The Secret Bees That Feed The World

Italian food owes everything to a type of bee nobody knows about. That’s why…

On this week’s deep-dive, we talk about:

The Secret Bees That Feed The World

Before we dig into this week’s post, I want you to close your eyes for a couple of seconds and picture a bee.

If you’re not one of the few apiarists (bee nerds) in the audience, I can probably guess what you saw:

The Honeybee 👇🏼

We have an understandable infatuation with these hives of pollinators. For hundreds of years, we’ve negotiated trade deals with honeybees. We give them homes; they give us a delicious sweet treat.

Over time, we’ve helped the honeybee grow into a pollinating powerhouse that’s responsible for ~80% of the world’s flowering plants.

Despite their popularity, there’s something they can’t do.

While we’ve focused on this single species of bee, 19,999+ others are racing behind the scenes to keep the world’s plants thriving.

Today, we’re talking about the secret life of the secret pollinators that feed the world.

Pollinating Penny-Pinching Plants

Most flowering plants have a similar structure and purpose. They produce a little bit of nectar to attract insects, and visitors inadvertently pick up pollen while they take their prize.

When the same insect travels to another flower, some of its pollen cargo falls away to fertilize the new plant.

Honeybees are optimized for these simple endeavors.

But in 9% of the world’s plants, evolution went another direction. These plants are hermaphroditic — meaning they have male and female reproductive organs within the same flower. They don’t produce much nectar, and their pollen is hard to reach.

You’re already familiar with many of these plants. Blueberries, tomatoes, eggplants, and cranberries are all examples of edible hermaphroditic plants. They’re partly self-fertilizing, but they still need assistance. And without a rewarding incentive, easygoing pollinators like honeybees aren’t inclined to help these plants produce fruit.

So how are we able to predictably find a pint of bluebs at the grocery store?

When the class-favorite honeybee abandoned these plants, another group quietly entered the picture: solitary bees.

Flying Under The Radar

Solitary bees are exactly as their title implies — singleton pollinators who live and work alone. They don’t care for the regal status of “Queen Bees”, and they cultivate their independence in private dwellings. In many ways, solitary bees are the “introverts” of the pollinator world… hives of bees are as exhausting as hives of people.

As you can see, these bees are beautiful. After admiring their aesthetics, though, we need to applaud how they feed the world.

The evolutionary dance between stingy, hermaphroditic flowers and solitary bees resulted in a fascinating example of symbiosis.

On plants like tomatoes, flowers keep pollen locked away in tiny tubes. A strong gust of wind might shake the flower so violently that it gets lucky, but most of the time, pollen remains trapped.

Without competition from classic pollinators like honeybees, solitary bees looked at that treasure chest of pollen as an opportunity for easy food. All they needed was a way to break it open.

They found the answer with their wings.

Solitary bees are buzzing specialists. When they track down a suitable flower, they attack the petals with aggression. They push their wings to the limit, and the resulting vibrations send sonic waves into the pollen-containing tubes. The pollen shoots out, and the bees are rewarded with a hard-won victory.

The plants aren’t put off by the process. They’ve grown to rely on it, and we’ve lucked out as third-party benefactors.

Without buzz pollination (the name for the sonic wave attack), we wouldn’t have tomatoes for pizza, blueberry pancakes, or cranberry dressing at Thanksgiving.

Renaming Solitary Bees

If you’re like me, you’re starting to think our lonely pollinators don’t get enough credit for their tireless labor.

A name like “solitary bee” doesn’t carry much weight when we factor in the insect’s other attributes. They forgo the palatial estates of honeybee hives, they don’t give into sugar cravings, and they execute their mission with discipline.

When I talk to friends about these pollinators, I’ve elected a different name: Jocko Bees.

Discipline equals freedom fruit.

See you next week, fellow earthlings.

— Permacultured

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