By ALICIA WOODWARD, guest columnist
Drinks in hand, Mike and I stepped onto our boat for a quiet evening ride around the lake. We immediately noticed a few bees buzzing around the front of the pontoon. Absentmindedly, we shooed them away and began untying the ropes.
Bees are the world’s leading plant pollinators.
I was getting settled on the boat when I flicked away a bee and spilled my entire glass of wine. While lamenting that tragedy, I felt a sharp sting on my right middle finger. I held it up in an angry gesture I don’t usually use. “Stupid bee!” I shouted.
Since 2006, the bee population has declined considerably.
I looked up to see Mike dancing erratically on the dock. His gin and tonic glass lay empty on the ground. He was holding his cheek, and I could see a welt beginning to form. We realized the bees were darting in and out of a small opening between the boat seat cushions.
The causes are pesticides, disease, parasites and climate change due to global warming.
We ran to the top of the wooden stairs to regroup and come up with a battle plan. This was war.
If we lose the bees, we could lose all the plants they pollinate.
While I explained to our neighbors what all the buzz was about, Mike disappeared toward the house. He returned with fresh drinks in one hand and a can of insect spray in the other.
Eventually, we could lose all the animals that live on those plants.
He violently sprayed directly into the opening where the bees were coming from. When the melee was over, we realized Mike had been stung several times on his arm, hand and face. He said he was fine and still wanted go on a short ride to watch the sunset.
Ultimately, this could work up the food chain leading to worldwide famine, poverty and possibly extinction.
We were not yet out of our cove, when I saw Mike’s face was getting blotchy and swollen. “My mips meel a mimmel mummm,” he said. “What? Your lips feel numb?” He nodded. We got back to the house and I gave him some Benadryl and an ice pack. I was dabbing his stings with vinegar when he mumbled that his throat felt weird.
More immediately, we could say goodbye to carrots, apples, lemons, onions, melons, nuts, coconuts and honey.
Mike didn’t argue with me about going to the emergency room 35 minutes away. He got a shot in his butt and was monitored for a few hours. We left the hospital with a prescription for prednisone and a lifetime of bad bee puns.
To really bring it home, there would be no limes for a gin and tonic. No grapes for a glass of wine.
A couple of days later, we went down to the boat. With a wooden oar, Mike carefully lifted the seat cushion and we saw an empty beehive the size of my head. He muttered something about losing the battle but winning the war.
A world without bees couldn’t possibly sustain our world’s human population.
Looking at the destroyed hive, I felt a little bad given our concern for the environment and all. Mike looked at me, his hand and face still visibly swollen, and said, “If the bees want to survive, they need to stay off my boat. You better bee-lieve that!”
(The source for the italicized information is BBC.com.)
Alicia Woodward and her husband are empty-nesters who live on Sweetwater Lake in Brown County. She taught middle school literature and language arts for more than 25 years and writes a weekly blog, The Simple Swan, inspired by the wisdom, beauty and simplicity of nature. Subscribe at thesimpleswan.com. She can be reached at [email protected].
