The frost is starting to settle on the garden gate, and the air has that crisp, clean smell of snow coming. If you looked for me today, you wouldn't see me buzzing over the coneflowers or tumbling around inside the squash blossoms like I was back in July. The garden looks empty to you now. It looks quiet.
But I haven't left you.
I'm right here, tucked just out of sight. I'm waiting out the cold in a state of suspended animation we call "diapause." It isn't quite sleep. It's a deep stillness where my body slows down and waits for the sun to return. I've prepared for this all year, but I can't finish the winter safely without a little help from my kind neighbor. And I'm so glad that's you.
So while you're pouring hot tea and slipping on your warmest socks, here's my little wishlist to ensure we can weather the long quiet and meet again in the first warm light of spring.
Please Leave the "Messy" Stems
I know the urge to tidy up is strong. I see you eyeing those dried brown stalks of the summer garden with your pruners. But please, let them stand.
To my cousins, the small carpenter bees and mason bees, those dried stems aren't debris. They're nurseries. We burrow into the soft, pithy centers to build our winter homes. It's cozy in there, and the plant walls protect us from the biting wind.
If you cut them down to the ground, we have nowhere to go. If you can, leave the stalks standing about 15 to 24 inches high. That gives us enough vertical room to lay our eggs safely deep inside. Think of it as leaving the guest room door open for us.
My Favorite Winter Hideaways
If you're wondering which plants make the best winter homes, look for the ones with sturdy, hollow, or pithy stems. We are picky architects!
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Goldenrod (Solidago): These are like the high-rise apartments of the bee world. Their stems stay strong against the snow, and you might even see a round "gall" on the stem—that’s actually a nursery for a specific type of fly or moth that overwinters just like me.
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Wild Bergamot (Monarda): The stems of bee balm are perfect for smaller bees. They hollow out easily and smell like summer even in the dead of winter.
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Sunflowers (Helianthus): These are the mansions. Their wide stems provide ample space for larger solitary bees to hibernate.
If you have these in your garden, pat yourself on the back. You've built a five-star hotel.
Let the Leaves Be Our Blanket
There's a myth that we all live in hives, but many of us, including the big, fuzzy Bumble Bee queens, spend the winter alone underground. We burrow just a few inches below the surface of the soil to sleep.
Because we're so shallow, we need a roof over our heads to stop the frost from reaching us. That's what your fallen leaves do. They form a thick, warm layer of insulation that keeps the ground temperature stable. It's just like a down comforter.
If you rake every leaf away, the cold seeps in too fast. But if you let them settle into a natural layer of "duff," you're literally tucking us in for the night.
A Little Patience for the Sleepers
Here's a secret about native bees that might surprise you. Sometimes, we decide to hit the snooze button for a whole year.
If the weather feels strange or dry when spring comes, some of us won't wake up at all. We stay in our nests for two full years to wait for better times. It's our way of making sure our family survives the future.
So please be patient with your garden. If an old log or a patch of stems looks "dead" or empty after a year, don't toss it on the burn pile just yet. There might be a generation of dreamers inside, waiting for their moment.
A Head Start on the Future
While the garden sleeps, you can actually help the next generation of blooms get ready. It might seem strange to plant seeds in the cold, but many of my favorite flowers—like Milkweed, Coneflower, and Penstemon—actually need this winter chill to wake up.
We call it stratification. The freeze and thaw of winter cracks open their tough shells so they're ready to sprout the moment the ground warms. You don't have to wait for May. You can scatter those native seeds right on top of the snow or soil now. It’s a promise to me that when summer comes, the table will be set.
An Early Breakfast Menu
When I finally do wake up, usually around the time the first real warmth touches the soil, I'm going to be famished. My winter fat reserves will be gone, and I'll be vibrating my wings just to stay warm. I have a very short window to find food.
The absolute best gift you can give me is an early-blooming native tree. Willows and Maples are the reliable anchor of the early spring ecosystem. They offer rich, nutritious pollen right when I need it most, long before the wildflowers are ready. If you plant a Willow, you’re breaking the winter fast with the first fresh meal of the season when the rest of the garden is still asleep.
Dreaming of Spring
The snow might make the world look empty, but we both know better. Just beneath the frost, thousands of my kin are safe and waiting, held in the earth you protected.
We’re simply resting, dreaming of the sun on our backs and saving our strength. When the light returns, we’ll be ready to wake up and get back to the work we love—bringing your garden to life.
Thank you for sharing your space with me. I know a wild winter garden isn't always the "neatest" look, but to my eyes, it looks like a sanctuary.
Savor the slow months ahead. I'll see you when the first Willow blooms.
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