You would never know there was a bee shortage from the lavender plants outside of my city-block office; scores of fuzz buzzing as they scale and swarm from stalk to stalk.
I think that maybe someone forgot to spray the plants for bugs and the like, but I don’t know that for sure. But, judging from the lack of weeding/ pruning/ watering care, we can perhaps safely assume that bug-spraying care was equally forgotten.
And, no matter, because apparently this hearty variety of lavender didn’t need to be watered. And pruning, while a nice touch, hasn’t dissuaded them from reaching high- high to the sky and then spilling down and all over their portioned spaces.
At lunch time I walk outside and pull my palms over the leaves–not near the bees and not rough enough to break the stalks–only present enough for the plant to release its oil onto my hands.
And then I pull my hands to my face, cupping my head, and I inhale the calm, purple fragrance of bees and nature and summer.