Patty Wetli: My oddball internet search this week was: “Bumble bees food coma?”
I’d been seeing so many big, fat bumbles face-planted in the center of my dahlia blooms lately — not moving, even when ever-so-gently jostled — I thought maybe they were drunk or drugged. High on pollen or nectar, as it were. Or maybe they were stuck. Or dead.
I started with my food coma theory and eventually Google led me to a conclusion that made so much more sense, it should have been obvious. The bees were sleeping.
Huh. Who knew? I’ve always only seen bees in motion. I guess I never gave much thought to the rest of their daily life, which, apparently, includes sleeping or taking a break, especially when temperatures begin to cool.
I learned that female bumbles retreat to their nests to recharge, but males are out in the wide world on their own, looking for a bed. This late in the fall, dahlias are a great hotel and diner all in one.
I can’t tell you how much that eases my guilty mind.
Ever since I started growing dahlias a few years ago, I’ve felt like I’ve been cheating on my native plants.
I mean, I love my coneflowers and beardtongue, my bee balm and meadow rue, but I capital L-O-V-E love my dahlias, as in “show pictures of them to complete strangers” love them.
The joy they’ve brought has come at a price, though, in the form of a nagging voice that whispers, “You’re a traitor to the native plant cause.” As if my handful of dahlia plants were somehow the proverbial straw breaking the planet’s biodiversity back.
Lo, this whole time, I’ve inadvertently been helping out the bumblebees. Me and the fellas will sleep a little better tonight.
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