We live in an old house, so we’re the current guardians of an
old wisteria specimen.
We live in an old house, so we’re the current guardians of an old wisteria specimen.
With a trunk as big around as a light pole, this is no ordinary shrub. We don’t really know how old it is, but it covers our patio with foliage several feet thick, and at the moment it is in glorious bloom.
The cascades of violet blossoms last for a few weeks before covering the ground with a dusting of dropped petals.
You should hear the bees.
There are dozens, darting from bloom to bloom. I was thinking about this because apparently “professional” bees (kept for agriculture) are having a tough time.
I have never measured the decibel level of the bees in our yard, but to the naked ear it seems about the same this year as in previous years.
By contrast, beekeepers here and in Santa Clara County report losing more than 50 percent of their bees recently. While hives are full of pollen and honey, the bees are just gone.
It’s like a bad dream or a Twilight Zone episode where you find yourself all alone in a deserted but perfectly preserved town.
Where did the bees go? Are they dying somewhere outside the hive? Have they made a mass exodus somewhere?
It’s worrisome because the bees pollinate crops such as almonds, cherries and even squash, as well as providing honey. Some large beekeepers have lost so many bees that they’ve given up on the business altogether.
The phenomenon is called “colony collapse disorder,” a label that reveals how little we understand it.
It’s another problem that comes at a time when the popular imagination has finally been captured by the reality of climate change.
As with colony collapse disorder among apiaries, it doesn’t really matter whether or not climate change has been caused by human activity or not. What really matters is figuring out what we are going to do about it.
In the case of the bees, I expect we will find that their disappearance is linked to other changes we haven’t fully noticed yet. For example, we’ve lost yet more orchard acreage in the last year. Do bees notice? Are they discouraged?
I know bees don’t get discouraged, but I keep imagining they’re trying to tell us something. It’s like when a whale beaches itself on the shore. In my imagination it’s saying, “What more do I have to do to get your attention?”
At the same time, there are still people who would call me a tree hugger for worrying about the disappearance of bees, or for trying to reduce my consumption of disposables or otherwise trying to shrink my “footprint.”
Here in San Benito County we are fortunate to be surrounded by agriculture that is still providing a living for the people who practice it. I know that agriculture can absorb a fair amount of change: An orchard here comes down; a few miles away a new vineyard goes in.
I just hope we get the bees’ message and start doing what we can to care for our environment. In the meantime I’ll be outside, hugging my wisteria.
Elizabeth Gage writes a weekly column every Thursday in the Free Lance.
