Bees, bees, where be the bees?
This I wonder as I wander each morning out to check on the health and welfare of my birds, which I raise in my birdie bungalow.
This check usually includes a trip around the circumference of the 1,400-square-foot enclosure of predator-proof, chain-link fencing that balloons outward from three sides of the little well-insulated bungalow in which I house the mixed bunch of fancy ornamental creatures that I have chosen to spend considerable time nurturing and understanding.
In addition to the six-foot-high, heavy-gauge chain-link fencing, I have added to the three-foot height a layer of one-inch poultry netting that extends four inches into the ground and then turns outward for an additional foot. This is to prevent the diggers, such as fox, skunk, rats, mink and weasel, from squeezing through or undermining the fence in order to catch their free, exotic, fast food lunch.
Not being overly ambitious from birth and wanting, at my age, to conserve energy, I could not help seizing the opportunity of planting the newly dug surrounding area with what my Little Lady would have referred to as a vertical garden. I started off with several hundred daffodil bulbs, interspersed with both gold and red ever- bearing raspberry canes.
In addition to this, I have added a couple of wide-sprawling, thornless blackberries (a gift from a friend when I moved from Fergus), and at the 10-feet-apart upright posts I have slipped in several hardy vines, including wild riverside grapes, trumpet vines and Virginia creepers. It is my hope that the latter, coupled with the fast growth of the raspberry canes, will supply ample and immediate shade for the hot summer months.
Being impatient, and wanting to add colour that follows the daffodils in the spring, I broke up several, both white and pink, Lamium plants. This is a fast-spreading ground covering evergreen creeper that both my Little Lady and my Mother loved. They referred to it as “baby in the carriage,” as it is covered with a mass of tiny blooms that resemble, with little imagination, The likeness of the old English prams. If you press them lightly on each side, they open and you can actually see a tiny look-alike baby snuggled deep down within.
Last year the few plants that I had were buzzing with honeybees and quite a number of grumbling bumblebees as well. But this year, even though we still host greater than 30 active hives of honeybees for Walter, a nearby beekeeper, the bees that visit our posy patch are fewer and farther between to the point where they are almost nonexistent, and a nearby apple tree in full bloom has its petals falling with little sign of apples forming.
Chatting with Walter for a moment or two brings out the following facts: “Something is killing my bees. They are dying in the hive. They are not reproducing. We seem to be lacking in drones. There are not enough bees to produce any extra honey to feed the usual fast-expanding brood. Something, somewhere, is definitely wrong!”
Both timing and the fickle finger of fate are pointing to agricultural cash crop growers. Have there been changes in pesticide use? Have these changes been properly monitored? Are the multinational pesticide companies running amuck in favour of the almighty dollar? Are they being controlled with any degree of accuracy?
Do our governments give a damn? Does no one realize that the wind or bees pollinate nearly 90 percent of the food crops we eat? If there are any members of the agricultural industry who need immediate assistance to survive, listen and listen carefully: “It is the beekeepers.”
A tip of my soggy sombrero is long overdue to show appreciation to the volunteer members of the group known as Pollination Guelph.
The buzz that drifts in my direction tells me that they are well on their way in readiness to plant several hundred native plants at the Guelph Hydro parking lot island.
Way to go, guys! The humming birds, bees, and butterflies appreciate your help and concern.
Take care, ‘cause we care.
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105