I strolled today along the fields, beyond which the buildings cease and open land starts, and that is where I saw the bees. The sun was hot with a whiff of grass which had desiccated in the air, and from afar, I could see a row of beehives on the border. When I approached, I could hear that constant, drumming sound, not in a sharp or loud way at all, but more of a mellow sound that keeps after you for so long that you eventually begin to listen. The bees were hovering in the air, alighting upon goldenrod and clover inflorescences, and the sun was causing their wings to glint with small reflections, like someone had ground a bit of glass and caused it to sparkle with each movement. Others of the bees were returning to hives with full legs of pollen, and others were just starting to make their scouting flights. I lingered for some time because suddenly it struck me that these insects follow a hierarchy and direction that sometimes we humans lack. Every individual of them is busy with a task of his own, and collectively they form a sum greater than each individual one of them. It was the sort of experience you happen upon on a walkabout, but it lingers and you want to hang on to it.
I also pondered briefly how much bees are needed and how commonly we forget this until we are lucky enough to see them at work. Most of the vegetables that find their way onto our plates rely on insect pollination. When a bee alights on a flower, it deposits minute grains of pollen onto the flower so that the plant can produce fruit or seeds. I remember being told that it is estimated that approximately 75% of crop species in Europe and globally require such pollinators more or less. If bees were to suddenly vanish, we would need to hand pollinate, and this already happens in much of the world, particularly China, where it is done with brushes. This isn't the same and it takes a tremendous amount of work, and it's not as effective. Bees also produce honey, wax and other things man has prized for hundreds of years. The hives I noticed at the side of this field looked in good condition too, so that definitely someone is taking care of these insects, keeps them healthy and gives them sufficient space. We have a very old tradition of beekeeping in Poland, beginning with forest beekeeping, when one of the most widespread sweeteners in our culture was honey. Having seen it, I reminded myself that working in an apiary is also being close to nature, since you have to understand the flowering cycle, know the needs of the insects and be able to assess when you can take something and when it is best to let it go.
Coming back from my stroll, that was in my mind that bees hovering around is not only a part of nature's wonder, but also that it is a reminder that our lives actually do revolve around actually, really tiny creatures. For instance, as much as one third of the world food production relies on the work of pollinators such as honey bees, bumblebees and wild bees, the FAO (Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations) has reported. There are also teaching and research to protect pollinating insects in Germany, as we discover more and more about them decreasing in numbers because of chemicals used in farms and climate change. You can even assist in your own garden by planting honey plants, not mowing a bit of grass or making a nest for wild bees. These are tiny things, but they're important, because all the little things make a whole. If I consider that chance of gazing out over the field, where bees hummed over goldenrod, I catch a feeling like peace and contemplation, as if that humming was reminding me that all things are in their season and in their proper place. And then breathing becomes easier and believing the world still maintains its natural beat.
