If You Build It, They Will Come
(Well… eventually.)
Right, I’ll come clean.
I didn’t build it.
I bought it at great expense (€16.75) from that well-known luxury retailer, Temu.
I’m not trusted with power tools. My girlfriend goes slightly pale whenever I pick up a drill, so the installation phase was mercifully simple.
There was already a hook in the wall.
I hung it up.
Job done.
That was back in October, and it’s fair to say the “weathering” phase was thorough. Snow, hail, winter storms. The lot.
Because I didn’t install the hook, it stayed exactly where it was supposed to.
Had I drilled it myself, it would now be in next door’s garden or embedded in a passing cat.
I’m talking about the Bee Hotel.
I bought it after my daughter pointed out, quite reasonably, that while I enjoy writing about the importance of pollinators, my patio had all the ecological appeal of a closed pub on a Tuesday afternoon.
Fair point.
I’m pleased to report that it’s now officially open for business.
Several Mason Bees have moved into the “apartments” (bamboo tubes), sealing up their compartments with neat little mud doors like tiny, highly efficient bricklayers.
Others arrive daily to inspect the place.
It’s like watching a property programme:
- hover at the entrance
- quick look inside
- back out again
- move on to the next one
Presumably muttering things like, “Bit small,” or “No natural light,” or “What’s the parking like?”
We’ve tried to make the area a bit more welcoming this year.
There’s Nemesia, Catnip, and Borage, all good for pollinators, and the marigolds are already threatening to take over again like they own the place.
We usually rescue the seedlings and relocate them to a large pot before they stage a full coup.
There’s also a new Viburnum opulus 'Compactum', which sounds far more impressive than it probably is.
Over on the birdfeeder balcony (which gets about as much direct sunlight as a Welsh winter), I’ve planted some Fuchsia and a Viburnum tinus.
The plan is that the Viburnum will produce berries later in the year.
Whether it agrees with this plan remains to be seen.
Plants, like cats, tend to have their own ideas.
So far, it’s working.
Bees are coming and going, inspecting, settling, getting on with things.
It’s oddly satisfying to watch.
The only potential downside is volume.
My daughter Jennifer has what you might call a natural affinity for anything that stings. Bees, wasps, general airborne hostility… they seem to find her.
So there’s a delicate balance to strike here.
Encourage pollinators.
But not so many that family visits require protective equipment.
Still, compared to last year’s lifeless patio, it’s progress.
Turns out if you build it, or more accurately, buy it cheaply online and hang it on someone else’s hook, they do, in fact, come.