It is a truth universally acknowledged that a small landowner with a half-dozen projects already underway is in want of more projects.
It's garden start season, which means my basement is full of seedlings under grow lights, my chickens are released daily to scratch and turn the garden beds, I have three apple trees to pick up next week, and I'm perpetually behind on the mowing/raking/mulching/composting front. So of course I took some time out from all this to become a bee landlord.
Beehives, for honey purposes, aren't something I can do. The township will allow me to have them, and my neighbors (probably) wouldn't even complain. But I am one of the approximately 2 million people in the US who are allergic to bee stings, and beekeepers *do* get stung.
Children's Hospital of Boston: Bee Stings
So no beekeeping for me. Which isn't all bad; there's a farm a mile away that has bees, and I see plenty of theirs in my garden all summer.
But I loves me some pollinators. So I settled for something a bit less bee-intimate: bee housing. Or bee landlord-ing. I built bee houses out of random trash and put them on my windowsills, is what I'm saying.
Chicago Botanic Garden: DIY Bee Homes
University of Georgia Extension: Creating a Solitary Bee Nesting Box to Help Native Species
University of Nebraska Extension: Creating a Solitary Bee Hotel
Michigan State University Extension: Building and Managing a Bee Hotel for Wild Bees
As with all my homestead-y projects, this one has several goals. One, my plants need pollinators. Two, I want to support local native bee populations. Three, on researching bee houses I learned that my state has several native bee species I have never seen, including the blue orchard bee, and I want to see them. Four, I enjoy the sense of satisfaction I get from making my house a bit more wild, especially when I can do it with random trash.
One known issue with permanent solitary bee houses is parasites and dirt. Over time, the house gets packed with debris. It also attracts viruses, bacteria, fungi, parasites, and the like. This means bee houses require periodic cleaning, or they need to be disposable.
After doing some reading, I decided to build my bee houses out of clean cans, stuffed with the hollow and/or pithy stems of various plants. I have a TON of these left over every year. My yard grows milkweed, primrose, mullein, and bergamot in abundance.
I made up four cans and placed them on various window ledges outside the house. The ledges are about four to five feet off the ground, the ideal height for solitary bees. I was heartened to find an old mason bee nest next to one of the can sites; it tells me I'm on the right track.
I figure that the cans can be emptied at the end of each year, the stems composted and the cans recycled. This way, I'll never have to worry about cleaning, as the "apartments" will be fresh ones each year.
I set up the cans about a week ago. Yesterday, I opened my bedroom window - the one with two cans on its ledge - and came face to face with an inquisitive carpenter bee. The bee did a couple swoops around the can and left. A few minutes later, I encountered a second bee checking out the can nearest the back door.
Solitary bees are pretty chill. As long as they don't feel threatened, they'll happily check you out and then go on their merry way. They make good neighbors. And I love that I have them checking out my bee real estate already.
Pollination is due the first of the month, bee tenants. Just slide it right inside the flowers.
--