Bee Aware

A friend of mine works for a nursery. She tells a funny story about a customer who approached her for advice on planting an extensive flower garden. I guess the design the customer described was elaborately loaded with annuals and perennials. They were in the middle of hammering out the details when they ran into a snag. It seemed the customer was adamant about not wanting to plant flowers that would attract bees. (Gardeners go ahead and chuckle.)



I like bees. I'm particularly fond of the honey and the bumble. This past spring, we had a swarm of wild bees come into the garden. I found them a bit too aggressive for my taste but after a while we learned to tolerate each other. I got stung only once. As I was walking across the yard, I scooped one up with my flip-flop. Certainly not the bee's fault.


Unlike the wild bee, the honey and the bumble are fairly amiable creatures. My experiences with them are all good. I love how they move in waves in front of the water wand as we go about our respective businesses of pollen collection and garden watering.

It's amazing to watch them at work. I've seen bees so laden with pollen, its a wonder they could still fly. We can thank bees for about one third of the American food supply annually derived from plant production. Without bees, plants can't set and if they can't set, there goes the garden, the orchard, the farm. I could rant about Colony Collapse Disorder and preach about the perils of food shortages. Instead I'd rather share a few light hearted anecdotes about the bees I've met in my garden.


The bumble is very personable. A noisy, little fellow (actually workers are females but for the gist of the story . . . ) showed up one day and I nicknamed him Buzzsaw. For two weeks, I could tell just where Buzzsaw was located in the garden simply by listening. As if I hadn't noticed him, he liked to approach me and hover at ear level. Then there was the bombardier. I'm certain this poor bumble was nearsighted because he lacked the grace of his peers in flight. He wasn't much of a pilot, crash landing with such momentum the intended target (the flower) of his desire would try to catapult him back into the air. And lastly, there was Sleepy. I spied this bumble in slumber curled like a comma in the center of a peony, wings slightly aloft like rudders navigating the breeze while it slept.


The honey bees tend to be a bit more interesting as groups. I love to watch their ballet over a fragrant clump of red clover or hear their late afternoon concerto as their orchestra tunes up in the sweet basil patch. A couple summers ago, an entire colony stopped to rest in my garden. Apparently something had driven them from their previous home. They huddled in a football -shaped mass around a picket post, vulnerably waiting while the scouts went in search of new accommodations. I was a bit intimidated by their sheer number as I gently watered the flowers around that post. About four days later, right before dusk, the scouts alerted and the entire hive rose as one dark shadow into the sky. I wished them Godspeed. I hope they found a good home.