The other day, while taking out the garbage, I became surrounded by a marauding gang of bumble bees. They buzzed around me like a mini fleet of Black Hawk helicopters and seemed to think I was competing for a nearby mountain laurel’s blossoms. Worried I’d be stung, I ran back inside and slipped on a winter parka. I pulled the hood down over my face as far as I could, took a deep breath, and rushed back outside.
Because my eyes were covered, I could barely see anything, but from the sound of buzzing all around, those bumblebees didn’t enjoy my presence. I opened the garbage bin, added the bag, and ran back inside.
Phew, I thought leaning against the back of the door. When did taking out the trash become a blood sport? It left me confused. I’ve loved bumblebees all my life. Unlike wasps, hornets, and yellow jackets, who have that angry, “Get off my lawn!” vibe, I’ve always loved the fuzzy, black and yellow cuteness of bumblebees. They look almost… well, “pet-able.”
But do they sting? A question for the ages, and I still didn’t know. After a quick Google search, it turns out bumblebees do sting, but only if provoked. Hmmm… does provoked include being too close to their mountain laurel bush? Although I’ve never known anyone stung by a bumblebee, I was taking no chances. I now don a winter jacket to empty the garbage.
A few days later, another ominous sign of spring caught my eye. Outside that same kitchen door was a pile of small twigs on the stoop. “Oh God, no,” I said, gazing upward. Sure enough, a new robin’s nest, mid-construction, sat on top of our porch’s outside light. This has become an annual event.
Now soon, whenever I walk outside, I’ll not only have swarms of yellow and black mini helicopters, but a mama robin angrily squawking and darting at me. Not only that, if she’s away looking for food, her chicks will start peeping in my direction, their little beaks open and hungry. “Throw us some worms!” I picture them saying, like I’m their babysitter.
Yet, despite all this disruption…I couldn’t be happier.
Everything is renewing before my eyes. Connecticut has that ethereal glow of early spring, with its delicate new leaves, huge bunches of yellow daffodils, and pink dogwood trees. Despite all the chaos outside my back door, I find this burgeoning new life beautiful and hopeful. No matter what’s going on in the human world, Mother Nature always arrives serene and on time, above all of our human drama.
Still, between being strafed by paranoid bumblebees, lectured to by mother birds, and accosted by her kids, leaving through the back door is starting to feel like an episode of the Soprano’s. (“Whoa! Where do you think you’re going, lady?”)
I love spring, but my goodness, when did it become so perilous?
Has spring changed the routine in your world? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like to receive posts by email, just press here. Thank you!
