The Insect World, Being Largely Limited to the Tale of an Errant Bumblebee,

(Title above, continued): Prevailed upon for the Occasion of Commemorating and Dramatizing a (Possible) Forebear Found Bouncing on a Blackberry Blossom, But Not Exclusive of Some Serious Considerations Regarding the Fate of Anthills

About the insect world in the Northwest Woods there is very little, ahem, to write, we regret to say, perhaps owing to that very size consideration in all but the most Intimidating of insect species (all of whom, we dare hope, live on Faraway Continents in remote destinations we cannot imagine Karma the Beloved Dog might feel compelled to visit, such as the Parque Chipinque in Monterrey, Mexico, below).



However, that does not explain the fact that one of us once spent her entire lunch break trying to extricate and restore to flying condition an all-but-infinitesimal gnat that had misguidedly landed in her blueberry yoghurt. What the lesson was in that we can only guess. We think it has something to do with not eating blueberry yoghurt outdoors on patios adjacent to one’s workplace, although for obvious reasons we find it difficult to believe there is any universal applicability to that particular insight.

Which may ultimately be true, we hasten to acknowledge, of the following report (although we are nonetheless compelled to tell the story).

It began one day nearly exactly a year ago when, in our passage through the virtual thickets of blackberry bushes (the non-native kind) which grace our Northwest Woods (we may mean infest), our eye was suddenly caught by the unexpected oscillations of a blackberry blossom, which we quickly realized was owing to the presence of a Bumblebee on one of the petals. To the untutored eye it looked quite like the dear bee was using the petal as a bit of a trampoline, which we found both memorable and amusing. As we did not have our camera on hand, we did not photograph the event, but instead commemorated it with the following (sort of) haiku:

Blackberry blossom 

lightly bounces

as Bumblebee alights.

Now (to this more recent occasion nearly exactly a year later) we were particularly conscientious about proceeding on our path at Mallard’s Landing, our reserve largely owing to the ant metropolises that seem to have sprung up determinedly yet again this year. Because of this avid attention to where we placed our feet (although one of us was certainly a tad more oblivious, and we think you know whom we mean) it will come as no surprise that we shortly espied a Bumblebee on the path.

This would ordinarily lead us to proceed with caution, but we quickly concluded that this particular bumblebee was going Nowhere Fast. He appeared to move in the general direction of the right side of the path, and his little wings were flapping wildly, but he could not seem to navigate the twigs or leaves in his path, and he certainly wasn’t producing an airborne effect.

Once the immediate path before him was cleared of twigs and leaves, etc., he simply spun about in largish circles as if he were very much disoriented by the abrupt removal of what apparently were Significant Landmarks. It was at this point we realized we had on our hands (as it were, though not advisable in the literal sense) a Bumblebee in Distress, unable to escort himself off the path, and very likely to be flattened by the next passer-by.

Well, we are nothing if not helpful, and using a tiny stick we edged him onto a leaf, to which he clung gratefully (or so it appeared), and set him down on the side of the path in whose direction he seemed to be heading, where we fondly hoped he would find sustenance and safe haven, if not some first aid assistance. We then continued on our way, aiming to take photographs of the rush of blackberry blossoms as evidence of the Northwest Woods’ (rather slim, we do feel) selection of flora of a flowery sort.



Four photographs later (only one of which we have included above, since they all look exactly the same despite the different angles from which we took them) we recalled the moment in the year previous of the bumblebee bouncing on the blackberry blossom, and we wished (again) we had had our camera at that time, although we remembered (again) how unlikely it would have been anyhow to successfully capture the occasion, what with the general disinclination of insects to do what they’re asked, and their evident impulsiveness. It was at that moment that a light bulb went off in one of our heads. Aha! we thought. Why, we could create a repeat performance of that charming moment in a dramatic (though admittedly staged) performance employing the services of the Bumblebee we just met and rescued, who, regrettably (but fortuitously), wasn’t in a position to take flight without notice. Moreover, was probably right where we left it.

If only we could remember where that was.

Well, we retraced our steps, peering closely along the side of the path, and sure enough, there he was, stumbling about the leaves and twigs (still rather aimlessly, we thought) and seeming to be willing enough to play the role we sought. There was a bit of a setback trying to pick him up since we were (wisely, we think) aware that he, though Unable to Fly, might nonetheless still have the Capacity to Sting. As it happens he still evinced a respectable capacity to move with dispatch, which left us uneasy at the prospect of carrying him for any distance on a leaf, the edge of which would necessarily abut our very own tender flesh. However, just in time we had yet another Ingenious Idea, and found a rolled up sort of last year’s leaf, into which we wedged him, and walked to the very nearest satisfactory blackberry blossom, setting him on the petal, as seen in the very first photograph at the top, if you look very, very closely.

You might need to click on the picture to enlarge it. Or a magnifying glass. Or simply a leap of faith.

In truth the photograph does not quite capture the magic of the previous occasion, the gentle bouncing of the blackberry blossom not being a capacity of still photography to display, and our role-playing Bumblebee not sitting quite where we recall the other one to have done, but both we and the bee were, we believe, gratified. He, for his part, certainly made haste to avail himself of the blossom’s nectar, nigh unto burying himself in the blossom’s tiny bush of little pistils and stamens and antlers and potholes, and we, of course, had a photograph to accompany the (sort of) haiku.

We were hoping this performance would so restore him he would then be capable of flight (we preferred it be a direction other than our own) but he still did not appear to have the necessary wherewithal to take off. We pondered a bit about the pointlessness of wishing there were such a thing as a bee veterinarian (a beeterinarian?), and watched him tumble gently from blossom to blossom, righting himself each time with a little shake of his furry abdomen, but clearly it would take more than a little nectar and a Starring Role to restore him to his former mobility.

Then, Karma the Beloved Dog, nipped our heel in some frustration, so we thanked the Bumblebee for his stage services (we were remiss in checking whether he was a member of the Screen Actors’ Guild), and wished him well.

Be well, dear Bee.