BEES TURN ON THE HEAT

Okay we all know that some plants have scents that delight the human nose. Sadly we are mere Jimmie-come-lately’s, to a relationship that began between plants and insects. A relationship that is some 150 million years older than our own.

Many early morning or late evening flowers generate this heat to make their scent more powerful. Cold sluggish bees associate this aroma with a relished snack of warmth as well as promise of nectar or pollen. On cool days this is an added incentive to come hither first, thus furthering the plants chance of being pollinated and setting seed. Providing this extra heat in these extended hours of the day, also encourages the bee to lengthen her workday.


Tricky little things aren’t they! Their manipulation and cultivation of human beings is ongoing. That is why I avoid having any plant in the same room with me. Outdoors, I trust them, but not when I close my eyes. When little Gladiolus tristis flounces her sexy ways, it’s out the door with her. No watering, no pollinating from me. Let the bugs have her, I say! Those flowers that do not have scents use other tricks to fool the insect. Many plants such as Forget-Me-Not’s, Tradescantia, Pulmonarias, Yesterday-Today-And Tomorrow’s fade from one color to another and are educating the bee that at one stage of the game, I am more attractive. I have pollen or nectar. Don’t come back when I’m blue.

Actually, bees like both colors. Blue to Pink, or vice versa. No matter-upon returning to the hive, they chat with the rest of the gals, this is a great plant—but go for the ”” first, and leave the other color alone. The faded color, of course is older and contains less nectar or pollen.

The males are never told anything. Bees tend to work on very specific nectar sources at certain times of the day. It was always fun to label shallow supers as to what plants they where working upon. I used to do this on a daily basis, making notes as to what was blooming and being worked. Poison Oak, for example made a great honey, and eating it may have made me partially immune to the plant. Then again, I used to consume much honey.

Maybe that is why someone addressed me as SUGAR today. Gee golly, I don’t think anyone ever called me that. Not white and fluffy, nor even that white pourable kind. Guess she meant that dark brown congealed stuff. :-)





(C) Herb Senft 2009

ANIMAL STORIES

While pruning today, I remembered this racoon story! Thank you Ray.

Terror at night!

A few years ago I heard some suspicious noises in my moved out daughters bedroom. DAMN, those cats have got into the food bag again! I get out of bed -- and to set the stage, must make note that without my glasses I'm kinda blind. I'm only wearing my underpants as well.

I slam open the door expecting to find my two cats wolfing down the large sack I always keep in her room. Instead I find a huge furry critter making all sorts of angry, squealing noses. I start chasing it around, and realize my own exposed and vulnerable situation.

This was not my cat! I close the door, get dressed, put on my glasses. I open all the other doors in the house and return to the bedroom ...
Upon opening the door I suddenly realize that this is one VERY BIG and VERY ANGRY Mama Raccoon staking firm claim over the cat food bag. Closing the door, I retreat once again.

I return, now well armed with a broom. MAMA RACCOON stands up on her hind legs and takes me on. SWAT, SWAT, swat ... I retreat once again.

Realizing that I have encountered more than bare feet should ever be asked to face, I put on my boots and get a flat bladed shovel. I enter and wack the raccoon once again. This time I beat her out of the bedroom, down the hall and out through the backporch.
WHEW!

I return to bed, lay down, and all of a sudden hear a familiar munch, munch, munch. I open the door and find five or six raccoon children taking their pleasure with the food. I open the other doors of the house (NOT! the back porch door.) and return with the broom. SWAT, SWAT, SWAT! -- raccoons are flying all over my house, over the kitchen table, over the couch, under the table -- until I finally got all of them out!

I return to the back porch to see them all chattering at me, as if to ask, why I had been so RUDE. That MAMA was a good hefty sized creature, and with her fur flying out she looked like some Stephen King nightmare. All she had been doing was protecting her young!

Herbert Senft (c)2009