Riding bicycles has a whole set of positive repercussions, not the least being that it yields wellness when done often enough, long enough, and hard enough. It is also a pretty good way to get in tune with the natural world that surrounds us.

Most school days I pedal the 12 miles from my Hilton Pond residence in York to Northwestern High, and most days I am treated to something wondrous, be it the intense sweet smell of honeysuckle, the melodic overtures of a singing Wood Thrush, or the thrill of an early morning rainbow as a sudden spring shower flecks my face with rain. Frankly, however, it is a figurative pain in the posterior some days to put on riding clothes and climb into the saddle, but I usually end up regretting when I drive instead of bicycling.

A few Mondays ago I was reminded that, had I been commuting by car, I probably would have missed an interesting phenomenon that also turned into a learning experience for my biology students. Whizzing along Highway 5 on my bike at perhaps 13 miles an hour, I was watching the roadside for spring wildflowers and roadkills. I glanced up as I passed Rawlinson Road Junior High and noticed something unusual in a small ornamental tree in the schoolyard. At first I thought it to be a football-sized brown rag, but by the time I had pedalled the final quarter mile to Northwestern, I had decided that it actually was something of biological interest, and I thought I knew what it was.

After showering and taking care of homeroom duties, I biked back over to the junior high during a fortuitous first-hour planning period and found that my suspicions--and predictions--were correct.

I was elated to see that a small swarm of European Honey Bees, Apis mellifera, had clustered in an eight-foot tall European White Birch, and that they were essentially inactive in the cool morning air. I observed the swarm for a while, returning to school in time to meet my second-period students and hurry them across the lawn to share this wonder.

Our impromptu field trip sparked a lot of interest and it generated some thoughtful questions from my sophomores. I tried to recollect all I had learned about Honey Bees as I formulated responses.

"How many bees are in the cluster?" (Estimates ranged from 200 to 30,000; my guess was about 10,000 tightly-packed insect bodies.)

"What are these bees doing?" (All appeared to be sterile female workers clustered around a queen, protecting her from predators and the elements. None were foraging and returning with nectar or pollen.)

"Where did they come from?" (A young queen bee from another hive emerged after overwintering as a larva or pupa, "stole" some workers, and flew away in a swarm to set up a new colony.)

"What are they doing in this tiny tree?" (I couldn't answer this one. Had I been a queen bee, I think I would have selected a larger tree in a less-exposed position. Perhaps the piece of blue plastic flagging tape hanging from a branch provided a landing stimulus of some sort.)

"Will the swarm remain where it is?" (I expressed doubt that it would, and actually was surprised it stayed put that day so I could show it to all my classes.)

"Will they build a honeycomb?" (Some of the workers already had begun to construct small combs from wax, but I really was doubtful that this little tree would provide support for a permanent hive.)

"Aren't you worried that they're going to sting us?" (As a person with an acute hypersensitivity to insect stings, I DID have some concern that we might get stung, but we moved slowly and without malice toward the bees. We seemed not to elicit any alarm responses from them, even when getting within a yard or so of the swarm. This indicated that some students' fears might have resulted from watching a few too many movies like "Killer Bees.")

After returning to the classroom, we discussed the ecological role of Honey Bees and how important they are as pollinators of various plants--cash crops and otherwise. We talked about how the stinger is actually an "ovipositor," a modified structure used by bees to lay eggs, and we described first aid treatment for insect stings.

We also made some predictions as to how long the swarm would stay, and the next day when I brought my camera I was relieved to find that most of the bees again had spent the night. (The swarm was nearly gone by the third day, and by the fourth day, only the empty honeycombs remained.)

The bee swarm incident stimulated me to go home to do some reading on Honey Bees, and I came across an astounding fact that I surely should have known. We all take Honey Bees for granted, and we all know they are important plant pollinators. However, I never would have guessed that 400 years ago there were NO Honey Bees in North America. These helpful little insects are natives of Europe, and their ancestors were brought over by early settlers to provide honey for the table.

Now all sort of new questions come to mind, such as "Who did all the pollinating here in the Piedmont before Honey Bees were imported?" But that's the topic for discussion in some future column, so for now I'll be pedalling to school whenever I can, looking out for European Honey Bees and other natural wonders that might be missed from the plush and padded seat of an automobile at 55 mph.

Back to Piedmont Naturalist Volume 1 (1986)