All summer, the bees flitted in and out of a nearby hive, banking against my window like tiny torpedos as I worked at my desk. I’ve always liked bees. They remind me of when I was a kid learning to garden in upstate New York — watching zinnias, sunflowers, zucchini and corn sprout from the warm soil. The bees were part of this summer rhythm, buzzing and hovering over blossoms through drowsy afternoons.
Then, early this October, they suddenly started flying inside my house in small droves from an elusive entry. At one point, there were as many as eight to ten bees trolling the top of the window shade. I scooped them up in cups and released them back out the window. But temperatures had dropped sharply and they kept returning, weakened. I got worried. Was the hive dying? How does a hive even die, and why? Will they all be gone next summer? What could I do? Were they diseased? Was my community gardener using pesticides? Were they just hungry? How does the average bee live through winter? Where do they go, how do they survive? Can you feed them? Should you?
So many questions. I put a dab of honey on one of my daughter’s old doll plates and left it on the counter. One bee buried its tiny face in the amber spot on the plate for a couple of minutes, barely moving. Was it dead? Had its legs got stuck in the honey? Is honey the right food? And what’s the current death rate of the bee population, anyway? The bees continued to get in, up until mid-December, when the last one flew into my house after two weeks of no sightings. This one settled on my kitchen counter and just sat there, looking dead. I tried honey again, lifting it on a napkin to the honey on the plate. It ate and ate but died a couple of hours later. After a couple of months of being on bee alert (including a lip sting after giving a bee free run of the house for a couple of days),
I contacted a local farm with an apiary for help. The beekeeper seemed irritated by my e-mail questions, though, and suggested that I just hire him to remove the hive. But I wanted the hive to thrive, not disappear. So I reached out to education centers including Cornell Cooperative Extension in Rochester, New York and kept sleuthing online. I wasn’t even sure what to look for. What makes bees act this way? What can non-beekeeper people like me do to help? Most of my searches turned up information about exterminators and beekeepers available to get rid of nuisance hives.
And then presto, I came across former beekeeper Howard Scott’s “Bee Lessons” booklet, tucked into a stack of books. I’d bought it a couple of years ago at a gift shop during a hiking trip in New Hampshire. And there was his e-mail address, smack on the back of the 6’’x6’’ bright yellow booklet with a note welcoming questions. He got back overnight, from the Bahamas: “Cluster of bees flying into your home means hive has run out of honey and are searching. There is not much you can do. Bees must figure it out for themselves.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but he was clearly on vacation. So instead I decided to finally read the booklet. And there it was, Lesson 40, “Death of the Beehive”. As he explained in the email, this can just happen. “And always, you wonder, what happened?” he says on page 43. So I’m not alone in wondering, after all — or feeling sad about — what happened. As Howard states in Lesson 40, “Death, even insect death, makes you pause.”
After a few days, I also heard back from the agricultural office at Cornell Cooperative Extension in Rochester, New York, and was informed that there are many different types of bees — which one was I looking at? As I scanned a trove of online pictures, I discovered that I might not even be looking at a “real bee” — that the couple of dead bees I’d saved actually looked suspiciously like paper wasps, which include yellow jackets (which look just like bees). In fact, this species isn’t in the bee family at all — and apparently, they eat honey bees. I sent off photos of the “bees” to the Cornell office to hopefully settle the mystery. Whatever the answer, I don’t expect another bee to fly inside again this winter. And summer is still a long way off.
But the bee theme continues. The other day I ran across a recent mini documentary about Sam, “an ordinary man entrusted with looking after The Last Bee on Earth” This 8-minute documentary is actually pretty funny, which is surprising considering it was sponsored by UK Greenpeace and deals with the less-than-humorous topic of extinction. Like many of us, Sam knows pretty much nothing about caring for bees and wants to help but also wants a life. This is put on hold as he gives the run of his place to the Last Bee (and is similarly rewarded with bee bites). Back to Howard Scott’s engaging “Bee Lessons” booklet. The page, “Lesson 31, Hanging Out” is a nice reminder that sometimes it’s important to take a break from worrying about what to do and sit back to enjoy what we’re striving to preserve.
"On hot nights, bees hang out…They rest from their work… They listen to night sounds.They buzz in contentment. They catch the balmy breeze of a hot summer’s night,”
I didn’t think that much about bees — or knew that I cared so much — until they started flying into my home. They’ve always just been around — tiny, sun-loving creatures that give us honey, candles, fruits and vegetables. And so this summer, for the first time, I’ll be planting flowers that bees love — penstemon, columbine, honeysuckle, daisies, asters, sunflowers, snapdragons, milkweed and bee balm. Maybe a tempting new banquet bouquet will entice them to stick around.
What’s at stake and what we can do
The Issue
Pollination is important About 70% of all flowering plants depend on pollinators. The fruits and seeds that are products of pollination feed almost 25% of all birds and mammals. They are critical for food supply and play an important role in most terrestrial ecosystems. Other important pollinators include hummingbirds, moths, wasps, beetles, bats and butterflies.
Bees are diverse There are over 20,000 bee species worldwide, including the honey bee, which originated in Eurasia and has been imported around the globe as a domesticated species. In a hive, there’s one queen, a few thousand male drones and 40,000 to 50,000 infertile female workers. Wild bees species live on every continent except Antarctica. In North America there are about 4,000 native bee species living in ecosystems from forests to deserts to grasslands. (National Wildlife Federation)
The bee population is declining According to Friends of the Earth, 40% of invertebrate pollinators, including bees and butterflies are on the brink of extinction due to habitat destruction, disease, agricultural and lawn and garden practices, use of pesticides, habitat fragmentation, changes in land use and invasive species.
Things we can do
Plant native flowers According to the World Wildlife Fund, "Like us, bees need a balanced diet to remain healthy. One of the very best things that you can do to help out your neighborhood bees is to plant wildflowers that are native to your region. Native wildflowers are especially suited to feed the pollinators that have co-evolved with them." (finding native flowers)
Eliminate toxic pesticides Support the elimination of toxic pesticides and the shift to organic farming systems, which are healthier for bees, butterflies, people and the planet. A peer-reviewed study by Friends of The Earth found that US agriculture is 48 times more toxic to insect life than it was before neonicotinoid insecticides were first commercialized in the 1990s.
Sign petitions, support advocacy groups Talk with store managers of garden stores and food retailers to ban neonics and other bee-toxic pesticides; sign petitions and donate to organizations that organize group action, such as Friends of the Earth.
Talk about it Engage with neighbors and friends, keep talking with others, share information to encourage awareness and engagement. Talking keeps us connected and engaged.
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