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The bees’ knees
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The bees’ knees
  I’m worried about the bees. You’ve probably read or heard that millions of bees have vanished in the U.S. over the last couple of years. Why is still pretty much a mystery, although a study released last month links the bee deaths to a little-known virus that may have come from bees imported from Australia, and that has spread widely through bee colonies in the U.S. A lot of people think they wouldn’t miss bees, or anything that occasionally stings people. But they would. We’d all miss the bees.  I’ve been stung by bees before, sure. It causes me to dance the Dance of Pain, and call the offending bee a whole bunch of really foul names. But when you consider that I’ve enjoyed their honey, as well as the trees, flowers and produce they pollinate, for 53 years now, a few stings seem a small price. And it consoles me to know that bees do not sting frivolously—the bee that stings you gave his life to do so, and sincerely felt you were a real threat to him and his hive. Compare this to the fire ant, which bites and stings at the same time, usually in concert with a bunch of his clan, causing you to dance the Dance of Imminent Death. Often you’re attacked for no more reason than that you happened to stand near the big ugly hill the fire ant clan was busy constructing in your yard. Add to these the fact that, if left unsquashed, the fire ants that attacked you will all go calmly about their business afterward.  If fire ant colonies in the U.S. started dying out, I would stand in my yard and dance the Dance of Joy. You know how every single organism in nature has a purpose? Fleas stymied me for a while. Mosquitoes, while annoying and sometimes dangerous, are at least food for bats and birds. But fleas—I know of nothing that eats them, and they don’t eat anything that gets out of control, like the birds and bats that eat the mosquitoes. It occurred to me finally that fleas are useful to some living organisms—diseases, both viral and bacterial.  I personally think viral and bacterial diseases shouldn’t get a vote in the natural order of things. I’m sure some scientists somewhere could show me I’m wrong. All the same, if the flea population died out, I would at least dance the Dance of Tentative Victory. Bees, though—they shoulder a hefty part of the workload in nature. Colony collapse disorder, as the Department of Agriculture named their disappearance, is already having disastrous effects on commercial beekeepers, but they’re only the first wave—farmers use trucked-in hives to cover their flowering crops and without them, the U.S. Secretary of Agriculture has estimated that CCD could cause a $15 billion direct loss in crop production, and another $75 billion in indirect losses.  I have good news, though—the bees here at the Last Homely House have suffered no losses I can see. They are thirsty, but thriving: On one of the many dry, cool days we’ve enjoyed recently, I had the house open, including the back door, which allows the dogs and cats to come and go as they please, without bothering me. So I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and found a honeybee darting about in a sort of frantic fashion. Tried to shoo him back out the door, but he kept darting toward the sink, so I backed off and watched. He landed on the end of the faucet, so I let him finish his drink before I got mine. I thought it was kind of cute—clever, I thought, to be able to find water when it’s so dry outside. And brave, to come into the house like that. I got my glass of water and went back to work in another part of the house.  The next time I went into the kitchen, maybe a half-hour later, there were about a half-dozen bees clustered on the end of the faucet. Intriguing, I thought, that they can communicate so well and so quickly—the scout bee had obviously put out word that water had been located, along with directions. I left them at it. Another half hour later, the smaller and more vocal of our two dogs began barking in the front part of the house, and I went to rescue her from whatever horror she’d found—sometimes it’s a cat, or a passing child or dog, or a door slamming or a car honking—she’s given to hysterics. But this time, Gladys had uncovered Real Danger—the kitchen was full of thirsty bees. It took me a while to wave them all back out and get the door closed. Then several of them hovered just outside the window in the back door. Obviously they had me pegged for the sucker I am, because I went out and turned on the hose for them. I’d like to think sharing my water with them exempts me from stings for some time to come, but I’m not sure how far a bee’s reasoning skills can be trusted. Maybe not much farther than mine.   |
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