Natur Cymru

Writing this, I am anticipating the warmth of the strengthening spring sun on my face, on one the those days which are like the first day out after a long illness, dizzying the senses, the sweet smell of new blossom laced with the astringency of cut grass. I am also remembering the lost ritual of visiting my bee hives, insect cities awakened into frenetic activity, streams of bees celebrating their survival, taking their bearings anew, leaving brown streaks waving behind them as they release pent up waste, and returning with stomachs filled with nectar and baskets of bright pollen on their legs.

Having suffered years of stings and sticky kitchens, I am not sure what it is about honey bees that I miss so much, since the varroa mite did for my colonies. Is it their industry, their architecture, their cooperative and selfless community or their productivity that I admire? Perhaps it is something less cerebral, more emotional. The home I provided for them, the intimacy I forced upon them to extract my reward, created a connection between us; it was enough, on those spring mornings, to generate a spark, a sudden, stunning up-welling of the sensation of being alive.

It is a blessing to experience such moments, perhaps at the sight of choughs cavorting and tumbling above a cliff, of porpoises fleetingly breaking surface in a choppy sea, or of mayflies dancing over the swirling waters of a favourite river. It is also a joy to be reminded of such moments. Michael Hammett’s account of mayflies, stoneflies and their ilk not only increased my knowledge of these insects, but took me back to the sounds and movement of being by a river. And there is more on rivers in this issue, with a description of the work that is being done to improve the Upper Severn and Vyrnwy rivers, to the benefit of fish, nature and people.

There seems to be more funding around these days for conservation projects which can justify themselves in utilitarian terms, so we have more good news stories than ever before. All this activity puts me in mind of those energetic bees I started with. Too many Victorian clergymen have invoked bees as proof of a pre-ordained order for me to wish to make any facile parallels, but there is something about the symmetry of their lifecycle which I find relevant. For all the fascinating complexity of their social organisation, the hexagonal cells workers construct, the way they navigate and so on, they are part of, and contribute to, other lives. They fit in. They pollinate the plants whose pollen and nectar they collect.

That is the way is should be for us, too. The story of the thatcher, whose skills turn reeds into roofs, is also one about fitting in and being part of the environment. It shows what is possible if we use our skills and ingenuity to be partners with nature. We gain, the reed beds and their wildlife gain, and balance is restored. It may be a long haul to achieve such a relationship, but it may be the only long-term option we have.

James Robertson