By Tim King
One of my very observant little neighbors stopped by the other day to inform us that there was a “huge bees’ nest” in one of the large oak trees in our yard. Being one of the more imaginative kids in the neighborhood, we at first took her claim with a grain of salt.
However, after taking a look at her discovery – with its busy inhabitants going in and out – we realized she wasn’t exaggerating, much.
Looking back now, as we first ventured out into the yard, I half expected to hear the low, basal toned drumming of thousands of insects winding up for an attack. Almost instantly after hearing about the nest, the word “killer” and images of John Belushi dressed in a yellow and black leotard came flashing into my head. Damn pop culture.
Next, the image of Mr. Belushi was replaced (thankfully) by somebody literally covered with thousands of buzzing insects.
We’ve all seen TV programs with people who have covered themselves from head to toe with bees in order (I guess) to show the rest of us that bees are not aggressive by nature, rather only lash out against outside aggression or threats. However, rather than passivity, I see this more as a calm before the inevitable storm.
Like a balloon in a needle factory, one wrong move and “pop!” goes the beekeeper.
For me at least, the understanding that bees are a critical component of our ecosystem, does little to supplant the simple fact that a bee sting hurts - a lot! There’s an old saying that my father used to use when explaining the business of sales to me. It said “the bitter sting of poor customer service lingers longer than the sweet taste of a low price.”
Clearly a painful bee sting has left more of an impression on me than any sweet voiced Nasonex® spokesbug could ever replace.
I’m a little ashamed to admit that while I can appreciate and understand the very important role that bees play in pollination and all things green, my first response to an unplanned buzzing in my personal space is to track, smack and scamper – fast!
Go ahead, call me a bee NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) but whenever I see bees, along with their ill tempered cousins the wasp and hornet, I instantly feel the need to protect (or at least inform) those around me. Who among us has not, with a mild expression of terror or at least discomfort, alerted a total stranger to the proximity of some yellow jacketed intruder? I know I have.
So it was these first, “natural” impulses that I have been trying to quell for the last few days.
After all, the many residents of this gray, papery nest (roughly the size of a basketball) have obviously been active for the entire summer. To my knowledge, they have dutifully refrained from any strategic attack or rampant abduction of small children, pets or errant tourist visiting our neighborhood.
It seems they have a job to do, and they are singularly focused on doing it.
Plus, at more than 50 feet in the air, I’m sure that the bees traveling incessantly back and forth to parts unknown are as equally unaware of the activities in the yard below, as we were once of them.
If not for the keen eye of an inquisitive youngster, I may have remained forever blissfully ignorant to this entire population cohabitating our little patch of earth.
Perhaps, if they become a nuisance or if the nest grows to size that my neighbors or I become uncomfortable with, I may have to have them removed. But for now, I feel sort of lucky that out of all the oak trees, in all the world, these little guys flew into mine.
And that’s the bee’s knees in my book.
Tim King is a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough, Maine. He can be contacted at sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com
