Bumblebees vs. Honeybees: Whats the difference?

Wonderful information; a must read for all Gardener’s and Bee lovers.

Apiaries & Bees for Communities

Through my work with A.B.C- Apiaries and Bees for Communities and our urban beekeeping projects, I receive calls throughout the summer about bee nests being overturned or found under peoples decks. These individuals are calling me afraid that they may have killed the bees by accident or worse, that the bees are going to aggressivly attack. Each time I have responded to the call, I calmy engage and educate the caller like a 911 operator and 99% of the time find out that  it has been a Bumblebee nest overturned. Many of these callers think that the hive dug up was a honeybee nest, and with the media coverage of CCD and the disappearing bee, they call me to seek advice on how to act.  So, here is some information to help you differentiate between pollinator groups and help you in considering your opportunities of action. Knowing more about bee…

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Aunt Leaf

Aunt Leaf

Needing one, I invented her – – –
the great-great-aunt dark as hickory
called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting-Cloud
or The-Beauty-of-the-Night.

Dear aunt, I’d call into the leaves,
and she’d rise up, like an old log in a pool,
and whisper in a language only the two of us knew
the word that meant follow,

and we’d travel
cheerful as birds
out of the dusty town and into the trees
where she would change us both into something quicker – – –
two foxes with black feet,
two snakes green as ribbons,
two shimmering fish – – – and all day we’d travel.

At day’s end she’d leave me back at my own door
with the rest of my family,
who were kind, but solid as wood
and rarely wandered. While she,
old twist of feathers and birch bark,
would walk in circles wide as rain and then
float back

scattering the rags of twilight
on fluttering moth wings;

or she’d slouch from the barn like a gray opossum;

or she’d hang in the milky moonlight
burning like a medallion,

this bone dream, this friend I had to have,
this old woman made out of leaves.~Mary Oliver

Under the Willow~Oil on Canvas by Maura Haney580th Under the Willow Tree (1)

Wherever my Eyes Fall

Wherever my eyes fall
I see you everywhere.
In the still pond gathering ice
To conceal itself from winter
You are the deep shy water.
In the slow built sparrow’s nest
Of infinite eggs and seasons
You are the mother to spring.
In summer flowers bursting
Down from the mountaintop
You are a wild and fragile dancer.
In the autumn wind at odds
With the disappearing leaves
You are the promise of next year.
Wherever my eyes fall
I see you everywhere.
You have thus become my vision
As my eyes go blind with years.~Nancy Wood
Japanese Garden by Maura Haney
569th Japanese Garden

The Summer Day

536th Desert Spring Sunrise
Who made this world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean –
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down –
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?~Mary Oliver
A Burst of Life Watercolor by Maura

The Fire of Life from Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood

North California JourneyEvery day I bathe myself in light
and write my name in stars across the sky.
Every day I am the Fire of Life, burning
with the intensity of the Sun. The Wind cannot

blow away such passion, nor can Rain drown
the ash of love, knowing it will burn again.
Every day I bathe myself in light and dance

to the music that rivers make on their
way to the sea. The Earth hears my prayers
and gives my body a familiar form,
feminine in nature, strong and surviving.

Every day I write my name
in stars across the Universe: I am love.
The power of my flame
rises with the fury of my dreams.
Picture taken on Northern California Coast, by Meg Haney

Rage with the storm

Out of the window lightening split the sky, thunder rattled the floor; a book sat unopened on my lap, my fingers itched along the binding stretching that moment of anticipation into an eternity; I love basking in that exhilarating charged moment, as if awaiting a present in delectable wrapping, sparkling paper, and satin bow dancing in the hot molten light slashing the sky. The wind howled, licking wildly at the windows, rain falling in buckets; this was a tempest of which even Prospero would be envious. My fingers won the battle, tucking around the edge of the cover and opening the book. There is so much to be said about that moment of rapture; my fingertips heated as they ran over the pulp, my eyes caressed the words like a failure lover; with a great fury the storm built, rocking my psyche, lightening striking charging my soul; the page glowed, the words caressed back; a white-hot searing beauty, suddenly my bones were flaccid, I began to melt; the words serving as a catalyst. Suddenly I a vapor, hanging in the air, the sky splits and the rattle shakes me to my core, exciting my spirit, I sink into the glowing page. The words greet me like missing kin, holding me close to their hearts in an engrossing hug; I rest in the knowledge of their undying love.

Then there you were.

Those words, oh those words like your lips deliciously on my skin, teeth taking loving bites of my neck, deft fingers tickling my ribs; my soul squeals with laughter twisting in the vapid mist. Oh, that tickles and taunts the words caressing me to my core leaving me breathless; he speaks in that deep crackling morning voice. Every molecule in my being confirms that it’s you… it screams with a wanting need, a search for fulfillment. Like that yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes I writhed against you, like silver smoke I nuzzled against his neck; licking my tongue into the corners of your soul, lingering on the nerves at the base of your neck. Like a rush and retreat of the surf, a rough surge we crashed together; words a bond between the two of us. We had marked time as the ages passed, you are not the air I breathe nor the scent I have ever smelled but in this world of possibilities; I know that more than just a few of the complex molecules I have dredged into my lungs had once passed through those delicious lips. You may not be the water I drink, but perhaps on its way from the heavens, though the streams, over the white rapids, into an aquifer and out of the tap; perhaps several drops had the perchance to roll down your soft cheek. You are not the ground I walk on, trudging through my petty pace from day to day, but perhaps I step on a pebble once trod upon by your graceful shoe.

This may just be my staring at black and white text hallucinating, but this is as real as anything I have ever felt. God, love me please, make it last; move through me slowly… softly; hold me tight so I might savour it. Move softly darling against me, whisper and lament, fill me with feelings, with words; good god, let your fingers slide deliciously, let your flavour linger on my lips; let the blush of your passion stain my skin; the feel of your pulse echo. For the moment, I want, I need to live, I don’t want safe, I don’t need protection I need you; I want rampage, and willful yearning, your kiss, your mouth, your eyes; your hands gripping, tangling in my hair perfectly rough. Your mouth kissing me hard, taking my breath, lost completely in all that is… somethings take root in the brain and can’t let go. I know the feeling of falling, literally falling, out of control, my blood turning to rain. I fell to earth in those buckets of rain, landing in a horrible thud as the sky split and the thunder rolled; I breathed in the electricity and raged in the storm.

Favorites of 2017

Helped me; as today I was feeling homesick for the West Coast. What a gifted eye for capturing the beauty of our world.

Jane Lurie Photography

On the 6th anniversary of Jane’s Lens,  I’d like to thank my family, friends and blogging community for your support and encouragement. Creating photographs brings me great pleasure and your response to my posts has been most fulfilling.  A special thank you to my husband Bob, who makes it fun while he enthusiastically scouts, patiently waits and lovingly cheers. It was an exciting year for us with the birth of our granddaughter. Move over Golden Gate, there’s a new kid in town!

I hope you enjoy this collection of favorite images. It’s satisfying to look back on the year and on the creative and memorable moments that I cherish. 

Wishing you a fabulous 2018 and may you find peace, beauty, happiness and inspiration. 

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The Olympic Peninsula is one of my favorite places to visit and photograph. The unfortunate wildfires throughout the Northwest this summer contributed to the unusual effects…

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