Open Letter: Bee the Change You Want to See in the World

There are days — hot, humid June days — when the world can feel heavy, buzzing loudly. Even small spaces — a garden bed, a patch of herbs, a corner of earth — can become respites.

Pollinators remind me of another way.

The way of the visitor.

We are all visitors.

A bee does not remake the whole landscape in a day. A butterfly with a torn wing still visits the blossoms along the trail. Life carries on in small exchanges — gathering, carrying, returning.

I believe in pollinator gardens. I believe in pollinators. So this issue is dedicated to them.

Plant native flowers and allow them to settle in and soften the earth. I had to bring in earth and potting soil. The soil on Roanoke Island isn't always naturally welcoming.

Use restraint before pesticides and seek gentler solutions. Leave autumn beds a little untidy for sleepers hidden beneath leaves and stems.

My flower beds are not simply flower beds.

They are soft landings for visitors.

Winged and crawling, with a few slithering or wobbling among them — butterflies, bees, anoles, salamanders, ribbon snakes, box turtles, silver-bellied tree frogs, and more.

Dishes of water. Little offerings. Cup-shaped blossoms. Bee balm and coneflower. Butterfly weed and sages. Parsley, dill, and cilantro planted in abundance so something else can have a nibble or build a nursery there.

I am not a purist. You will also find lilies and pentas and Mexican heather and salvias among the natives. Gardens, like people, are living things and gather stories as they grow.

I cannot repair every lost field or every developed place.

But I can make space.

I can make one small place hospitable.

Maybe that is enough. Maybe that is where change always begins — not in mastering the world, but in welcoming it.

Bee the change you want to see in the world. Plant a pollinator garden and welcome the visitors.