The other night, we caught some mason bees resting with their little butts hanging out, pollen sprinkled all across the porch like they had a raging party and then passed out. I don’t know what was actually happening since I don’t understand mason bee-havior very well, but it was adorable.
Our mason bees are nearing the end of their season. They are rarely seen after June around here, so we have a few more weeks with these darling insects. The mason bees have been far more interesting than I expected. We got them for curiosity’s sake and a sense of obligation to our native pollinators, and maybe a little bit for the love of our fruit trees. But watching them come and go, filling their little tunnels with mud and buzzing around in their beautiful shiny blue-blackness, I have really fallen for their single-minded industrious charm.
They’ve filled in twelve of the holes now. Yesterday there were only 10, so they are really picking up the pace. Every evening, Levi hustles out to the patio to check on the bees and report back, “I think it’s eleven now… no, twelve!”