It's been non stop rain and drizzle since Saturday. We've been in a drought for awhile and all the rain that hit southern Minnesota this past weekend really blind sided some of the towns near the Mississippi River. Going from no rain to all of a sudden 18 inches over night was just too much for the ground to take. We are fortunate that we don't live anywhere near the flooding that has been reported, but I can't help but feel bad for the families who lost their homes or the man who so bravely got his wife and her friend up in a tree safely and then lost his fight with the rising waters and was swept away.
There was finally a pause in the rain today. Every time it looked like the sky would clear, another storm would pop up out of nothing. Tonight, as another thunderstorm formed overhead, the clouds cast a yellowish glow and it looked like the world was lit with an incandescent bulb (above photo).
When I passed the bees today, the Olga bees were lined up outside the hive, almost looked like a swarm. (It wasn't, but if it was, I'm not messing with it, I learned my lesson from the Kitty hive). But if you watched the bee traffic, it was a very steady stream of bees leaving and bees returning. They haven't really been able to forage with all the rain, so I imagine that they felt the urge to go out and gather massive amounts of pollen and just get out of the dark box crowded with millions of bees (I just want to bee alone, alright!). The bee equivalent of cabin fever.
I love living in the northern states. Last week, when I was driving away from the hives at dusk, all the surrounding farm fields had low clouds of mist forming, they looked like hoards of ghosts meandering through the fields. You can drive down the roads with the windows open, listening to the deafening katydids, crickets, and who knows what other types of buzzy singing insects and take in the fragrant air that is very cool and heavy with moisture. You can smell wet grass, decaying leaves, and that pungent black walnut aroma. Love it.
Tonight, I tried to find the mists before another thunderstorm broke out. I was thinking about how the summer songs have changed from warblers, vireos, grosbeaks to insects buzzing. Then I heard a buzzy peent overhead. A small flock of 40 nighthawks (above photo) were kiting insects in front of the coming storm, soon on their way south.
In a few months, the woods and the fields will be silent save for the occasional crow and chickadee. I can't think about that now, I'll go crazy if I do. I'll think about that tomorrow.
FYI - really cool warbler post and bee blogging is on the horizon.