Halloween Phenology

We've still having some beautiful warm, sunny days. The women that do morning tai chi at Moberly perform their elegant workout and then meditate together on a bench with the sun on their faces. The trees stop me in my tracks with their transforming colors. I am feeling that tension, waiting for the first frost. My partner keeps waffling on whether he'll move from cycling to taking the bus. I overheard someone saying there might have been some black ice on the roads this morning. She was surprised to come to work and there were no bicycles on the rack. "What do they know that I don't?" she wonders aloud.

I passed by the EYA's Pollinator Paradise garden today and their were two contrasting bumblebee queens foraging in the Phacelia tanacetifolia. I feel so honored to see them, but part of me says, "Come on Queenie, it's time to retire to the Royal Bedchamber." I don't blame them for wanting to squeeze in one more solar-powered nectar-sweet day.

As the bumblebees descend into the underworld it's time to take out the mason bee cocoons and hold them up to the light. I spent a lovely morning at a mason bee workshop where Brian Campbell taught us how to confidently clean our mason bee cocoons. This is an important skill for those who want to take your good intentions and turn them into real action for caring for our bees. A mason bee condo that you don't clean often turns into a bee graveyard, as we sadly discovered. Here lies Osmia lignaria lignaria, ravaged by chalk brood, pollen mites and parasitic wasps.

With the good weather our neighborhood has become rife with stage-managed graveyards made from leaves piled into mounds marked with theatrical white crosses and ghoulish gravestones. This is the week we remember our ancestors with a candle and a prayer. We take out woolens out to clean them and repair the moth holes. We flip our clocks forward to save the light. We sort out seeds and put them in a safe place. We stitch our diurnal narrative into the fabric of sunlight, leaves and bark.

I went into our local flower shop because I want to smell the air and I want to buy a little succulent. The women behind the counter are being instructed to roll little rubber balls on their hands to relieve tension and help with the circulation. It's a lovely afternoon ritual for women who use their hands on cold plants for hours every day. I am calmed by watching them and I resolve to take a class in this ball rolling method.

On the way home I run into my neighbor and somehow we stumble into a conversation where I find more out about her in five minutes than I have in 13 years. How she survived an Earthquake in China and nearly died of lung cancer six years ago. I am astonished. "But you look so good!" I exclaim. She's always got good color in her cheeks and she walks her dog faithfully. Cities are strange and wonderful--full of the surprising richness of humans and bees so close to us we can barely see them.

The Mysterious Hawthorn

 One of the best things you can do for honeybees and native bees is to plant trees. Now that the herbaceous bee plants are winding down, I'm focusing my attention on trees. I've come up against a mystery: the hawthorn. It is listed as a honey plant, if somewhat unreliable--really dependent on the weather. However, some hawthorn, such as our native black hawthorn are described as having blossoms with a fishy smell which attract pollinating midges. (Midge--such an ambiguous term, it irks me.) Sometimes the blossoms are described as smelling sweet, and other times like rotting flesh. I'm assuming these are different varieties, but could they be characteristic of hawthorns in general--ie stinky in bad weather for carrion beetles and midges but sweet in sunny weather for bees? Anyone out there have any ideas?

In the the meantime I am taking pictures of our wonderful and glorious autumn trees.

 I know some beekeepers are seeing bees in Japanese anenomes, but I have never seen it happen.

 Oddly enough, I did see honeybees in the Aconitum at VanDusen yesterday.

Finally, I had a thrill today when the hummingbird who has claimed our garden visited hummingbird sage, cleome,  and the big rhodo that's blooming again. And we have a strange bird visiting us that makes a sound like a policeman's whistle. What could that be? The hummer didn't like it, swooping down from a great height and diving at the tree.

Planting Garlic between the Harvest Moon and Thanksgiving

I finally found the time and space to plant my garlic and some ornamental alliums at the community plot. It's a bit late, but my fingers are crossed. I was advised to add lime to the soil to help release the nutrients to make the garlic nice and big. I planted them at least 6 inches apart. There are still flowers blooming in the plot and the honeybees are still working the anise hyssop.

I was able to save a few zinnia seeds, but will have to make sure they dry properly because they are damp from all this rain.

I also cut down the anise hyssop that had finished blooming to dry the leaves and seed heads.

 My next goal is to experiment sowing some fall seeds to see how early I can get some bee plants to grow in 2014. I will try succession sowing with some key plants.

I harvested some tiny zucchinis, kale and more arugula. I hope we get a few more days like this before November.