My six year old daughter has released many dormant sensations
and feelings in me. Things that I have always felt, but honestly, it can be
inappropriate in normal, adult conversation to say something like, “Bees are
good!” Number one, there is no context, two, well, some people might vehemently
disagree depending upon their own childhood experiences. In fact, my husband is
one of them.
So it’s not exactly fodder for small conversation. However,
when you have a growing toddler, these dormant appreciations can be brought to
the fore without fear of judgment of any kind.
Bees, like spiders, are creatures I appreciate. I have long
since overcome my fear, despite having been stung and bitten, respectively. Unless
one has been attacked by a swarm, as my husband had when he was living in
Annisquam as a little toddler himself, I think these fears of said creatures
are inexplicable and disproportionate. They are, after all, struggling to
survive as well and I cannot imagine what it must be like to be faced with such
a large being as ourselves when one is a small being such as they are.
So bees I like because they pollinate flowers. And therefore
propagate plants and flowers. And incidentally, I also happen to like honey so I’m
grateful for that, as well. They make our lives infinitely more beautiful and,
dare I say it, gracious.
As a toddler, my daughter showed an inordinate curiosity
about them. I kept telling her that they were actually quite delicate and
sensitive, but my daughter could not help herself. Sometimes she would simply play
with those that lost their way in our backyard and end up killing them.
A related lesson of composting, pollination, and creatures
was that hummingbirds also perform that service. Despite the presence of our
two kitties, hummingbirds still visit our backyard, primarily because of all
the things that grow in our rich soil, including strawberries, lilies,
hydrangea, jasmine, tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers.
One day, a hummingbird decided to offer us a more personal
visit. The French doors leading from the backyard were open. The sun was
inviting the little hummingbird in. So, it came in.
It promptly became stressed and began frantically attempting
to exit. Which of course meant that it was flying frantically all around the
living room and then kitchen whilst the kitties were looking ever more
fascinatingly at it.
“Mama, mama! The hummingbird is trying to get out!” exclaimed
my daughter helpfully. “Oh, no, look, Pinky keeps staring at it!”
“Yes, I know. It’ll be alright.”
After contemplating the dilemma for a moment, I realized I needed
some sort of net because it was becoming increasingly distressed. It was not
going to fly out of its own accord. We had no net.
Or so I thought. Turns out we did. In the form of our
laundry “basket,” a mesh affair that would work just perfectly.
It did. I caught it and then released it out the front door,
since that was closest.
“You did it, Mama, you did it!” Honestly, how can one not
feel triumphant with those kinds of accolades?
Well, that was a year and a half ago. Every day since then,
the hummingbird comes to visit us. I know it’s the same one because it looks in
the kitchen window, the very one it looked out of when it was trying to escape.
If we are outside, it hovers near us, a greeting. And we smile back.
I now keep more plants that flower. For it. And the bees.
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