“These days I seem to do a lot of dreaming…Just try to be in the here and now…These are the brand new good old days”—from the song Brand New Good Old Days by Leftover Salmon (Vince Herman)
This spring, I could not seem to get enough views of green lawns with yellow dandelions, especially on sunny mornings when the sun’s rays hit at just the right angle. Along roadsides and lightly mowed lawns, the two contrasting colors stand out, even more than carefully tended tulip gardens. The dandelions grow wild as chance may allow, despite being unwanted, perhaps even reviled, by most landowners. And yet they survive.
Maybe it’s the tenacity that also draws my attention, something to count on every year, along with the colors following winter’s grayness; standing tall and healthy in spite of the odds and the herbicides. After two years of COVID fears, anger and frustration at posturing political leaders, and sorting useful information from misinformation, I had the feeling this spring of slowly emerging from an underground bunker, still quite unsure of the landscape, but with growing confidence. For a long while, I have no longer felt that other customers at the grocery store are dangerous enemies, and it’s nice to see faces again, even though I have never been a “people” person. Perhaps spring dandelions will become, for me at least, a symbol of COVID’s eventual final demise, but it’s probably too early to put much weight behind such thoughts.
April has long competed with October as being my favorite time of year: the songbird migration is in full motion; colorful male warblers are back from Central and South America for the breeding season; spring ephemeral wildflowers are in full bloom; and daytime high temperatures are still mostly cool, before the more frequent hot, humid days of May and June. It is also a time when our honeybee hives become highly active, with the bees frantically gathering nectar and pollen to support a soon-emerging cohort of young bees.
One late April day I took a walk along the bluffs of Conner Creek to check on our hive at the Lakeview Nature Area’s apiary; I was worried that recent unpredictable temperature swings from day to day might have been hard on the bees. Along the way, I was admiring the green grasses of the rolling bluffs with a generous scattering of dandelions, and when I looked downward near my feet, there stood a single, perfect yellow dandelion with a honeybee seriously focused on digging down far into the dense array of minute florets, which together actually make up what we see as the “flower.” But paradoxically, this scene brought to mind an image from the previous winter: heavy snow blowing and drifting, with more falling, and forecasts of 10 to 12 inches by the next day; a cup of hot tea in my hand, sweetened with honey from our Lakeview hives, a little taste of the previous season’s wildflowers; thoughts of the honeybees surviving the winter cold in a dense cluster of bees (around 68oF), with warmth generated within their bodies and fueled by consumption of honey.
What might this next year hold in store, I wondered, after the nectar this particular bee was collecting might have found its way, as honey, into my winter tea? Would my optimistic thoughts that threats from COVID would finally be over this year prove true? Yet even as I focus on my own struggles to cope, I know there are many other serious threats facing our world today. But without any significant influence on how such matters might develop, I’m fine with putting it all aside—maybe for a while, but more likely longer, or maybe even indefinitely.
So far, I’ve survived. And it’s a good life: I’ve got a good wife; great new music coming out all the time, available with the click of a mouse; new good books to look forward to—so many talented writers, it’s hard to keep track; honey harvests coming up; and plenty of toilet paper. Sometimes, though, the hives don’t make it through the winter. I’ve learned that it’s best not to take the good times too much for granted.
Reference
Winston, M.L. 1987. The biology of the honey bee. Harvard University Press, Cambridge , Massachusetts.