When R described me as a domestic goddess this afternoon, I raised an eyebrow at him and waited for the punchline, but it turned out that he was being sincere. Compliments tend to make me laugh uncomfortably and reel off a list of my failings, but on this occasion I was happy to take it: despite being pretty tired after all the running around we did on Thursday and Friday with the Boy Wonder, I performed some pretty heroic work today in both the kitchen and the garden.
I have to say here that R did at least a half share of the heroic gardening, clearing the substantial area that used to be occupied by a now-deceased choisya, in preparation for it being re-planted with ferns, periwinkle and a weeping cherry tree. At the same time I was tidying a formerly lovely flower bed nearby, bitterly bemoaning the winter’s victims (an echinacea, an eryngium, a supposedly hardy fuschia, and a Daphne odora ‘Aureomarginata’), and trying to work out what I was going to use to fill the spaces. I foresee more plant nursery visits over the next few days.
R and I were walking up the garden together, chatting, when I stopped dead and said, “Oh! You’re rather lovely!” Today’s mutual admiration society notwithstanding, he immediately grasped that I was probably talking to someone with more legs than him, and leaned round me to see who I was looking at. “Osmia bicornis,” I explained, “and I think…” peering through the macro, “yes – it’s a female. Oooh! Look at her lovely little horns!”
If you’re looking for a proper domestic goddess, Osmia bicornis has to be a contender. Quoting Steven Falk on this species: “Nest cells are constructed from wet mud which females obtain from specific ‘quarries’ such as wet wheel ruts or wet patches in flower beds. The mud is carried in the mandibles and the facial horns are used to manipulate it to form the nest cells. When the nest is completed, the entrance is plugged with a characteristic mud cap.” The effort that these little bees have to employ in quarrying their mud is evident in this short film.
