Garden Musings

I went out to the garden the other day to pick a few sprays of quince.  Easter was fast approaching, and I wanted the branches on which to hang my delicate blown egg ornaments, but then I couldn’t do it.  You see, the bees had gotten there first.  Honey bees, bumblebees, even the harmless little hover flies that disguise themselves with buff and black stripes to make predators think twice before taking a bite.  Those, I have nicknamed “Wannabees,” and they always make me smile when I spy them.

I watched for a while, my clippers hanging loosely in my hand.  The honey bees seem organized, industrious, moving from flower to flower—occasionally narrowly avoiding awkward collisions. It is the bumblebees, though, that always capture my heart. I can’t get enough of watching them. Each one tumbles and frolics in the center of every blossom. Their hind-leg pollen sacs, full to the bursting, look like over-sized riding breeches. Look carefully though, you’ll see pollen all over their bulbous, furry bodies, their wings, their antennae.  I’m sure if they had eyelashes, you’d find tiny flecks of the golden flower dust there as well, and the bumble bees cavort as if they are drunk on the stuff.

So I watched and delighted in this momentary joy, then sent each one a small blessing before I turned to go.  I paused to root out some moss taking over the woolly thyme patch, then again to pull a few dainty delicate weeds, which by next week would become monstrous with roots descending to Hades.

I paused again at our small pond (I’ve dubbed it Frog Dimple Pond). The water is still cold and the goldfish are very sluggish.  Lazing in angled clusters, they form mysterious runes, which I cannot decipher, but love to read anyway.  I admire the fine beaded chains of toad eggs crisscrossing the water lily pot.  It has been three years since we have had tadpoles in the pond.  I smile at the thought of seeing those first bulges where legs will sprout.  The fish always try to eat them, but they must taste awful.  Every time a fish slurps one up, they are spit out more quickly than they were ingested. 

I dropped the handful of weeds into the compost and returned to the house.  I’d buy some forsythia branches from the stand down the way on the side of the road.