Romance, Wool Carder Bee-Style

As I have occasionally let slip in previous posts, I have a soft spot for some of our most reviled non-native species and tend to cast an eye in their direction frequently when walking along the trail. The bright yellow flowers of low-growing Birdsfoot Trefoil (Lotus corniculatus) often grab my attention, and I enjoy seeing some of the small bees (generally also non-native) that can be seen hard at work prying into the tight petals of the flowers ins search of nectar and pollen.

Dropping down to take a few shots of what appeared to be a wool carder bee (possibly Anthidium oblongatum, Oblong Wool Carder), I smiled to myself as the green-eyed bee moved from flower to flower in the small clump of Trefoil.

Suddenly, another insect made a beeline [sorry] for the first. seemingly dropping from the sky and zeroing in directly on the first bee as its head was buried in a flower. The encroacher clasped its back and held it immobile. Was this a bee assault? A murder in progress?

Oh wait. They seemed to be the same species and--what's this? A little contact at the tips of the abdomens? It appears that a male bee, unceremoniously and without the slightest attempt at woo, saw an opportunity and took it. Surprised but unabashed, I continued watching as the pair remained immobile for 20 or 30 seconds, save for the male's antennae.

I left the encounter a little unsettled at the odd and seemingly hostile scene I had witnessed. The female bee gets no say in the matter? No displays, no demonstrations of fitness or other performance from the male to earn the female's favor?

This is, apparently, a common tactic among wool carder bees. Males are very territorial and will patrol their patch of flowers, driving out other male wool carders and sometimes even other species. Females tolerate what looks like a brazen assault in exchange for access to these high-quality foraging areas where they don't have to compete as much with other bees snaffling up all the pollen. Males and females will mate several times with multiple partners over the course of their lives; with the last male to mate with a female being the most likely to win out in the fertilization game.

Because of this mating system, male wool carder bees are generally larger than females, in contrast to the size difference in the opposite direction for other types of bees. Smaller males may still deploy sneak-matings with females successfully without holding territory of their own, though they find less opportunity to do so.

What Does the Bee Think?

There are so many little lives going about their business on the Greenway, every day. The vast majority are unseen: underground, under cover, hiding themselves away from predatory eyes or keeping cool in the shadows during the already-steaming summer mornings.

We can, if we take the time, capture a moment shared with the insect inhabitants. A dusting of pollen shaken loose by a perched metallic green sweat bee. The anticipatory hover of a honeybee before it lands on a thistle. A skipper, surveying its surroundings from a lofty pinnacle. A weathered Monarch, visiting its companion milkweed flowers. 

Is the sweat bee enjoying the bits of pollen as it eats? Does the pollen of different flowers have different flavors, and does it prefer some to others?

 

Does the honeybee feel anticipation as it approaches a nectar-heavy flower? Is it mindful of the bounty it will bring back to the hive, feeling a part of the community with an important role?

 

What thoughts are in the skipper's head as it pauses momentarily in the sun? Does an insect have thoughts? What is it seeing as it rests, exposed, above the foliage?

 

Does the Monarch feel its worn-out wings laboring against the air? Does it understand that it is nearing the end of its life, and feel an urgency to complete whatever lepidopteran life events that remain? Or is it simply looking for that next sweet hit of nectar, proboscis unfurling in anticipation?

I don't know. Scientists perhaps have some ideas. I can imagine, but these little nervous systems and sensory organs are so utterly foreign to ours, and imagination so constrained by our human experiences and expectations, that these brief, one-sided moments of observation will have to suffice.