Tag Archive | native bees

Grasshopper Plague

On midday grasshopper patrol…

Morning, noon, and evening, neither rain nor hail nor fire nor smoke can keep me from doing grasshopper patrol around the patio and through the garden. Sometimes I use the hose and sometimes I just sweep with my hands. I’m grateful I’ve managed them as well as I have, despite not starting quite early enough; now they’re big I have some strategies in mind but I was waiting for the grasshopper webinar today to decide my next step.

They’ve once again demolished all the rabbitbrush in the yarden, stripping the leaves of what little grew back on this massive bush this year, after they completely denuded it last summer, killing the lower half.

The beautiful little rose bush I nursed along and finally potted up last month was thriving on the patio table, alongside three tiny citrus trees. I checked them several times a day for the slightest sign of grasshopper predation, intending to bring them inside at the first bite.

I failed miserably with the tiny trees: one afternoon I noticed a single leaf damaged, so I set the tray near the door to bring inside—but I forgot, left it out overnight, and the rock squirrel who haunts the patio ate all three down to a toothpick. The rose continued to thrive—until yesterday. Midday it was fine. Evening rounds it was missing three-quarters of its foliage. So I whisked it inside to the sunroom table and administered first aid.

I was relieved to sit down for an hour at lunchtime, amidst heavy smoke outside, to a PPAN (People and Pollinators Action Network) zoom webinar called “Pollinators Meet Grasshopper and Mormon Cricket Management.” Sharon Selvaggio, a pesticide reduction specialist with The Xerces Society, gave a riveting presentation on the complex relationship between grasshoppers, pollinators, and ecosystem health. The Xerces Society, a conservation organization working to protect the natural world through the conservation of invertebrates, educates about the unintended consequences of widespread pesticide use.

Ever wonder why honeybee populations are in steep decline? They’re a canary in the coal mine for native bees and other pollinators like butterflies and moths. APHIS aerial spraying of pesticides to control Orthoptera (grasshoppers, crickets, and katydids) in the Midwest and western states is a contributing factor in the decline of many pollinators. Sharon leads Xerces’ work in seeking sustainable solutions for grasshopper and Mormon cricket management, especially on public lands. She offered some alternatives to pesticides for the home gardener.

Great news! Having a low tolerance for snapping their little heads off, lacking chloroform as my zoo friends use, and not (yet) interested in freezing and frying them, she gave the answer to what to do with them if I choose to pluck or vacuum them off plants in the cool hours while they’re sluggish: drop them into bucket of soapy water! (Ack. I still hate the idea of killing them. Which do I hate more? Killing insects or losing the fruits of my labors? Probably losing my garden.)

Speaking of the garden… I made the onion greens pesto finally, with the chopped greens, some parsley, garlic, lemon juice, pecans, and parmesan cheese. So simple, so delicious!

I was grateful it was cloudy and a little cooler today, so I could also make “Vichyssoise light.” I’d been putting it off because I didn’t want to heat up the house, but you can’t make cold Vichyssoise without first cooking it. I sautéed the onions in butter, added a chopped potato, chicken broth, salt and pepper, and simmered for half an hour. Then I took it off the heat and stirred in a couple tablespoons of yogurt and a big splash of milk and blended til it was smooth and creamy. By then I was too hot to eat hot soup so it went into the fridge for tomorrow. But I did lick the spoon and it’s delicious!

The wind shifted to the west this evening and blew in some fresh air. I was able to cool off outside without a mask and leave the doors open to get a cross breeze through the house for a few hours. I took the opportunity to pick the rest of the un- or less-damaged apricots and harvested more than expected. Another garden success in a scant year!

A screenshot from the Watch Duty app yesterday showing the South Rim fire perimeter, evacuation zones, and the two planes and one helicopter working it at the time. The blue dot near the top is where I live, nine miles as the crow flies from the fire. I’ve been relying on it so much in the past week that I felt compelled to pay their reasonable membership fee; getting the little purple aircraft moving in real time was an unexpected bonus.

I’m grateful for the nonprofits that make the world better, like Watch Duty, PPAN and Xerces, and for endangered government agencies, like APHIS and the National Weather Service, that use science to serve diverse human needs; and I’m grateful for the technology that puts warnings, forecasts, and other helpful data at our fingertips.

I’m grateful for the Weather Underground app, with all the bells and whistles selected: radar, cloud cover, fronts, heat, hail, severe storms… and for knowing where I stand in the midst of it all, once again that little blue dot near the top.

Wetland Creatures

The wetland that grew around the pond over the past decade is buzzing with life. Gaillardia is blooming, drawing native bees and butterflies, like this field crescent (Phyciodes) sharing a feast with a striped sweat bee (Agapostemon).

The developing tadpoles are fascinating. They’re gaining shape and color, splashing around at the surface, and when I zoomed in on this picture they look translucent. And they seem to be sipping air – look at that little tadpole mouth!

I wish Wren had shown more caution creeping up on the garter snake; it’s perfectly harmless, but her curiosity could be dangerous with some other species.

And I wish I could end tonight’s post right there, with the simple joy of wetland creatures on a hot summer day. As I sat there this morning I remembered the phrase “all’s right with the world” with sadness. It wasn’t this morning, and it most assuredly is not this night. The madness out there just keeps escalating, accelerating. But down at the pond, absorbed in the pace of nature, there is respite for minutes at a time.

Lilac Therapy

There’ve been years when I didn’t spend a moment with the lilac patch; when I was too busy moving too fast from one thing to another to do more than snip a flower cluster to bring inside once or twice during the fleeting bloom season. One year the weather was cold, wet, muddy and the season was so short I missed it completely. What was I thinking? All that time I wasted…

This year, I’ve been grateful to be able to spend hours a day for days in a row doing Lilac Therapy. This is a scientifically proven approach to calming the fuck down. I move the folding chair into whatever patch of shade is available for the time of day, and sit. I read a little, write a little, text someone now and then, do a Wordle… get up now and then and move a sprinkler, refill my water bottle, return to the chair. Mostly, though, I just spend a lot of time breathing. I wish I could smell on the exhale as well as the inhale.

When I hear a big enough buzz I’ll pick up the Husband Camera and capture a few high speed shots. The Holy Grail for the Husband Camera is a hummingbird sipping lilac nectar, but I’m happy for a butterfly, or even a bumblebee. I reflect on my sadness that I’ve seen only one or two honeybees, that there’s a paucity of bumblebees as well, but comfort myself that there are lots of smaller native bees. I try not to be attached to outcome. That’s not the point of Lilac Therapy.

Resting in open awareness of senses is the point. Mindful of breath, scent, sound, colors, textures, shapes, warm sun, cool shade, the caress of the breeze, cool fine powdery clay under my soles, frogs calling down at the pond, jays cawing, finches singing, and swallows silently zipping overhead; clouds streaming, gathering, spreading in bluebird sky and bluebirds dropping to the ground for bugs. Breathing. Aware of thoughts, feelings, sensations arising, flowing, ceasing. Resting.

Wren digs herself a spot in the sunshine and rests there. Then she gets up and digs a little spot in the shade and rests there. Then she moves back to the sun. We are constantly thermoregulating. Sometimes she hears or smells something and leaves the fenced enclosure to chase it down, then returns when she’s ready.

Topaz slips through the spaces between wires, coming and going as the mood moves her, also moving from shade to sun to shade; mostly shade. There’s an occasional frisson when she wants on my lap, but Wren’s envy response is calming after three years so Topaz sneaks in some lap time.

As a culture, we do not value true relaxation. (Not the way cats do.) We value vacations, adventures, competing, fun, collecting experiences of the world, but we don’t really value doing nothing, simply being. The more I sit in the ephemeral scent of these flowers, the deeper the layers of tension slowly melt. I repeatedly give myself permission to stay here.

A clearwing hummingbird moth vies for the blooms with various bees, beeflies, and flies.

Just when I think Okay, I guess I’ll go inside and wash some dishes, another waft of sweet scent washes over me, or a tiger swallowtail flits by so close to landing, that I decide to stay just a little while longer. Surely she will land on her next pass.

An orchard bee buzzes a digger bee. There’s more excitement than one might expect, sitting with lilacs; more attacks, near misses, and midair collisions. Every now and then the Husband Camera catches one.

The tiger swallowtail never lands, but a checkerspot shows up and leads me on a merry pursuit around the patch, wanting to land high in the center where it’s hard to catch her. But we do. Even with the help of Audubon, Kaufman, iNaturalist, and the World Wide Web, I can’t determine whether she is a Variable Checkerspot or Edith’s Checkerspot. It doesn’t matter. Either way it’s a great way to wrap up an exciting, restful day.

Flowering Trees

I’m grateful to see quite a few baby apricots that survived sequential deep freezes in early spring. And grateful to see the first-year cherry sapling buzzing with so many different species of native bees.

I’m grateful to spend time with the lilacs and their bees, and to perfume the house with fresh blossoms clipped daily; and grateful to see the crabapple continue hosting butterflies and bees.

And back to the cherry tree, because I just can’t get enough of it. I’m grateful for the warm sunny days that preceded the past two days of rain and hail: grateful for the moisture, and that the hail was small and brief and probably didn’t do much damage to anything in the garden.

A Foggy Christmas

It felt like spring for a couple of days before Christmas, so I thought to check the solitary bee house on the south side of the solitary person house. The previous unit filled up, and didn’t seem to be getting reused, so I hung that in the desert willow just in case, and installed the new unit last summer on the south window buck. I’m pleased to see a few bee nests occupied.

My dear Yarden Helper brought his Norwegian specialty bake when he came to work on Christmas Eve, äpplekakke. I enjoyed a slice for Christmas breakfast. Then I enjoyed another perfect slice of potica for elevenses.

A portion of the crust dough during the laminating process.

And in between, I set to work on the pie. I used Vaughn’s laminated pie crust, and had mixed the crust the night before, leaving some big blobs of butter as directed. I froze half, and let the other half sit in the cold mudroom overnight. It was perfect after about an hour in the kitchen, and rolled out as beautifully as any crust I’ve ever made. Maybe more so. See the Thanksgiving pie disaster with the same crust, different approach.

Speaking of the Thanksgiving pie disaster, it’s what inspired this classic pecan pie, with an old-fashioned Karo-brown sugar filling instead of adding cornmeal — yuck! It was perfect: so sweet it made my teeth hurt.

I took the pie, and a loaf of bread, and some citrusy roasted cauliflower, up the driveway to share a casual midday Christmas dinner with the Honey Badger family. The fog was so dense on that short drive I turned on my headlights on the off-chance someone might be heading down my driveway. From their house, you couldn’t see the neighbors’. But by the time we’d finished our delicious meal and overdue visit, the unusual fog was breaking up, and the drive home — two driveways worth — was equally beautiful.

Clearly, I am still catching up with myself, since it is already a week past Christmas. Only a few more posts til I am up to speed for the new year. And then I’ll tell you about No-Buy New Year…

Lilacs, Again

Six different native bees — a taste of images to come…

I’m grateful I’ve found time to sit with the lilacs again as they wind down. Grateful for rain all day yesterday though it kept me inside, and grateful for meaningful work that kept me in most of today; but especially grateful for an hour on Monday simply sitting with lilacs full of native bees. At times there was a veritable traffic jam, and I actually witnessed a couple of collisions. Who doesn’t love a lilac? Apparently all of Crawford does: there are so many that driving through town last Saturday, even on the highway, the breeze carried the sweet scent of lilacs through my open windows.

The Crabapple Tree

Though the crabapple tree’s blossoms have faded, she put on a splendid show this spring, lasting weeks.

Last week at the height of her perfection she was alive with pollinators.

Bye now!

Today in Pollinators

I stood under the wild plum for an hour as petals rained down in the breeze, amid the flutter of butterflies and the buzz of bees.

And then I stood awhile under the peach tree whose tender pink blossoms are just now opening.

Native Bees

Last week before the lilacs began to fade, I caught this lovely big Bombus nevadensis (I think) enjoying the blossoms.

I’m grateful to have captured some native bees today, and this one above last week, with the husband-camera. It’s been awhile since I’ve spent much time with either, in part because of the dearth of native bees in the yard for the past few years, which has made me too sad to go out and chase them. But there were so many bees on the perennial onion blooms this morning that I felt inspired to get out the big camera, and grateful to attend to them.

It was busy on the onions this morning, which is one reason I love these amazing plants that just keep on going, and seeding profusely every year. Above, a mining bee (genus Andrena), and below, what I think is Bombus huntii.

Above, another Bombus nevadensis, if I’m not mistaken, and the bright black spot on her back suggests a female. There were also a few honeybees, a small butterfly, and a digger bee among the onion flowers, but I didn’t get good enough pictures to share. Then with the last few images available on the camera, I attended to the pink honeysuckle, which was buzzing with honeybees. This one was being carefully watched by someone besides me…

Flowers

A possibly better shot of the sleeping sunflower bees taken by the husband camera rather than the iPhone. I’m grateful for a computer upgrade that has allowed me to process the husband’s photos again after a software drought all summer.

I’m grateful for some time with my husband camera over the past weekend, and for the flowers blooming in the yarden. Not so many nor so profusely as in past years, but still plenty for the birds and bees that are here. It is alarming that I haven’t seen several species of native bees that were common a couple of years ago. But I’m grateful for the few bumblebees and honeybees I see, and for the sunflower bees. And for this red-bellied wasp. Too tired tonight to look her up, and can’t remember if I know her name. We all know how that is.

Grateful for the wild cleome (Rocky Mountain beeplant, an old favorite) that seeds itself. I pluck the easily identifiable seedlings early in the season where I don’t want them, and let them grow where I do. I always let plenty of them grow for the bees and hummingbirds, all of whom love it.
Grateful for a thriving snapdragon crop for the bumblebees and sphinx moths.
And grateful for the red salvia the hummingbirds love, and the hummingbirds who love it.