On a recent warm fall day, bees buzzing around a native cottonwood tree captured my curiosity. Squinting up through the dwindling leaves of the ten- or twelve-foot tree, I could see that the bees didn’t look as if they were entering or exiting any hive. Quietly, I stepped closer to investigate. Small yellow-orange pockets clung to the leaves’ undersides.

The bees appeared to gather the substance. Do cottonwoods release pollen through their leaves? I wondered. I’d never heard of such a thing, but the bees’ action puzzled me. They hovered about, collecting the substance into thick saddlebag shapes on their hind legs.

Video: Bees gathering leaf rust (short)

Excited and intrigued, I later discovered through research that the substance is a fungus, melampsora, which infects cottonwoods and some other trees. As it turns out, honeybees collect the fungus, commonly called leaf rust, and take it back to their nests for ingestion same as they do pollen. Scientists have a number of theories for the behavior, ranging from wider nutritional needs to not enough flowers blooming close to the hive. Who knew bees enjoyed a varied diet?

Bees have always fascinated me. Five or six years ago, feral bees began a hive in the hollow wall at one end of my property, and I welcomed them. A friend told me that, at a time when bee populations the world over suffer from the use of pesticides and habitat infringement, their arrival at my place must be a good omen. I liked that analysis. Nature provided my own little symbol of prosperity!

The bees’ presence, though, has required some adjustment. My family has learned to work around them. We try to do any yard work near the hive in the early morning or in the last light of day to avoid their more active hours. When guests come to sit by our small pond with its natural-looking rock fountain, we warn them not to get too close. On sunny days, bees are always present at what has become their watering hole, and for the most part, we comfortably cohabitate.

When you’re hiking our natural spaces in San Diego, watch for bees. The insects form new hives in the spring. On several occasions, I’ve been fortunate enough to see this activity. Once, trekking over the rise of a hill on a clear spring day, I first heard a low roar then looked up to spot a black cloud of bees. I ducked, the swarm whizzed over my head, and I pivoted to watch them fade into the distance. At other times and other places, I’ve been fortunate to see bee masses cluster around the landed queen. I’ve never been stung by a bee while hiking . . . only in my own yard!

In the future, I hope to learn more about beekeeping and perhaps harvest honey from some cultivated hives. For now, I respect and marvel at these insects that are so vital to pollinate our food and flowers. Their industrious presence enriches my world.

FIND OUT MORE:
* Learn about honeybees and pollinators of all kinds and get involved in their preservation: Pollinator Partnership

* Learn about leaf rust and some other diseases: Colorado State University Extension article

* Read about honeybees’ and fungi: Daniel McAlpine Memorial Lecture

On the trails of San Diego County’s natural preserves and parks, look up into the trees for clumps of wild mistletoe, and pull your soul mate close for a kiss. Growing on limbs in small bouquets (dwarf variety) or in large hive-shaped clumps so shaggy they nearly take over the tree, mistletoe attaches itself to branches for its livelihood, living off the tree’s juices.

The Name’s Origin
Centuries ago, people noticed the plant grew where bird droppings landed. In Anglo Saxon, “mistletoe” means “dung on a twig.” People once believed life sprung from bird droppings. Of course, we later realized that birds eat fruits and berries, and their seed-rich droppings help propagate plants.

Why Kissing?
The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe comes from several ancient myths. Viking lore tells of mistletoe’s ability to conquer death. In short, the mother of Balder, the Viking god of summer sun, reversed a curse on him by kissing everyone who walked beneath the plant.

A first century story from Britain expounds mistletoe’s miraculous fertility powers for humans- – - and it is easy to make a connection between fertility and kissing!

Ancient legends aside, our modern culture recognizes the sprigs of green hanging overhead as an excuse to kiss. This holiday season, what better way to say “I love you” than to stroll hand-in-hand in San Diego’s beautiful wilderness areas? With the songs of birds and the hum of bees all around, pause beneath a patchwork-bark sycamore or other tree, look up into the branches for mistletoe, and lean close for a kiss.

See the box on the left for some of San Diego’s mistletoe-abundant trails. These areas and dozens more hikes are featured in Sheri McGregor’s new book: 60 Hikes Within 60 Miles: San Diego. The latest most up to date guide since the 2003 firestorms ripped through San Diego, McGregor’s book covers North, South, and East Counties, and serves as your guide to San Diego trails and nearby activities.

Remember that mistletoe can be toxic, so follow the no-collection rule of area open spaces, and leave the plant for others to enjoy.

This December, take your lover’s hand and take a hike!

Pretty Poison

In the fall months, poison Oak, which grows along many local trails in San Diego, can turn vibrant red and yellow. The big bouquets of color lure unsuspecting passersby to touch. Don’t, of course. Remember the three-leaf rule, and be on the watch for colorful foliage that stretches pretty tendrils across trail tracks, and twining up trees. The general rule is “leaves of three, let it be.” More specifically, poison oak’s three-leaf configuration grows with two leaves on either side of the stem, and one extending out like a middle finger (see close up). It’s easy to keep this in mind, and avoid this plant that gestures its irritating nature.

Witch’s Hair

This is the popular nickname for the parasitic plant more officially known as California Dodder. This fleshy gold or orange colored parasite grows in hairy, wig-like clumps over shrubs, brush, and even cactus.A Parasitic Organism Other than its looks, there’s nothing really “witchy” or dangerous about California Dodder to humans. In fact, the Kumeyaay Indians native to our area used to pick and brew California Dodder as a tonic for black widow’s bite. But witch’s hair acts as a vampire to the plants it hosts upon. It latches on and sucks the life right out of them!

Spittle Bugs

Yuck! Are those wads of spit clumped on plants along the trail? No worries. An uncouth hiker didn’t leave you a disgusting surprise. Those wads of spittle are actually the protective covering of the spittle bug nymph, which surrounds itself with a mass of slimy bubbles formed from plant juices and fluids from its own body.This is just bad manners In time, the harmless spittle bug nymph grows into an adult and leaves the spittle wad to venture out into the world. The tiny adult spittle bug holds the record for the high jump, with an ability to hop to heights over two-feet. The scientific journal Nature reported on an actual spittle bug study. The lead study scientist says the bug’s jumping ability is the equivalent of a human jumping over the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. That’s 630 feet high! Worried about getting hopped on by the adult spittle bug? Don’t be. It’s elusive and harmless, hopping but not . . . mad.

Rattlesnakes

Hibernation is tied to low temperature, not necessarily the turning of a Wild Rattlercalendar page. In San Diego’s sometimes warm fall climate, rattlesnakes can still be out and about.
Trading Broomsticks for Hiking Sticks
Once October 31st is past, turn in your broomstick for a hiking stick. Nature offers this fun activity as a relaxing retreat from holiday stress. Burning extra calories out on the trail does wonders for the figure – - just what’s needed with all the extra holiday eating ahead.

Happy Hiking!