An Ordinary Grief
November 30^th, 2024

It was 21° F at 7 AM. The first hard freeze always seems to sneak up on me. Mr. Squirrel and the sparrows showed up for breakfast right on time, but not the bees. Their beautiful sage plants are suddenly blackened, unable to resist the cold. I probably won’t see my bees again until next October.

I suppose we shouldn’t grieve over the natural order of things, but still I do. I am already anticipating next spring when I can plant new pineapple sage and the bees will come again. The water feeder is completely frozen solid. The sage was gorgeous this year, and now it’s black and dead. Today was cold for us. It was lethal for the bees. The temperature only briefly got above freezing. This will be a hard freeze.

Honey bees do an interesting thing when the weather gets cold. They gather in a large bunch in their nests and vibrate their wings. This generates heat, as much as 90° in the huddle. They also feed on their own stored honey to survive the winter. The bumblebees are less fortunate. The queens survive by burrowing into the ground or plant roots, but the workers and males simply die off.

I do my best to make my yard hospitable to bee culture. It’s a little piece of something that I can do to make the planet healthier and boost the food supply. In Kentucky, we grow our own food and I’ve always liked that about the place. We have the best soil and water on the planet.

Tonight, the first snow laces the world with a thin white glaze. The temperature is 29° and the sage is black and dead. It’s the season to see things die. I don’t mean to be sappy. It’s just an ordinary grief, the kind we face every day. You don’t get a medal for that. Tonight, the snow makes a swishing sound on the window panes, and the wind whips around the corners of the house. I am suddenly grateful for my warm clothes, grateful that I can stand in the whipping cold wind and not die right on the spot. I am grateful for the warm house, grateful for the Spring which will surely return.