The other morning, I was walking my dog when I spotted a weathered poster hanging on a telephone pole. This in itself is unremarkable — I live on the edge of the college ghetto and all of the telephone poles are littered with sun-bleached ads for this jam band or that lost cat. But this poster was different. Attached to the bottom of the paper, which bore only the words "Bee Creative," was a plastic baggie filled with small white envelopes.
I would have taken a picture of the sign/baggie combo, but as this was morning and I was walking my dog, I was in my pajamas, which do not have pockets for things like cameras. Yes, I left the house in my pajamas. But it's ok to do that now, thanks to the pajamafication of America. So stop judging. I was also smoking menthol cigarettes and eating a flaming Whopper with cheese. What of it?
Anyway, I paused at the sign and peered in the bag while my dog rolled in squirrel pee or bird poop or whatever dogs find so appealing in grass that they must coat themselves in it. I pulled out one of the little packets, though, having no pocket in which to put the small sachet, I held it in my hand for the duration of the walk, wondering about the mysteries held inside.
When I arrived home, before tearing into the envelope, I visited the website printed on the front of the packet. I thought it might offer an explanation of what was in the envelope. But this is basically all I found:
In addition, there was also a blurb about colony collapse disorder, a somewhat esoteric quote about bees by the "Bee Goddess," a sepia-toned antique photo of a man dressed as a bee, the cover of a book of Rudolf Steiner's lectures on bees and a video of some wackadoodle French beekeeper brushing bees with his bushy mustache. But nowhere on the website does it give any explanation as to what the hell is in those envelopes. It could be anthrax or peanuts. I don't flipping know.
But since I like to tempt fate, I threw caution to the wind and I opened the packet. I held out my hand and poured the contents into it. What tumbled out were what appeared to be a bunch of sunflower seeds, mixed with some garden detritus. I'm no horticulturist, so they could have been peyote seeds for all I knew. The seeds came with no instructions and I'm still not sure what to do with them. Where do I put them, and what the hell is going to grow if I plant them? How much water do they need? Will they attract unwanted police attention?
So, dear guerrilla gardener/bee advocate who assembled these seed packets: Please, if you're out there, offer some assistance to the black-thumbed among us who took your packets and now need to know what the fuck to do with them. I'm all for helping the bees and being a good citizen, but I need some direction. Please advise.