A Bee Meditation

I sit overlooking our garden and watch the insects, awakened by spring warmth, make their annual appearance. They explore the landscape for flowers and grasses, buzz about, and do whatever they do to play their role in the pollinator’s world. Miner bees land in the sandy spaces between our native desert plants and begin excavating tube-like structures deep into the soil where they will deposit their eggs for another generation. They hover and land, dance around, and discover just the right spot to begin to burrow.

Miner bees are solitary diggers, so the female is on her own in creating a safe haven for her offspring. Some species will bore down nearly three feet, others only a few inches. The bee secretes a substance that she mixes with soil and then packs against the tunnel walls to create a solid lining. Little mounds of dirt and sand granules begin piling up as several bees excavate their tunnels.

The mounds develop into a kind of bee neighborhood, appearing like the many cinder cones encircling Newberry Volcano. I wonder why solitary bees create these clustered homes. They may keep to themselves, but they apparently don’t mind neighbors. Once a tunnel nears completion, a pea-sized hole appears at the top of the mound to allow easier entering and exiting. Watching the bees fly in and out becomes a meditation.

I am grateful to be a witness to this natural process, and Tarn and I take care to protect the bee neighborhood. We will not dig nor heavily water the area. This is good for all the living things in our native garden. All these plants prefer untilled soil, and they definitely hate to be watered too much. They are desert plants after all. The bee tunnels provide aeration of the soil in just the right amount for roots to find their way through the earth.

Imagine if we humans spent more of our time watching nature do her thing and experience a little humility by observing the diverse life forms that help restore balance in the world. If we have any heart at all, we are compelled to be more kind. I can no longer imagine myself mindlessly plodding through our garden. I have an image of the 1950s movie monster Godzilla tromping on Tokyo. Yikes! Thank you, little bees, for reminding me of my wish to be more sensitive to other species.