“Look at those monsters”, an awe-struck Thomas said. We were lying down on the lawn using the new, hand-held magnifying glass I had bought, looking at what lurked beneath. Thomas saw a small ant busily racing along a pathway. Several more passed, all intent on ‘something ahead’. Thomas suggested that if we could see their faces, they would probably have a ‘worried look’. “Why do you say that”, and he replied, “Look at the way they are hurrying. It must be because they are late for something.” A considered, 5-year-old observation.
One of the ants found a crumbly bit of pastry from the pie we had shared for morning tea. We watched. It didn’t like the tomato sauce splodge, but there were tentative, exploratory nibbles, on one side, around to the other, back to the original side and then away it ran. We decided it was off to spread the word about the pastry.
Sure enough, there were now three of the little blokes working the crust. They cut it up, each holding some, before, on some unheard instruction, trundling off along their highway, crumb fragments held high. Thomas thought they were going to be a huge birthday party, at a friend’s place.
We saw several slaters mooching along, much slower than the ants, lots of legs frantically working, feelers twitching, some going in one direction, others just milling around. There was a shiny trail on the grass near the ant-path. A small snail slowly slithered along.
“Yuck” said Thomas. “Mum doesn’t like them, ‘cos they eat the veggies”, he declared.
We rolled over onto our backs. The dampness seeping into our clothes could be felt – but the sunshine was far too enjoyable to worry about wet clobber. Our eyes were scrunched tightly shut against the brightness. Tom had the magnifying glass up to his face and I could see enormous eyes through the glass. I put the glass to my face. We both giggled.
We heard a nearby buzzing. We peaked around but couldn’t see the bees. There were several large, flat rocks forming a garden edge. As we looked, we could see several small black shapes flying into a dark crevice, beneath one of the stones. We established that actually, there was a lot of insects flying to, landing on and then walking underneath the stone. We looked closer.
They were dark with lighter stripes on their bums. Little native bees. We watched them, noting patches of yellow ‘gold’ on their hind legs as they approached the entrance. It was gone when they flew off. There was a constant flow of traffic and Thomas again passed one of his delightfully observant comments about an airport! He wondered where the flight controller sat. I suggested maybe in one of the nearby plants. For my troubles I received a withering look of disdain.
I pondered briefly of telling him about my adventures with native bees and their ‘sugar bag’ produce when I lived and worked in Arnhem Land. He postured that the bee-bank must be chock-a-block full of gold, and they needed to be careful in case people tried to steal it. I kept my lips buttoned, content within my memory of that thin, sweet, syrupy gold, oft times collected by the bucketful.