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I love honey bees. They were my gateway bug—the first insect that truly captured my attention and pulled me deeper into the world of pollinators. I started learning everything I could about their behavior, their communication, their intricate hive structure, and of course, the magic of honey. I loved continuing my education. I went on to become a Certified Master Beekeeper. But I wasn’t done—I wanted to keep learning about bees, and that led me to explore the native species I’d hardly heard about. I started investing time into understanding our native bees, and that curiosity opened up a whole new path. Eventually, I became a Certified Pollinator Steward, and even then, I still wanted to know more. Once I started noticing native bees, I couldn’t stop. Tiny metallic sweat bees, fuzzy miner bees, leafcutters carrying perfect green circles, mason bees sealing up tubes with mud. Bees that didn’t make honey. Bees that didn’t live in hives. Bees that didn’t fit the story most people know. In fact, most bee species are solitary. They don’t have queens or workers. Just one female doing the work of gathering pollen, laying eggs, and building a nest—all on her own. There are over 4,000 native bee species in North America. Many are specialists, visiting only a few types of plants. Most are incredibly gentle. And all of them are essential to healthy ecosystems. But while honey bee colonies can be split, managed, and recovered after a tough year, native bees don’t have that safety net. They rely entirely on natural habitat—undisturbed soil, native wildflowers, clean water, and pesticide-free foraging grounds. And when those things disappear, so do the bees. I’ve also learned that many native bees nest in the ground—and that leads to one of the most common misconceptions I hear: “If bees are coming out of the ground, they must be wasps.” But most of the time, that’s not true. In early spring, it’s often gentle ground-nesting bees emerging to pollinate trees and wildflowers. They’re solitary, non-aggressive, and only around for a short window. Still, I get it—wasps make people uneasy. They’ve earned a reputation, especially the social ones like yellowjackets, who will absolutely defend their nests when threatened. But here’s what most people don’t know: Just like bees, most wasp species are solitary. Solitary wasps don’t have a colony to defend, which means they’re rarely aggressive. Many are also beneficial—they control pests by paralyzing caterpillars or spiders to feed their young. They are hunters, not scavengers, and they play an important role in the balance of our ecosystems. While yellowjackets and other social wasps can be defensive (especially when their colony is disturbed), that behavior makes sense when you think about it. Like honey bees, social wasps are protecting their nest—their queen, their young, their whole community. It’s not aggression without cause—it’s defense, and it’s deeply instinctual. Learning about native bees—and the often misunderstood world of wasps—has changed how I see everything. I walk slower through the garden. I notice who visits each bloom. I leave patches of bare soil, dead stems, and natural spaces because now I know they’re not mess—they’re habitat. And I bring what I learn into my artwork. The more I observe, the more I want to share. Because the quiet pollinators—the ones that don’t make honey or live in hives—are no less valuable. They deserve to be seen, understood, and protected. Even the wasps. Both solitary and social wasps are often overlooked, but they’re incredibly beneficial. Many are garden predators, helping to control pest insects naturally. And just like bees, they can be accidental pollinators—visiting flowers to drink nectar, picking up pollen along the way. Right now, I’m observing a grass-carrying wasp as she goes about her work. She’s taken up residence in our Bee Book and in some of our native bee boxes. I watch her gather blades of dry grass and gently carry them to her nest, where she carefully prepares a chamber and places paralyzed prey inside for her young. She’s methodical, focused, and entirely unbothered by my presence. Watching her work reminds me how much life exists just outside our line of sight—if we’re willing to slow down and notice. We can all do a little more:
I encourage you to look a little closer—pay attention to what’s buzzing in your backyard. You might be surprised by what you find.
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Did you know that honeybees see light differently than us? Specifically they are able to see a larger range of wave length including UV light. This is especially important when looking for nectar sources as some flowers have UV markings on them such as a bulls eye making it easier for the pollinator to find the flower. How awesome is that? Here is an image I captured using UV light in complete darkness of a coneflower. You can do this too using a uv light, see what glows in your garden!  |
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