Queendom

Our bees left us this week. We tried to keep them by cutting this branch off into a new hive. And they seemed to be happy. For a couple of days.

Then, sometime yesterday or the night before, they left. For cooler pastures? Because of the moon? With a song in their hearts? We missed the migration, the drama of leaving a fully stocked home. And wonder about the motives and catalyst. Queens have a will of their own and a duty to build and thrive in their queendom.

A sad day for us nonetheless. They left a hive of spoiled honey—larvae looking for their keepers. The heat makes the air warm with honey drafts.

awestruck

Our yard is bursting with azaleas, irises, bluebells, salvia, hostas, lilies and mint.

But we don't have any peonies. So I slipped over to the neighbors yard and snipped a couple of buds from their prolific bush. Don't tell anyone.

Hard to imagine how this species decided to put so many stamens in one pocket. Looks like a party going on.

over the top and through the woods

I saw these guys on the Rhodes college campus yesterday. Seemed a little over the top for the number of leaves they were corralling. The noise was deafening (witness the worker's ear protection) and the amount of fossil fuel being used would have embarrassed an oil tycoon. I was relieved to see that there were no students on campus witnessing this excess. Hate to think that our future leaders would think this was the right way to handle fallen leaves.

moving on

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That rock and reflection in the middle of this photo reminds me of a four square patch.

Petit Jean State Park in Arkansas is a magical place. It harbors family memories, exposes changes in nature to our wondering eyes and instills a sense of miracles and beauty every time we visit. This year was no exception. Though the weather was cold and wet we were able to hike our favorite waterfall trail, one we have hiked many times. My children grew up exploring these woods and climbing these rocks. Now my grandchildren do the same. Every four years our friends join us there in an election year pilgrimage to share food, tell stories of our lives, lick our wounds if our candidates lost and rejoice with hope if our candidates win the opportunity to make our government work. I hope the tradition lingers into old age.

The photo below is a composite of the same trees taken 10 years apart. The tree on the left (shown in the middle image at the far left) has a healed over hollow and some new sprouts. The tree on the right still carries the heart shaped rock I admired ten years ago. I love the stubbornness of nature … the slow build that growth and adversity uses to form life. 

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Two trees, ten years apart.

A harbinger of Spring.

As I rode my bike on Monday I saw a robin ahead of me on the path. He (or was it a she?) had just landed so I swerved to the side to avoid him. As I approached his location he rose up and flew right into the path of my bike tire. Robin suicide. I was so shocked I couldn't finish my ride. It has stuck with me all week. Do I need a noisemaker on my wheels? Should I have called out a warning? What to do with a dead robin on the side of a path? Had he ingested some disorienting herbal mixture? I guess I will never know. RIP little guy.