It's the bees' knees? #nationalhoneybeeday

Happy Honeybee Day! The honeybees we're celebrating are not indigenous to North America. Since people helped them spread from coast to coast, and Native Americans called them "white man's flies" and most (all) are commercially raised, some might consider them an invasive species that usurped the roles of other bees. That line of thinking could be supported by the fairly recent discovery of a [if you follow the link, don't read the comments] 14 million year old fossil of a North American honeybee.

bumblebee on asters

Photo by J. Harrington

For the most part, we like bees. So far this week, we've extricated two of them that got themselves stuck in the nectar reservoir in the bottom of the hummingbird feeders. (Yes, the feeders have bee guards, but we think the downy woodpeckers have created enlarged holes or tears in them.) Several years ago we started to use honey instead of processed sugar to sweeten our first cup of morning coffee. When leaned upon, we've been known to eat vegetables and we enjoy many kinds of fruit so we're not against bees, native or imported. We are, however, impressed with the public information-public relations campaign that the beekeepers have created.

Aren't honeybees mostly a commercial agricultural enterprise? Haven't almost all of us been convinced that we need to ban neonicotinoid pesticides, protecting bees and other pollinators? Yet, the federal Environmental Protection Agency claims they don't have "extraordinarily robust evidence that a ban will be effective and no other action will suffice." We've often wondered why beekeepers don't require contracts with farmers that the bee colonies won't be exposed to neonicotinoids, but that approach wouldn't do much to protect the 4,000 North American native bees.

honeybee hives protected by electric fencing

Photo by J. Harrington

While writing this, we've been watching hummingbirds chase other hummingbirds from the feeder. We've then seen bees, smaller than the hummers, somehow chase hummers away from the feeder. We have no idea how that works nor can we decide if the solution to aggressive territorial behavior is to add another feeder and, if so, how far away? Perhaps a more appropriate solution would be to remove the feeder as a source of friction or just to realize we're not in charge and let "nature take its course." How often have we failed to anticipate unintended consequences of our actions, like inventing fire and then the internal combustion engine, leading to global warming's climate change impacts. But then again, "Not to decide, is to decide." as Harvey Cox tells us. We've decided that's enough for today.

Fifteen, Maybe Sixteen Things to Worry About

Judith Viorst, 1931

My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.
My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.
Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.
     (Stumick and speshul?)
I could play tag all day and always be “it.”
Jay Spievack, who’s fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.
My mom and my dad—like Ted’s—could want a divorce.
Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.
     (Who’s Afghanistan?)
Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.
My mother could maybe decide that I needed more liver.
My dad could decide that I needed less TV.
Miss Brearly could say that I have to write script and stop printing.
     (I’m better at printing.)
Chris could decide to stop being friends with me.

The world could maybe come to an end on next Tuesday.
The ceiling could maybe come crashing on my head.
I maybe could run out of things for me to worry about.
And then I’d have to do my homework instead.

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