There’s a place in front of my top-bar hive where I back my truck and turn around. I was doing that yesterday, having just retrieved a load of tree seedlings, when I saw the strangest sight in the mirror. Strange for this time of year, at least—a cloud, dark as chocolate, spinning above the hive.
I don’t ever remember seeing so many airborne bees on a February day. The front of the hive was coated and the air above was thick. The temperature had spiked to near 60 and the bees careened all around as I watched, totally fascinated.
What came to mind as I lingered near the hive was all the partly made pollinator domiciles I have in bits and pieces scattered about the house, the shed, the barn. These are projects I began last fall, thinking I had forever to get them done because spring was so far, far away.
So besides planting all those seedlings, my plan for the weekend includes drilling holes, cutting reeds and elder stems, and completing my native bee habitat. I also have to fill the bumble bee houses with bird nests I saved from last year.
This post serves as a reminder that, even up here in Washington, the native bees are on their way. Some of the bumble bee queens emerge as early as February and start patrolling the ground looking for vacant rodent holes. Many natives begin foraging much earlier than honey bees, so now is the time to sweep the welcome mat, plant some flowers, and beehold.
Blackberry stems can work too — pokey on the outside but spongy on the inside. (I’ve found that my thornless variety is way too popular, they don’t wait for me.)
We saw a queen Bombus melanopygus out a couple of days ago. (Big bee with rusty red flanks.) These early bumbles are one of the most predictable users of old (stuffed) birdhouses.