1895 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



299 



RAMBLE NO. 130. 



AT ST. HELENA. 



By Ramhlcr. 



ITR Spanish neighbors had 

 regained their equilibri- 

 um in the morning; and 

 as we departed they 

 gave us a kind '■ adios." 

 St. Helena, IS miles 

 from Napa, is another 

 of those beautiful towns 

 we have so often ob- 

 served. Like Napa it is 

 surrounded with vine- 

 yards, and boasts of one of the largest wineries 

 in the State. It would have been very pleasant 

 to camp in such a town; but thinking we 

 might get among the festive Spaniards again, 

 we pushed along. Our friend H. L. Jones, the 

 gas-man of San Francisco, having our welfare 

 in mind, said we would find a beautiful camp- 

 ing-place beyond St. Helena— streams of run- 

 ning water; fir and madrone trees interlocking 

 their branches, making a cooling shade, and, 

 above all, it was near the residence of his 

 friend W. M. Cole. 



We found the camping-place all he had pic- 

 tured it, and Mr. Cole was a Missourian of the 

 "walk right in and help yourself '" order. It 

 seems that he delighted to have the camping 

 public rest under the shade of the trees. For 

 his special friends he had a cosy nook on the 

 banks of the stream near his residence, which 

 he offered to us; but as we were to stop only 

 one night we preferred the more public place 

 near the highway. Mr. Cole's house was so 

 embowered under fruit-trees that but a small 

 portion of it could be discerned. A thriving 

 family of boys and girls were romping among 

 the trees. As to how Mr. C. was getting along 

 in other directions. I know not; but in the mat- 

 ter of a family he was a success — not the evi- 

 dence of things hoped for by some, and not 

 found, but here was evidence and reality. 



Mr. Cole was a bee-keeper after a fashion. 

 He allowed his few colonies to manage things 

 their own way in the far corner of his garden. 

 They held proud possession of a few cracker 

 and soap boxes, and, according to Mr. Cole's 

 ideas, they were a strain of bees known as the 

 French bee. One of their shining characteris- 

 tics lay ill their fighting qualities. A neighbor 

 across the valley brought in some Italian bees; 

 but the French bees pitched into them. They 

 had a general fight, and '" fit and fit," and the 

 French bees came off victorious. 



"'But I ain't no bee-keeper," said Mr. C. "I 

 kin go out into the woods and get more honey 

 than 1 can from my hives. These French bees 

 work better in trees than they do in hives, and 

 the woods are full of bee-trees." Said he, '" You 

 tell Harry Jones, the gas-man, to come right 



out here and set up a bee-corral. It will pay 

 him." 



Mr. C. made some complaint about moths 

 getting into his hives of French bees, and didn't 

 see why, when they were such good fighters, 

 that they let that pesky moth in to eat up a 

 whole colony. Then grapes and French bees 

 did not agree. In his little vineyard of choice 

 grapes he left two rows for family use; but the 

 P'rench bees got after them after awhile, and 

 cleaned them all out, and left nothing but the 

 shucks. 



Mr. Cole's swine-corral was located near the 

 bees, and the pen and the hives were elbowing 

 each other, as it were, for room. This led to a 

 discussion in relation to hog and honey pro- 

 duction vs. hog and hominy. I told him our 

 gaseous friend in San Francisco proposed that 

 line of labor. 



"Just the thing," said Mr. Cole. "This is 

 the best hog and bee country north of the city; 

 and such an energetic fellow as Jones would 

 make things lively up in this country. As you 

 observe, my bees and hogs agree well together. 

 And say, stranger, did you ever know of a bee 

 stinging a hog?" 



I had to confess that, though I had seen 

 many hives located near hog-pens, I had never 

 witnessed or heard of such a case. 



" Well, it's a fact, sir, a bee will never sting a 

 hog. If you get the scent of a hog on your 

 hands or clothing it is the best of preventives 

 to bee-stings. Smokers! wouldn't have one 

 around. Just step over into the pen and rub 

 your hands on the old sow's back, and you will 

 have apifuge enough to last half a day." Un- 

 fortunately I am not so situated as to test Mr. 

 C.'s plan. Bui when Mr. Jones gets his ranch 

 started, and has several fat sleek porkers near 

 at hand he can call up Peggy, Betsy, or Han- 

 nah, as the case may be, and secure the api- 

 fuge. It is quite possible, though, that the hog 

 antidote could be successfully practiced with 

 only oiir friend's French bee. 



There were other small apiaries in this vicin- 

 ity, but they were not numerous, and not man- 

 aged according to modern methods. 



Our fine camping-place was made desolate 

 again in the morning, and we were rolling 

 through that other beautiful town, Calistoga. 

 The attractions of this resort are sulphur 

 springs, mountain scenery, and climate. The 

 vineyards sliiide off here into prune-orchards, 

 which, healthfully and morally, is a good snade 

 for the people. 



Our friend Jones, of gas memory, had, at 

 some preceding time, spread himself all over 

 this country; and, knowing what he was talk- 

 ing about, he advised us to cross the St. Helena 

 Mountains to f^ake Co. by what is known as 

 the Oat Hill route. We followed his advice, 

 with "cliildlike and bland" confidence. We 

 had an arduous climb again, winding up and 

 around the mountain-spurs. As we were lifted 



