Good Bug!
This little guy was busy pollinating my garden the other morning as I was patrolling for squash bugs. There seem to be more bees this year, which is encouraging. Honey bee populations have been plummeting around the world in recent years, a condition known as Colony Collapse Disorder. Environmental stresses are suspected to be the culprit. United States beekeepers began reporting losses of 30-90 percent of their hives back in 2006. Research conducted by the Harvard School of Public Health provides strong evidence that CCD is caused by imidacloprid, one of the most widely used pesticides. The study will be published in the June 2012 issue of the Bulletin of Insectology. (from Wikipedia)
We need our bees! Remember the Bee Movie? No bees, no flowers. No bees, no fresh veggies. So instead of using pesticides, I stroll through the garden twice a day smashing, capturing and stoning bugs. The bees are so generous, not only do they pollinate plants, they sweeten the world with their golden honey. Antonio Machado wrote a lovely poem about magical bees.
Last Night As I Was Sleeping Antonio Machado (version by Robert bly)
Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—-marvelous error!—
That a spring was breaking
Out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
Water of a new life
That I have never drunk?
Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt–marvelous error!—
That I had a beehive
Here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
Were making white combs
And sweet honey
From my old failures.
Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
That a fiery sun was giving
Light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
Warmth as from a hearth,
And sun because it gave light
And brought tears to my eyes.
Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
That it was God I had
Here inside my heart.
Bad Bug!!
Look on the leaf in this photo and you will find my nemesis, the disreputable Squash Bug. Its scientific name is Anasa Tristis, but when I run across one in the garden ( an everyday occurrence) I call it something unprintable. Each morning, I inspect the leaves on the squashes and zucchini for squash bug eggs. When I find them, I smash them by rolling my thumb and forefinger over them until they burst. Consequentially, my squash leaves are full of holes, but an army of newly hatched, ravenous baby squash bugs can decimate my little crop in a matter of days. If I find an adult like the guy in the photo, I smash him between my fingers. Squash bugs are a great outlet for repressed homicidal urges. The Japanese beetles are another issue. I collect them in a wide mouth Mason jar where they careen around madly until they finally succumb to asphyxiation or shock, I’m not sure which. I actually feel a little bit bad about that, but a swift death is not an option. Smashing a Japanese beetle only signals more of their comrades to show up. In spite of my efforts, they are making lovely lace doilies out of the leaves on my pole beans. A healthy, chemical free garden is not always a beautiful garden, as beauty is traditionally understood. But a few scars and chewed up leaves is a fair price to pay for food I can put in my body without a worry about what chemicals I might also be eating. There aren’t many poems about squash bugs given their less than inspiring nature.
On Walnut Ridge 
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