted comb structures. Queens that get chased around frames during inspections sometimes reduce laying temporarily. Whether these effects rise to the level of measurably worse colony outcomes remains debated, but the effects exist.

Perhaps the optimal inspection frequency varies by colony strength, season, and specific management goals. A new colony building up requires different monitoring than an established colony maintaining itself. Spring buildup creates different needs than fall preparation. Managing for maximum honey production requires different intervention than managing for colony survival and reproduction. Blanket recommendations for universal inspection schedules ignore these variations.

What It Costs You

Every inspection that breaks apart heavily propolized equipment kills bees. How many depends on equipment condition, handling technique, colony population density, and probably other factors nobody's systematically measured. The Scientific Beekeeping estimate of 30 bees per inspection for careless handling provides a baseline. Careful beekeepers probably kill fewer. Fast commercial operators probably kill more. Over a season of weekly inspections, that's 900 bees killed per colony just from manipulation casualties.

A colony at 50,000 population losing 900 bees across a season absorbs that easily. The queen lays more than that in a single day during peak production. But those are cumulative casualties added to normal forager losses, to bees killed during extraction, to all the other ways bee populations experience attrition. At some point these various mortality sources add up to impacts that affect colony productivity.

The time cost matters too. A heavily propolized hive takes longer to inspect. That means fewer hives inspected per day, which means either longer inspection cycles or less thorough work per hive. For hobbyists with three backyard hives, an extra 15 minutes per hive is annoying but manageable. For sideliners running 30 hives while maintaining day jobs, that extra time becomes a constraint determining whether the operation remains viable.

And there's the equipment longevity issue. Frames and boxes subjected to aggressive prying forces during propolis separation don't last as long as equipment handled gently. Budget $30 per frame including foundation, roughly $50 per hive body. Destroying one frame and one box per year per hive due to propolis-related damage adds $80 annually to per-hive costs. Across 20 hives that's $1,600 in replacement equipment that could be avoided with different propolis management or less frequent intervention.

The hidden cost is the learning curve for new beekeepers. Someone opening their first stuck hive encounters problems they didn't expect from watching smooth inspection videos. Frames won't move. Forcing them breaks things and kills bees. The new beekeeper develops an impression that beekeeping requires aggressive tool use and that bee casualties are inevitable. Maybe those conclusions are correct, or maybe they're artifacts of working with heavily propolized equipment using techniques not optimized for the actual condition.

What Actually Works

Beekeepers working with heavy propolizers report several approaches that reduce casualties without eliminating problems entirely. Timing inspections for warm weather softens propolis slightly. Starting with outside frames - typically honey storage frames with fewer bees - lets you remove frames that matter less if handling goes poorly. Using higher-quality hive tools with better leverage points and comfortable grips reduces the force spikes that cause sudden frame separation and bee crushing.

Accepting longer inspection time reduces rushing, which reduces casualties. If you know a particular hive requires 30 minutes instead of 15, blocking that time prevents the hurried motions that kill bees. Developing colony-specific knowledge about which hives propolize heavily lets you adjust expectations and technique per hive rather than approaching every colony identically.

Some beekeepers maintain dedicated "working" equipment for heavily propolized colonies. This equipment gets scraped down to bare wood between seasons but isn't kept pristine during active use. Propolis accumulates, gets extreme, gets scraped, accumulates again. The equipment never looks good but remains functional. Other beekeepers do the opposite - maintaining pristine equipment that gets scraped after every inspection, accepting the labor cost in exchange for always having mobile frames.

The "leave it alone more" approach has adherents who report that their propolizing colonies do fine with less frequent inspection. These colonies get checked three or four times per season instead of weekly or biweekly. The trade-off is less information about colony status and delayed response to problems, but these beekeepers argue the reduced disturbance outweighs the information loss. Their colony losses aren't noticeably worse than intensive managers, which suggests the approach might be valid even if it violates traditional management recommendations.

Ultimately, working with heavily propolized equipment means accepting that you'll kill some bees during inspections. The question becomes how many, whether that number matters for colony health, and whether different management approaches could reduce casualties without creating worse problems. The answers vary by operation scale, beekeeper experience, colony genetics, and probably factors nobody's identified yet. What works for one beekeeper might fail for another, making dogmatic recommendations about "correct" propolis management difficult to support.