The Birds and the Bees
Why do people freak out when they see a bee? I will admit that bright colors (like yellow and black) are Nature's way of saying "do not eat" . . . but unless you were planning on grabbing the next pollen-gatherer you see and ramming it into your mouth, there shouldn't be a conflict of interest.
Aside from killer bees, which I acknowledge as an exception to the rule, most bees will not sting unprovoked. (And yes, wildly slapping at a bee and yelling "go away" counts as "provoking" it.) In fact, most bees will die after stinging a person once - the stinger keeps vital parts of bee anatomy attached, which is most inconvenient for the bee and reduces its life expectancy to somewhere in the vicinity of ten minutes.
Disclaimer: I make no promises about bee behavior if you are threatening the Queen Bee. That's the wild equivalent of a "Your Mama" joke.
Yet people fly into hysterics at the first sight of a small yellow and black creature, the size of a quarter. I have let bees land on me and explore, and I have NEVER been stung (okay - a wasp got me once - but I sat on it, which qualified as "crushing it to death" which qualified as a "provoked" attack). I like bees. They like me. I think it has something to do with my being a quiet person who doesn't immediately try and hit them with cold water from a garden hose.
Having said all that, one of my fondest memories is of a time during my college years, when I was reading a book in the middle of a warm grassy spot, my back pressed against a tree and a cold Mountain Dew on the ground beside me (life doesn't get much better than that - good weather, a good book, and a can of jet fuel) when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a bee lazily flying in circles, following a trail of scent which apparently led to my Mountain Dew can. I watched the bee land on the silver rim, and then refocused on the book, reading the next paragraph or two.
When I looked back at the Mountain Dew can, the bee was gone.
Which, of course, meant one of two things. Either the bee flew away, or . . . with a resigned sigh, I turned the Mountain Dew over and watched the yellowish fluid pour onto the grass (scientific experiment: how does grass respond to caffeine - this should be the next 20/20 special). I was down to the final dregs (and thinking I had wasted a perfectly good Mountain Dew) when I heard a sodden "clunk" - and Mr. Bee fell out of the can and onto the grass.
Bees are fuzzy. Up close, you can really see their "fur" - and when they are covered from head to foot in Mountain Dew - they get miniature spikes. If Mr. Bee had been human, he would have been stiffly holding his hands away from his sides and saying things like "ugh" (kid friendly version, of course!). As it was, Mr. Bee crawled back on top of the Mountain Dew can - trusting soul, and proceeded to clean himself, cat-like, storing bits of the sugar in the baskets on the back of his legs. I spent a fascinating half-hour watching him run his little legs over his fur, until he was once again fluffy - and his wings no longer stuck together. Wing function is apparently VERY important to flying. How do bees fly anyway? Aerodynamically impossible critters . . . .
The book lay forgotten, open on the grass.
Maybe it's a pact I have with bees - that they won't harm me if I don't harm them. All I know is the half-hour I spent watching the bee give himself a spit bath qualifies as one of my top learning experiences at college - and probably qualifies above certain classes - like "Chaucer."
What else can I say? Nature is good. Yay! Nature is good.
Aside from killer bees, which I acknowledge as an exception to the rule, most bees will not sting unprovoked. (And yes, wildly slapping at a bee and yelling "go away" counts as "provoking" it.) In fact, most bees will die after stinging a person once - the stinger keeps vital parts of bee anatomy attached, which is most inconvenient for the bee and reduces its life expectancy to somewhere in the vicinity of ten minutes.
Disclaimer: I make no promises about bee behavior if you are threatening the Queen Bee. That's the wild equivalent of a "Your Mama" joke.
Yet people fly into hysterics at the first sight of a small yellow and black creature, the size of a quarter. I have let bees land on me and explore, and I have NEVER been stung (okay - a wasp got me once - but I sat on it, which qualified as "crushing it to death" which qualified as a "provoked" attack). I like bees. They like me. I think it has something to do with my being a quiet person who doesn't immediately try and hit them with cold water from a garden hose.
Having said all that, one of my fondest memories is of a time during my college years, when I was reading a book in the middle of a warm grassy spot, my back pressed against a tree and a cold Mountain Dew on the ground beside me (life doesn't get much better than that - good weather, a good book, and a can of jet fuel) when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a bee lazily flying in circles, following a trail of scent which apparently led to my Mountain Dew can. I watched the bee land on the silver rim, and then refocused on the book, reading the next paragraph or two.
When I looked back at the Mountain Dew can, the bee was gone.
Which, of course, meant one of two things. Either the bee flew away, or . . . with a resigned sigh, I turned the Mountain Dew over and watched the yellowish fluid pour onto the grass (scientific experiment: how does grass respond to caffeine - this should be the next 20/20 special). I was down to the final dregs (and thinking I had wasted a perfectly good Mountain Dew) when I heard a sodden "clunk" - and Mr. Bee fell out of the can and onto the grass.
Bees are fuzzy. Up close, you can really see their "fur" - and when they are covered from head to foot in Mountain Dew - they get miniature spikes. If Mr. Bee had been human, he would have been stiffly holding his hands away from his sides and saying things like "ugh" (kid friendly version, of course!). As it was, Mr. Bee crawled back on top of the Mountain Dew can - trusting soul, and proceeded to clean himself, cat-like, storing bits of the sugar in the baskets on the back of his legs. I spent a fascinating half-hour watching him run his little legs over his fur, until he was once again fluffy - and his wings no longer stuck together. Wing function is apparently VERY important to flying. How do bees fly anyway? Aerodynamically impossible critters . . . .
The book lay forgotten, open on the grass.
Maybe it's a pact I have with bees - that they won't harm me if I don't harm them. All I know is the half-hour I spent watching the bee give himself a spit bath qualifies as one of my top learning experiences at college - and probably qualifies above certain classes - like "Chaucer."
What else can I say? Nature is good. Yay! Nature is good.
posted by Andrea Peach | 9:53 PM
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