Several years ago, someone kindly gave us a woven basket of live plants that included a few sprigs of English Ivy, Hedrera helix--an eye-pleasing evergreen vine native to Europe and Western Asia. Because of our "Black Thumb Curse," most cultivated plants we touch die almost instantly, so as expected the flora in the basket soon withered, turned yellow, and eventually perished. We put the biodegradable basket of dead plants in the front yard at Hilton Pond Center just off the front porch of our old farmhouse and promptly forgot about it. Seasons came and went there in the shade of an old Camellia shrub and sometime along the way the English Ivy--which we now call the "Lazarus Plant"--rose from the dead and began creeping across the substrate (below), colonizing an ever-larger plot. Since then, and despite assaults by a rotary lawn mower and gas-powered weed trimmer, the ivy thrived and--we swear this is true--has learned how to laugh at us when we try to pull it up by its roots.

Alas, we ought not have been surprised by the resiliency of this non-native plant because it actually occurs in several spots across our 11-acres, undoubtedly sprouting from old ivy sprigs put out more than three decades ago by previous property owners. In habitats except for the walls of certain high-priced Northeastern colleges, such imported English Ivy infestations are considered invasive because the vine can and does out compete native flora deemed more desirable. Regardless of its well-deserved negative reputation, English Ivy growing at the Center seems to fill a temporary midsummer role that other plants do not, as we discovered recently when suspicious buzzing filled our ears.

From the farmhouse back deck we heard a constant thrum emanating from branches of an old Flowering Dogwood tree that casts shade on our office roof. This dogwood--probably 60 or more years old--is the support structure for a well-established tangle of English Ivy with more leaves than the tree itself. Many autumns ago it was this particular maze of vines that taught us English Ivy makes berries and therefore isn't limited merely to vegetative propagation. Such fruits obviously must be preceded by flowers and, sure enough, when we looked closely at the ivy this July there were hundreds of clusters of ivy blossoms--and they were being visited by dozens of flying, buzzing, nectar-feeding, pollen-gathering insects. We procured a ten-foot stepladder (above), placed it so its top was among the ivy blossoms, and ascended into a fascinating panorama we just had to capture with our Canon 100mm macro lens.

The industrious menagerie before us included quite a few hymenopterans capable of stinging but they were all so intent on their work they totally ignored our presence. This pleased us greatly because this week we'd already received one painful sting on the temple from a Yellowjacket whose nest we had disturbed, and needless to say we didn't particularly want to repeat the experience. So there we were, poised atop a tall ladder with camera at the ready, our ears abuzz as we waited for pollinators to get close enough to photograph.

No matter your position on non-native plants--and even if you're a member of the "Anti-Ivy League"--we hope you enjoy the following portfolio of nectar-eaters and pollen-gatherers. (Several insects we didn't identify to species so we'd welcome your definitive IDs at INFO.) Despite not being able to name each one we're still fascinated by the diversity of tiny flying creatures visiting our English Ivy flowers. To give a sense of scale, remember the round, pointed center of each ivy blossom is less than 1/8" across--about half the width of the head of a big ol' Large Carpenter Bee (above).

The unidentified insect above looks a little like a bee and a little like a wasp. However, because of the lack of body fuzz and the rather narrow junction between thorax and abdomen, we're confident it's actually a wasp, probably a species of Vespula. Many wasps feed on nectar but some are actually parasitic or predatory on other insects.

There wasn't any question the narrow-waisted insect above with four blue-black wings and a shiny black-and-white body was some sort of wasp. We're guessing it's in the Potter & Mason Wasp subfamily (Eumeninae). Although some folks are deathly afraid of anything that resembles a wasp, we can't help but marvel at the structure and color of this interesting insect.