In our continued effort to explore local places, Benjamin and I ventured to the Greenburgh Nature Center in nearby Scarsdale.
We strolled through the butterfly and bird gardens and visited some of the birds of prey in the raptor exhibit. Then, we walked out toward the wildflower field to see the active beehives.
I love bees.
When I was little, I was afraid of them, and my feelings were justified beyond a ‘normal’ childhood fear. One afternoon, when my brothers, my Dad, and I were tossing a football around, my youngest brother backed into a beehive. I had never seen insects move so fast, and I had never seen my Dad move faster. He scooped Matthew into his arms and ran him into the house. As my poor brother screamed from the stings, my Dad swatted at the bees and tried to calm him down. Finally, my Dad and Mom applied calamine and wrapped Matthew in a towel. This moment is frozen in time for me. I remember thinking I’d hate bees forever.
I had another encounter with bees in one of my first apartments. I lived on the second floor of an historic building in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Tampa. There was a little room right off my kitchen that was perfect for writing. It overlooked a small orange grove, and every morning sparkled green and gorgeous.
One morning, I thought I heard humming in the wall. It was very strange. As someone who thinks the existence of ghosts is quite possible, I first thought, “Hmm. Maybe this place is haunted.” But the humming was consistent, too steady for a ghost I thought, and the wall vibrated too. In retrospect, I should not have told my landlord. I should have, pardon the pun, just let it ‘bee.’ But I did tell him about my strange wall, and after checking it out, he informed me that there was a floor-to-ceiling hive inside the walls, and he’d have to smoke them out.
I write that last sentence as a confession. I felt horrible that the bees would die. At that time, one of my closest friends was a woman named Melissa. Melissa was proud of the fact that her name meant “bee.” She was so proud in fact that she had a gorgeous tattoo of a bee on her back. That tattoo and my sweet friend were penance for me. I’d see her every day. I had to be reminded of what I had done. I’m not in the least kidding about this. I will be sorry forever. Melissa taught me just how incredible bees were. She knew the intricacies of their work. She loved them, and she taught me to love them too.
In 2006, when I learned about the diseases that were killing off pollinators, I woke up. My love of bees broadened to a love for all pollinators. Not only are pollinators absolutely vital to human food consumption, they help keep the balance of insect populations. And they are beautiful. The world needs the colorful wings of butterflies, the darting rhythms of hummingbirds, the wobble of bats flying with their little hands, and the soothing murmur of bees.
To learn more about pollinator contributions, their current status, and how to protect and preserve these lovely creatures, visit: www.pollinator.org.
In a few weeks, the Greenburgh Nature Center will host its Honey Harvest Party, and we humans will have the bees to thank for making us a delicious and nutritious treat. Thank you, bees. I’m sorry, and I love you.