don't ask questions...

every life has a nemesis, and this is (one of) mine.

i can hear you wondering what kind of lunatic has a plant as a foe. me... that's who!

this is a leaf of the American Linden tree [Tilia americana... if you need the too-much-information version of the thing]. it is commonly used as a street/park tree in the Eastern half of Canada and the States... which is were my problem begins.

Lindens grow to be lovely, large trees that provide much-needed shade in urban areas. they bloom early in the Summer, sending out waves of jasmine-scented joy. who could be mad about that, right? me... that's who!

the pollen from this tree is near the top of the (ever-expanding) list of things that Nature seems to produce just to drive me nuts, and they were in full bloom this past week. my allergic reaction to all that pollen is so bad, i avoid entire areas of the city in early Summer.

we were walking in one of the lovely parks along the riverside one day last Summer, when i stopped suddenly and took a slow, panning, three-sixty look at my surroundings.

me: every single one of these trees here is a Linden.

so now i steer clear of that whole side of town when the Lindens are in bloom. not that doing so would make any real difference, because... naturally... there is a gigantic Linden directly across the street from our building, and a few more down the block. they are on every single block in our neighborhood, and there is also a park full of them just a street away. i would probably have to move to the West Coast to get away from the cursed things, but there is probably some other form of Nature waiting there for me. good times. 

you can easily identify a Linden in the wild... or—in this case—in the middle of my living room. [full disclosure: i took these photos last Summer, following a stormy night that left tree bits scattered all over the street. the Lindens had already bloomed, and they were starting to fruit at that point.]

they have asymmetrical, heart-shaped leaves.

they also have elongated, leaf-like bracts located about halfway between the true leaves and the clusters of tiny white flowers that later become small, spherical, seed-bearing fruit.

the clusters of the flowers/fruit usually dangle from the tree like this, and the leaves and fruit/seeds are supposedly edible... that is, according to borderline-lunatic survivalist types on the interwebs.

now, it should be noted that i only really hate this plant for a specific period of time out of the year. they are an otherwise welcomed bit of texture in a landscape that is mostly dominated by maple trees. plus, they are also a major source of nectar for bees, so all of my suffering will be rewarded later with delicious local honey.

speaking of which...

i had a thoroughly depressing experience recently that began with a bumblebee and ended with accepting that some things in life are best left unknown.

if you were here last Summer, you might recall my fascination with a fat little bumble bee. there was only ever one bee at a time hanging around, so i assumed it was the same one who kept coming back to my little garden. and, no... i did not attempt to hug him or pet him or squeeze him, but i did i name him George. so, i was extra-excited to see a fat bumble bee buzzing around the balcony one particularly grim afternoon [this was a couple-few days before we planted this year's garden.]

me: it has to be George. look how he's buzzing around the containers.
him: but they're covered.
me: i know, but it's like he knows they should be filled with plants. it's like he's been here before.
him: maybe it is George.
me: hmm... now i'm not sure. just how long does a bumble bee live?

that is where everything went sideways.

i tried to ignore that nagging question—especially, as i have a tendency to go from 'mildly curious' to 'way too much information' with very little provocation. still, curiosity was getting the best of me, so i made the horrible decision to ask the Internets.

i will give you the shortest version i can manage.

so...

in Spring, a Queen bumble bee emerges from her Winter hidey-hole, and goes searching for a place to make a hive. she lays some eggs, which develop into female worker bees, and they all work together to build a nest and forage for pollen and nectar to stock it with food.

sounds simple so far.

the Queen's efforts now turn to laying eggs that will become male bees and fertile future-Queens. these... uhm... libidinous young ones fly off to meet-and-mate... and that is where the story ends... sorta.

Summer is usually ending by this point, so each of these... uhm... enceinte future-Queens digs herself into a hole and goes into hibernation for the Winter...

and everybody else DIES!

me: so, that is definitely not my George. so. much. sadness.

then i just sulked for a while.

him: why are you so upset about a bee?
me: it was a metaphor for life. and now it's gone.
him: so now you have a new bumble bee.
me: it's not the same.

then i sulked some more.

i am assuming that the new fat bee bumbling around the balcony garden project this early in the season is probably a female... maybe even a foraging Queen.

and, yes... i will still call her George.

and the proverb of this pointless tale is a simple one: don't ask questions!