This isn’t my wisteria, although I wish it did belong to me. Lovely and fragrant, this dramatic display of blossoms disguises a signpost and some less than attractive cable supports for a telephone pole. The vine clearly is well-tended and someone prunes it regularly.
I hope to someday meet the gardener who tends this wisteria so I can offer my compliments in person. I’ve yet to find anyone at home when I’m passing by, though, so I content myself with gazing from the roadside and an occasional foray across the ditch to brave the bumblebees and take fresh photos.
Wisteria pollen is like ambrosia for bees. Dozens buzzed about, moving from one blossom to the next.
They’re everywhere on this wisteria vine, dozens of pollen-drunk bumblebees crawling around, flying, completely ignoring me because I have nothing they want.
They barely notice me and my camera.
I’m not even nervous about hanging out with several dozen busy bumblebees, not with them acting so pollen-drunk and oblivious.
The butterfly, however, ought to take care. It is, after all, sipping from the bumblebee’s favorite snack food. Bumblebees, I suspect, don’t share well.