Love the Bees

by Russ Mullen

Photo: Sue Navratil

For many years, I ignored, and thus accepted, the silent bee genocide from insecticide use in rural and urban settings because bees bullied and terrified me in my youth. I didn’t want students to underestimate the value of bees like I did. So, I demonstrated their worth based on economic value to agriculture. It was easy to show the multibillion-dollar impact of pollinators on the U.S. seed industry. I thought I was helping students “to love bees” because I was defining their worth in economic terms. Plus, some students were likely to work and manage field, vegetable, and flower seed crops throughout the U.S.

But this approach, unbeknownst to me, might have devalued bees for those who stay in Iowa. Why? Because bees, on the surface, aren’t worth much to typical large-acreage Iowa farmers — unless they produce honey or crops that require insect pollination, like apples, cherries, pears, peaches, pumpkins or melons. Pollinator-dependent crops are mainly grown outside of Iowa. I didn’t know how to teach the intrinsic value of pollinators in nature. How do you teach people to “love the bees?” The answer probably starts with personal self-reflection.

There should be inherent joy in watching a bumblebee forage a flower. They knock on the door to announce their presence. They sing to the flower with vibrating wings in a soothing bass voice. They massage the flower in search of nectar and pollen. This occurs in the short space of 20 seconds, so it’s easy to ignore them or underestimate their importance to our food system and to nature’s vast dinner table.

But it’s not enough to simply accept bees, to tolerate them, or to enjoy watching them pollinate flowers. In addition to appreciating them for our own dinner table choices, they must be cherished for their inherent value to the interconnected web of life. The USDA estimates that three-fourths of the world’s flowering plants depend on pollinators to propagate species and feed the world’s flora and fauna.

Humans naturally relate to and value animal species they can touch. That’s why pets are so popular in homes and why there are human laws to protect them from inhumane treatment. But I have never known anybody that has a pet bumblebee to cuddle with.

Now I realize that I do not need to touch bees to appreciate them, just like I don’t need to touch a bear or an eagle. Seeing them and knowing they are a part of nature’s balance are enough. I appreciate them, and also worry about their habitat loss.

Stewards of the earth…
Friends, Cultivators of ideas,
Nurturers of hope,
Messengers for generations.
Sustainable – R. E. Mullen

Credit: Sue Navratil

For many years, my biggest failing toward pollinators and other life forms was indifference. Indifference led me to focus on my personal ambitions and to ignore the effects of cultural practices on the survival and extinction of other species. I liked thinking I was a “steward of the land” but it registered to me as a steward of soil and water. It was a responsible and benevolent mantra for most of my life, but it didn’t encompass nature’s myriad of life forms.

Now, being a steward of soil and water is too narrow for today’s big agriculture and its power to manipulate landscapes for economic reasons. I prefer the goal of being a steward of nature. It is a more holistic, protective, and encompassing mantra. It’s certainly more challenging in my land management efforts, to create or preserve macro or micro habitats for nature’s other life forms. But it’s fun. And I’d rather fail or succeed under the standards of being not just a steward of soil and water, but a steward of nature.

I still wear a baseball cap outside, for the bees that don’t love me back. Bees are nature’s wild and they can get the wrong impression of me if I unintentionally disturb their nests. I will continue to duck and reach for my hat when I hear the buzz of a bumblebee. But now I follow with a self-check. Do I see a heartless enemy? A nuisance? A slave? Or the scariest of all, nothing? I’m even training myself to say, “Thank you for your service” … if the bees are not chasing me!

As a gray-haired, ball cap-wearing senior, I find myself mowing around patches of red and white clovers and birdsfoot trefoil in my yard and planting flowers in the garden and on the deck, just for bees, butterflies, and other flower-loving species. I value seeing bio-sanctuaries of diverse plants in the landscape, regardless of size and whether they are created or conserved.

In my travels, I secretly compliment the farmer who decided to leave the stately old tree in the middle of a crop field, the gardener who planted a row of zinnias for beauty and bees, the apartment dweller who has a patio full of potted, flowering plants, and the landowners who have patches of old growth timber and prairies on their land. These people intrigue me and make me want to leave a thank you sign on their property.

Photo: Ann Hawkins

I now look at my farmland as a resource for nature, rather than just for me. I am selective in where I apply insecticides and herbicides. I try to leave milkweeds for the butterflies, clovers and alfalfa for the bees, trees and brushy areas for deer, squirrels, and birds. I value my ponds and wet areas for water-loving animals and prairie plants for bringing color to my land. I am creating micro, bio-sanctuaries wherever possible, and it’s satisfying. A lot of little actions can make a big impact in a state dominated by industrialized agriculture.

Pollinators are more than just insects in the wild, they are nature’s farmers. Their fields are flowers, and their gifts are seeds. We are mutually responsible for each other’s survival. For much of my life, I didn’t think I would ever say this, but I miss seeing those little buggers in the fields and wilds of Iowa. It’s 50 years late, but I wish I could wear an Iowa hat that says, “Love the Bees.”

This essay is an excerpt from a longer piece first published in The Blazing Star Journal, supported by AgArts, a non-profit. Your paid subscriptions support the journal and the Substack page.

Russ Mullen

Russ Mullen is Professor Emeritus of Agronomy, Iowa State University. He was a scientist and educator during his 41-year university career.

He is a lover of agriculture, outdoors, nature’s art and biodiversity.

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