At this time of year, weeds filled with bees dominate the landscape and create a moral dilemma for me. So much of a dilemma that I dedicated a podcast to it in hopes that the solution would come to me. By then, yet another spell of unbearably hot, humid weather had given way to yet another spell of cold. But this time, the temperature dropped into the low 40s, far lower than it’s been since early spring.
The first thing I noticed outside was how still it was. No chickadees called; no blue jays squabbled; no crows squawked. No grey squirrels scampered in the yard; no chipmunks peered out at me from chinks in the stone walls. Nary a sound except the humming. It was as if everyone was hunkered down in their nests and burrows, ready for what was bound to be a long, cold rain.
Except the bees. Some of the flower-laden plants bent almost to the ground and I could see the bees bouncing from from tiny flower to tiny flower. As if their tiny lives depended on it. Which, I suppose they did.
The view from beneath the canopy
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