A lesson in friendship, taught by a fly.

Every year, summer and fall, for the past several years I've been visited almost daily by some very friendly critters, a.k.a., the 'Good News Bee'. Sometimes the whole GNB family comes over and hangs out. We sit in the sun, chat, drink sweet tea, watch Junior practice his hovering technique, and have a great time. 

I remember the first time I met one of these handsome fellows. It scared the beejeebees out of me. He was big, buzzing like a chain saw, and was intent on getting up close and into my personal space. Now, y'all, I'm a believer in co-existing with other critters. They have as much right to be here as I do. I just don't like 'em to get all up in my face. Keep your distance and it's all good. This particular guy obviously was not aware of the personal space rule.

I was sitting on my back steps, soaking up some sunshine, just chillin'. This ginormous bee came flying out of nowhere, made a crazy fly-by pass, zoomed around the end of the house, braked hard, and then zoomed back toward me again. Like I was some unexpected curiosity who had mysteriously appeared and needed to be investigated. He buzzed right up to me, maybe 10 inches from my face, and hovered. Eye ball to eye ball. 

My instinctual reaction was to swat him away. Then I thought that that might not be such a good idea. He was, after all, a really big bee. I know all too well that swattin' a bee can make them rather cranky. I figured from the size of him that he'd have an attitude to match, with a stinger at least twice that big. So I leaned back and told him to get out of my face. 

He backed up.

I'm positive the look on my face was priceless. I'm also positive he laughed at me.

But, I think his curiosity was four times his size. As if he couldn't control himself, he buzzed a few inches forward in my direction again. He did this crazy side-to-side, up-and-down hover trick, moving somewhat like a hummingbird. I repeated, "Get out of my face, mister." Again, he moved backward. I said, "Oh, funny man, aren't ya'?" Buzz. Up. Down. Left. Right. Then he flew off, zoomed around the car, checked out a tail light, and zoomed back at me, circling my head several times. He ended this demonstration of superior flight skills with another up-down-left-right finale in front of my face.

I told him, "Buster, if you're gonna' hang with me you gotta' stop this gettin' in my face thing. You're freakin' me out." I pointed to the step and said, "Sit down."

He did.

I was flabbergasted.

He sat there, preening. I sat there, stunned, watching him. 

After a few seconds he turns in my direction, levitates about half an inch, then sat back down. I swear to God it looked like he cocked his head up at me with a "Well, what now?" look. "Um, hello. I'm Carol. What's you're name?", I asked. Okay, odd, talking to a bee. I didn't know what else to do. He didn't move. "It's some foreign thing I can't pronounce, isn't it?" He levitated. "I'll just call you Bob. Is that okay?" He walked a little closer. "You live around here?" He lifted off and flew around the house. I guessed my conversation skills weren't inadequate.

For about a week this social bee-man would come buzz, hover, zig-zag a bit, and sit with me on the steps if I was outside. I named him Bob. We discovered we communicated better if I didn't ask questions. Instead, I just told him stuff. I told him about the book I was reading - he seemed to enjoy sitting on the pages. I told him about the painting I was working on, and how frustrated I was that I couldn't get a particular color right. I told him I was behind on my housework because all I wanted to do was stay in my studio and work. I told him about good things going on, some bad things going on, and that I wished I had the space to plant a garden. I told him all kinds of stuff. He just buzzed, hovered, sat and listened.

One Saturday afternoon, my husband was home off of a road trip and he and I were outside. I was watching him wash the car. Bob showed up. Naturally, I said, "Hi, Bob!" The husband gave me a look over the hood of the car. "Bob? Who's Bob?" I pointed at Bob, who was hovering all around me. "Him," I said, "That's Bob. We're friends. He sits with me on the steps and we talk." 

"He's been buzzing all around me while I've been washing the car." the husband said. "Yeah," I replied, "He's a curious sort. He's just checking you out, trying to see if you're friendly." Bob seemed to be excited that day. Zooming around, flying to the end of the house and back again. Hovering back and forth between me sitting on the steps and my husband beside the car.

"He sits down when I tell him to." I said. "No way!" the husband exclaimed. "Uh huh." I say back at him. I watched as the husband dropped his sponge back into the wash bucket and rinsed off the suds. When he finished rinsing he came and sat beside me on the step. Bob was doing his up-down-left-right thing all around us. Of course, Bob also had to investigate the husband's personal space boundaries.

"Okay, Bob, that's enough. You need to sit." He did. "Now say a proper 'hello' to my husband." Bob levitated, hovered around for a second or two, then landed on my husband's outstretched hand. The husband was speechless. Bob even sat perfectly still and patiently allowed my husband to pet him a couple of times. Then, he sort of wiggled his butt, lifted himself up and zoomed off. The husband was impressed. Really impressed. "Told ya' so." I smirked. "Bob's my bee friend."

The husband asked me what kind of bee Bob was and I told him that Bob is commonly called a "Good News Bee". Some time later we Goggled the 'good news bee' and discovered that they are actually a bee mimic. They are referred to as 'good news bees' because of the habit of hovering in front of a person and 'giving  them the news'. It is said to be good luck to get one to land on your finger. In Latin, it is Milesia viriniensis. In layman's lingo, it's a Yellowjacket Hover Fly. They look like a yellowjacket on steroids, but they don't sting. They feed on nectar and pollen from plants like Queen Anne's Lace.

I consider myself fortunate to have lots of Queen Anne's Lace around my house! I also consider myself pretty fortunate to have met Bob, a most interesting creature, that summer. He taught me the importance of not passing judgment on another creature or person before I know all the facts. He taught me it's important to be patient and listen, even when what the other person is saying sounds like a lot of gibberish to me. He taught me that it's okay if sometimes a friend flies off on another path for awhile - that it is more important to enjoy the time you are together because those moments, even if they are short, are truly precious. And Bob taught me that although somethings makes you happy, sometimes sharing that thing or experience with someone you care about is even better. Thanks, Bob.

Namaste, y'all ...

Carol