It’s been a surprisingly nice weekend. Surprising because for one, today was forecast to be rainy, and for two, anything other than rain this year is surprising. It has been the wettest year I can remember, although that’s a bit of a silly thing to say because my memory these days is not so hot.
So anyway, because it has been sunny (after the heavy morning mist drifted off) we decided to do a bit of pre-winter garden sprucing. One of the highlights of the garden for me this year was the Borage. We had a humungous one growing in the bed by the decking, and it grew so big that it flopped over the decking, so that it was right by one of the places that we sit. When the weather allowed us to sit by the Borage, it was glorious – a mass of blue flowers lit up by the afternoon sun – and filled with bees. Bees love Borage like Pooh loves Honey, and the murmur of bees filled our ears while the white wine and Gin & Tonic filled our glasses and made it’s way to our mouths. A perfect combination of frenetic industry and sybaritic relaxation.
But now the opportunities for outdoor drinkies are fewer, and the Borage is a relic of it’s former self. Still a few flowers hanging on, but stems blackening and bending, and leaves yellowing – so I decided it was time it went. I thought as I uprooted it that at least there were no bees around to miss the last few blooms – I assumed they had gone to ground or hive for the winter.
How wrong I was! Walking round the corner into the lane on this sunny afternoon I heard a familiar noise – the droning buzz of a hundred wings. Looking up I saw a huge patch of ivy, just coming in to flower, and the flickering of bees going in and out of it. How clever of ivy to flower late and take advantage of the waning blooms everywhere else – more bees for us, yeah! Pollinate! Pollinate!
Nature is a clever old stick.