Hedge bindweed flowers attract me with pink-white light against a green privet hedge.. Its five fused petals look like   the horn of a trumpet. On a whim, I decided to have a closer look. First off, it was mid-morning and very warm. A haze of insects from large to small hovered above dozens of flowers. Hedge bindweed is a twisty vine that takes advantage of the strong straight privet branches. Here I had a perfect laboratory for observing. I decided to pretend I was a bumble bee.

The flowers face the sun. A bumble bee landed on the edge of a flower. The flat shape of the flower made a perfect runway. The bee quickly dove into the throat as deep as it could go. I assume it was sipping nectar. For many plants, August is the apex of nectar production. Insects can smell molecules of nectar that flourish above the flowers. I quickly concluded why this bee is called “bumble”. To use another word, it clamored, wings still, but abdomen vibrating, legs moving. Its exit was bumbling as well, it backs out, then turns, alights, on to another flower. As it flew, I saw a yellow lump on its leg. This is a pollen sack. The bee gives and takes pollen in exchange for nectar a win-win situation. Seeing this, I extrapolated. All nature relationships are win-win. It isn’t just take, it isn’t just give. It’s both. That’s why ecologists use to term food chain and food web. I was seeing this first hand.

Upon closer examination, I found little, long, black insects wreathing about on the bottom, deep throat visitors who, being small, can get right at the nectar. As I watched, several questions came to mind. Why do the bees pass up a lot of flowers before diving in? Has a previous bee sipped all the nectar? How long does it take for the flower to replace its nectar? What is the name of that tiny black insect in the base of the flower?

I saw native bees. They have the same bee shape but are only a ¼ inch long. I saw ants, a wasp, flea beetles, and a cabbage butterfly visitors, but the majority were bumble bees. The whole scene reminded me of people who rush into supermarkets when a severe storm has been predicted.

I’ve tried to remove hedge bindweed vines. Impossible! Although I can pull out some of the top vines, their roots are so close to privet hedge I can’t dig up bindweed roots. Both plants are intractably intertwined.

I’ve tried yanking out vines. I yank, untwist, yank untwist, and clip as far down as possible. I may have stemmed growth temporarily, but next year, I’ll see those smiling flowers and accept their marriage as till death do they part.

Winding- binding may be impossible to eradicate. Therein lies a lesson.I am bound as well, bound to the hedge, the vine, the flowers, the insects. Hedge bindweed reminds me that I am not the center of the Universe. “ As Albert Einstein said, “I am but one small part of nature.”