Vanishing of the Bees

I've been aware of the honey bee mystery for some time. Most of us have heard this story of how entire colonies of bees are disappearing without a trace. Named Colony Collapse Disorder or CCD, it would pique my curiosity for the moment, cause me to say, "Huh, wonder where they went?", and then I'd forget about it again.

Well, one of our daughters brought this movie to my attention. It's called, "Vanishing of the Bees".

I watched it today, hoping that I could finally know the answers to the mystery. It is a thorough documentary, beginning with the discovery of the missing colonies, one bee keeper's quest for answers, and a serious problem that is world wide in scope. I really didn't anticipate where the culprit(s) would be found and at first the movie surprised me in this respect. Now that I have given it some thought, I'm not surprised at all.

I'll give you more than a hint. SYSTEMIC PESTICIDES.

In a nutshell, this film tells us that the chemicals the E.P.A. approves for use as pesticides, particularly those that are systemic, along with genetically engineered crops will cause us to eventually pay the price for so-called"cheap food". What farmers used to grow at 75 bushels per acre they can now grow at 150 bushels per acre. At this rate, in twenty years it will be 300 bushels per acre. Quantity is viewed as success. But what does it do to the quality of those crops? And should whether it makes us sick be secondary?

The disappearance of the pollinators, such as the honey bees, stinging insects and bats, are an indicator that something is very wrong with the habitat. I liken this to the old habit of miners carrying a canary into the mines to give forewarning if a noxious gas is present. We should listen to the bees. As one commentater said, "It is an unmistakable sign that our food system is unsustainable."

I highly recommend the film. As usual when it comes to our food, it contained a lot of information that I was unaware of. There are many grassroots efforts that all of us can play a part in in remedying the situation. One of the organic bee keepers interviewed in the movie is from Floyd, VA. Just a hop, skip and a jump from here. One of the main things I took away from the movie, "Vote with your fork."

Wandering

I'm making my usual run this afternoon to pick up Tess from school. It's another blasted hot day so I turn the air up in the car. I make it barely a mile down the road when I encounter a tow truck stopped in the middle of the lane with another pick up truck stopped behind it . This is a dangerous section of road, steep and winding with no guardrails where the road drops off on one side into a deep, wooded ravine. There is nothing for me to do but stop. After a few minutes of waiting, the gentleman in the pickup gets out of his truck and speaks with the tow truck driver, who is standing in the road. They look perplexed. Then I see an older woman walking around as though searching for something in the road. Something about her looks clearly out of place. I put on my flashers and get out to see what's holding us up. Both men turn to me and the tow truck driver says the woman is lost and he can't help her. The older gentleman from the pick up looks equally stumped and turns to me as though looking for an answer. I'm confused because although this is odd, I figure it's a pretty simple task; just ask her some questions. I approach the woman and gently place my hand on her shoulder. "What's your name?" I say. Immediately I can tell something is very wrong because she answers me in gibberish. My heart sinks as I continue talking to her, recognizing the signs of Alzheimer's. Clearly, this woman is helpless.
A quick panic tries to rise up in me as realize this is way beyond any of we three drivers. I can also tell that the men are looking for me to come up with an answer, like I should know something they don't know. I'm trying to think quickly. "OK", I say, "I'll drive her down to the nursing home at the end of the road. Maybe she wandered away from there. If not, we can call the police from there." Nodding their heads in agreement, the men are pleased with my solution. The tow truck driver is in a hurry to get back on the road, and he leaves. As gently as possible, I explain to the woman that I'm going to help her find her home and I begin to guide her to my car. I notice she's wearing long, dark, polyester pants and a polyester, long-sleeved turtleneck; very warm clothing for this sweltering heat. She has leaf debris on her back and in her hair as though she's been in the woods. I get a strong scent of body odor, but that's not surprising given the heat and the way she's dressed. Her nails and hands are clean and well kept and a nice gold wedding ring is on her finger. Obviously she is cared for and loved by someone. As I begin to guide her toward my car, she gestures towards the woods and wants me to look. She speaks some real words mixed in with the gibberish. She makes me to understand that someone else is in the woods but they're afraid to come out. She begins searching the roadside again. I peer down the steep ravine and I see no sign of anyone. We can't go down there, I tell her. We'll have to get someone else to come back later to help us.
The pickup driver hasn't left. He's a neighbor I recognize and he follows us to my car. I gently guide the lady to be seated and I buckle her seat belt. The neighbor asks me if I'm sure I'm OK. I assure him that I'm fine, no problem. In my mind I'm saying a quick prayer that she doesn't panic or try to exit the car after it's moving. As we begin to pull away, I phone the school and ask them to please have Tess take the bus home. What began as a routine errand is no longer routine.
Driving down the road, the woman is quiet. Once or twice she seems to see something familiar out the window and says "I think..." or "No, not yet." I ask her a few questions again. What's your name? Were you in the woods long? Do you live nearby? Mostly she appears not to hear me. Suddenly, she blurts out, "The flowers are very pretty. All the pretty colors. Peonies..." She also tries to tell me something about, "Big, yellow...mowing...", then she is gone again. As we pull into the nursing home parking lot, I see my neighbor in the pickup is there. He asks again if I'm OK. "Yes, yes no problem", I say again. More to reassure myself than anyone else. I begin walking to the entrance and notice the woman hasn't gotten out of the car. Silly me. I assume she will automatically follow. I return to the car and open her door, guiding her out. I explain that we are stopping here for help, but I don't know if she hears or comprehends me.
Entering the cool lobby, I feel like we have found an oasis. I briefly explain myself to the receptionist, asking if the nursing home has had anyone wander away. Although the response is an immediate, "No!", I still feel relieved because there are professionals here who are ready to help me. While the receptionist phones the police, four nurses and a supervisor step in. They bombard the woman with questions and soon see this is of little help. I feel bad for the poor, lost woman. She clearly looks confused and frustrated at times. I ask her if she is thirsty and she nods. A cup of water refreshes her and she says, "Thank you." I guide her to a seat where we can wait for the police. A nurse decides to check her blood sugar, which turns out fine. She is able to tell us her and her husband's first name and we work to get a last name. After a while, the police phone back and say they have found her husband. He called them to report his wife missing. We now have her last name and her address!
When her husband arrives, we guide him to her and recognition lights up her face. She says laughingly, "Where were you?" It turns out she lives on this very road. We drove right past her house to get to the nursing home! She had managed to wander a mile from her home, uphill into the thickest part of our wooded road. I don't know if she stayed on the road for that mile or exactly what happened. When her husband comes in, he explains everything very matter-of-factly. She was mowing in the woods, ran out of gas and got lost. By now, a police officer arrives and asks to speak to the husband. I ask him if I'm needed here and he tells me I can go. I thank the nursing home staff for their help and drive back up the road toward home.
My physical role is done for this woman today. But on an emotional level, my thoughts go round and round. I reflect on how much went unspoken during this interchange between everyone involved. The tow truck driver whose few words told me he wanted nothing to do with this; the pick up driver whose face showed concern and bafflement; the nursing home staff who went into auto pilot, hovering over the woman, checking blood sugar, etc.; the husband who wanted to make us believe that everything was perfectly normal with his casual manner and light speech, (I think he was trying to convince himself that everything was normal too.); the husband's hesitancy to have the police involved; and finally to myself, who was scared stiff for having the responsibility to help a lost soul find her way home.
I recognize the symptoms of Alzheimer's because we've had two relatives who have suffered this disease. The jumbled speech, the consciousness that bubbles to the surface then disappears just as quickly, the increase in confusion when their environment changes, the signs of frustration with themselves for not being able to communicate a thought. Many times their physical health is not compromised at all and they are otherwise very healthy. To be perfectly honest, this disease frightens me. Maybe because it is a disease of the mind and it's sneaky. It takes intelligent, bright, successful people and robs them of their logical thought... and so much more.
Now, when I drive down my road, past #2204, I will be watching out for the lady with Alzheimer's. She has one more advocate to protect her. I admire her husband for his loyalty and protectiveness over his wife. I think about my marriage and the illnesses my husband and I might suffer one day. It's the part when "in sickness and in health" comes into play. But I sincerely pray it won't be Alzheimer's, or throat cancer or colon cancer, or a stroke, or...

Aaron Copland's Appalachian Spring

The Blue Ridge Mountains after a spring storm.

Appalachian Mountains in early autumn from the Devil's Marble Yard.

Winter view from McAffee's Knob on the Appalachian trail.

The kids on a winter hike at McAffee's Knob.

Copland:Appalachian Spring, performed by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Easily identified as an American composition the moment you hear it, it is pure genius by Copland in his ability to capture the essence of these mountains from where it was actually written- Hollywood and Mexico!
The opening portion, Ballet for Martha, has always been my favorite. The music builds and swells, as buds in a forest of trees in the spring. When the French horns increase to practically fill the sky, I can barely contain my joy.
Copland wrote this score in 1943 as a ballet for choreographer and dancer, Martha Graham. Begun in Hollywood and completed in Mexico the following year, it was originally scored for 13 instruments. I prefer the full orchestra suite which dates from 1945. But what really amazes me is how the full landscape of Pennsylvania farmland and West Virginia mountains was captured by Copland from California and Mexico. Did Copland ever gaze onto the Appalachian landscape and jot down even a few notes? The penultimate section of the ballet is taken from a Shaker tune called, The Gift to Be Simple. A pretty song, it was sung as rounds by our children in grade school. This portion of the composition brings memories of the beautiful Shaker influence near our home in upstate New York, near Chatham. Across the border into Massachusetts is a Shaker village called, Hancock Shaker Village. Now a working museum, one can experience the simplistic living of the Shakers, view their unique furniture and round barn and soak up the gorgeous countryside of western Massachusetts.
Originally Copland didn't have a title for the composition and simply called it Ballet for Martha. It was Martha Graham who suggested Appalachian Spring after a section of poem by Hart Crane called, The Bridge. The lines go:

O Appalachian Spring! I gained the ledge;
Steep, inaccessible smile that eastward bends
And northward reaches in that violet wedge
Of Adirondacks!

Here I find another sentimental attachment to our beloved Adirondacks. Growing up in upstate New York, the Adirondacks were our summer playground. Camping on Lake George, riding the day cruises up and down the lake, exploring Fort Ticonderoga and picnicking on the grounds of the Saratoga State Park. As a young adult, I spent summer weekends visiting Steve's family's summer camp on Brant Lake. We hiked Pharoah Lake, where Steve and his brothers still hike with our children each summer. In the late 1980's, we bought our first home in Saratoga Springs, New York in the foothills of the Adirondacks. This allowed us to bond even closer with that area and begin raising our children with a love for the mountains.
So today, as I drive on errands here in Southwest Virginia, listening to Appalachian Spring, my thoughts wander aimlessly to all the beautiful memories of mountains near and far. I wonder why I am drawn to mountains and not oceans. I wonder about the stories I've heard of my ancestors and where they came from. I think perhaps they too had a love of mountain regions and it has passed down through blood to me. I will keep wondering and wandering the mountains, appreciating the beauty of God's creation and listening to Appalachian Spring for inspiration. Whatever Copland was thinking while he sat writing in Hollywood has been fulfilled miraculously for me in this music of the here and now.