Hard at work

What a job! But hey, someone's gotta do it. 

And really, it would be hard to find a prettier place to work than in the heart of a full-blown rhododendron blossom. 

Luckily, some of the bee's pals have been poking their way into blossoms on our fruit trees, as there are now a few eensy plums and peaches, as well as heaps of quince -- the promise of autumn bounty. 

Midsummer Bee-yoo-tee

Perhaps it's just part of being a contrarian, but I can't help wondering why today (or maybe tomorrow) isn't the day called 'midsummer' as in Midsummer Night's Dream. After all, August 4th is pretty much midway between solstice and equinox -- in other words, the middle of summer, i.e., midsummer. 

The midsummer festival is apparently a very big thing in many places, especially in Sweden, with much in the way of eating and drinking and even doing a sort of 'froggy' dance as part of their celebrations. 

This year, as part of my trying to learn more about this observance (as truly, it has puzzled me a long time, at least as far back as Woody Allen's A Midsummer Night's Sex Comedy), I poked around and even found a novel The Hidden Beach. 

The book is set in Sweden, and the festivities feature prominently. Unfortunately, I only made it about halfway through, as the sub-plot proved to be overly romantic for me. Maybe I gave up too soon, but really, an awful lot of other books are always calling to me. 

As for me, I think I will do my own celebrating tonight. The moon is nearly full, and we're just about exactly halfway along the path from summer solstice to the arrival of autumn on September 22nd. Until then, I'll keep picking blackberries while the bees buzz their work-songs in my ear, and be glad that we're all still able to spend so much time outside. 

__reakfast

That's kind of a weird word, I agree. But when I was eating my breakfast this morning, I started to think about what parts of it might not be there if it weren't for the bees -- in today's case, the 'bee' in breakfast.

The berries probably wouldn't have been there -- at least not in the proliferation I am spoiled by -- unless perhaps I had taken lessons from the Chinese who now hire people to act as pollinators in many of their orchards. I suppose peacock feathers could be useful for such a task.

And most certainly, the honey I used as sweetener wouldn't be there. The same is clearly true for the sprinkling of bee pollen I like to take in the morning.

But then I thought, wait a minute. What about my cereal? Ingredients on the box are simple enough: Wheat. Period.

Are bees required in the fertilization of wheat? As it turns out, this is one of the grasses that doesn't require bees, as wheat is one of the grasses that's wind-pollinated. Apparently, if you try growing it indoors (sounds ambitious and requiring a fairly huge home), you need to rustle it around now and then to accomplish this.

So then I considered the milk I'd poured on the cereal. If wheat doesn't require bees, do those other grasses consumed by cows need them? Again, if those cows are content with a diet of straight-up grass, I guess so. But if they rely on alfalfa or flax or several varieties of clover, they'd be out of luck without the bees.

After I ate, I went outside to say hello my berry canes -- not just the raspberry ones, even the less civilized-looking blackberries, which at the best of times, can only be called vines.

They've begun budding, so I'm keeping my eyes open, looking to their being visited (not by just the ladybugs, who were busy out there today), but by some hard-working bees.

Industrious

It's hard to see the work that's going on here, but there's a bumblebee toiling away in the flowers out on the deck. He's certainly doing more than I feel like I've been doing, as his little 'saddlebags' look nearly overflowing with bright orange pollen.

The flower is probably happier too, knowing it's been 'serviced' so well -- and on such a lovely summer day.