Keep Trying

People are complicated, come from different backgrounds, and have different experiences, so there are many things to disagree about. Argument is a perfectly legitimate form of human communication. Violence is not, yet we seem to go there all the time. There are more sad news stories today than I can, or want to, recount. I went to the garden for solace and there I found the bleeding hearts still blooming. Bleeding hearts came to North America from China, where they’re called purse peonies. Different ways of looking at things.

I still have a few regular peonies, too. Earlier this month the large and beautiful peony garden in Ann Arbor was assaulted, hundreds of its innocent flowers cut off and thrown to the ground. Flyers left behind announced this as a political act but it looked like spite. Did someone really expect the fallen flowers would bring allies to their cause?

The garden is much better at forming alliances. Here’s a bumblebee visiting my baptisia, where she will use her weight to open the flower, something smaller bees can’t do. Baptisia and bumblebees have worked out a deal. No manifestos were created, no weapons fired, the bee presumably her own ambassador.

The milkweed, still in bud, has a deal with monarch butterflies. When it blooms they’ll pollinate it, and in return its leaves will supply munching monarch caterpillars with a poison that keeps predators away, an alliance of mutual benefit. Poison can be considered a weapon, but for the monarch the point is deterrence. There is no wisdom in the mutually assured destruction of having your predator die after it eats you. 

There’s certainly struggle in the garden. The ferns have moved in so far onto the path through the woods, I’m going to have to pull some out. But when I do I’ll transplant them to the front yard, under the pine trees. I expect they will thrive in the mulchy shade there, where the grass is unhappy. Plants, like people, have different needs, sometimes hard to figure out. The least we can do is try.

Bee Detective

b beesI was puttering at my garden bench when I noticed a lot of bees whizzing past me. A little inspection revealed that they were coming from – and going to – a hole in the ground, just inches from where I stood. I set a large flower pot right up next to it, not to block them but to block me, from stepping into the nest. I’d seen a ground-bee colony once before, but had never looked up their lifestyles. This time I did: Mining Bees, genus andrena.

b zinn 2The local botanical garden says they’re important pollinators of the Michigan native black cherry tree, carrying 18 times more cherry pollen than other bees. I have several of these trees in my yard, including one that hangs over the deck and makes a total mess for a month while the cherries fall. The cherries are small with a tiny, thin layer of flesh around the pit, so you could boil them up for jelly but you can’t eat them unless you’re a chipmunk. I do like to watch how the chipmunks fight over the cherries though there are enough to feed a whole neighborhood of chipmunks, possibly for the whole winter. So human of them. It briefly occurred to me that if I got rid of the bees, maybe I’d be pestered with fewer cherries. But I find the industrious, focused little bees endearing, so that’s out. They’re also big on pollinating tomatoes – thank you, bees – but my tomato blossoms are definitely too few these days for this much bee traffic. What’s blooming now? I have lots of zinnias,

b fall flowersmany marigolds,

b snapssome bee-shaped snapdragons. None of them mentioned in the article, and nope, no bees on these flowers.

b clematisIt was hard to follow the bees in flight. They soared way up high before they traveled on, and I lost them in the sun. But scanning the yard, I thought I could see where they came down again. It wasn’t listed on the Bee Menu, but for heaven’s sake, isn’t this where you’d go if you were a bee – an Autumn Clematis, just bursting with bloom? I didn’t manage to catch them in this photo, but they were there. Busy, like all the best bees.