1893 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



8'.)5 



was planned so as to see the author of " Tile 

 Drainage" lay the tiles himself. I wonder 

 whether the men who make gravel roads know 

 what a boon they are to wheel-riders. When- 

 ever I strike that gravel road that leads into 

 Hudson I always feel thankful. May be feel- 

 ing thankful does not pay the bill for graveling 

 the roads, but I guess it helps. Talking about 

 gravel, T found Prof. Chamberlain and his son 

 drawing gravel some two or three miles in order 

 to fix nice walks around the house, out to and 

 through the barnyard. Think of a barnyard 

 with graveled walks ! The old-fashioned barn- 

 yard, however, is a good deal done away with. 

 It is a luxury (!) that a modern farmer, up to 

 tlie times, can not well afford. Well, Prof. 

 Chamberlain, with the help of his sou, who is 

 educated like his father (he has not had the 

 same years of experience, however, mind you), 

 has been laying the 2i:i miles of tiling. I ex- 

 pected some wise hints in the matter, and I was 

 not disappointed. In the first place, the two til- 

 ing-spades they use were brighter, cleaner, and 

 sharper than any we have on our premises. In 

 fact, they had been used until they were worn 

 down thin, something like the knife my wife 

 uses to pare potatoes; and I tell you it was 

 worth going a luindred miles to see a college 

 professor digging ditches. Why. it was not 

 work at all— it was just fun. A pretty deep 

 furrow was tirst plowed out, throwing the earth 

 either way. Then with the two spades the 

 ditch was put right down where it ought to be. 

 When I wondered to see the ditching-spades so 

 sharp and perfect on the cutting edge, friend 

 Chamberlain remarked: 



'• Why, you surely take a good file along with 

 you when you dig ditches, do you not? See." 



Then lie picked up a file and showed me how 

 they used it. I am ashamed to say that I never 

 had a file out in the field where I was digging 

 ditches. It is true we occasionally take the 

 spades into the blacksmith - room and have 

 them sharpened up; but we never have them 

 in such perfect order as those I saw. Why, they 

 looked like tine carpenter tools. Th(^ ground 

 came right out in nice perfect slices, and slipped 

 off the spade of its own accord, and there were 

 but very few crumbs in the bottom of the ditch. 

 The last cut left the ditcii at the bottom just 

 about the width of the tile. Oh how I do wish 

 I could find men who would not persist in dig- 

 ging the bottom of the ditch wide enough so 

 they can shovel it out with a barn-shovel ! 

 Why, sometimes I am almost tempted to think 

 I shall feel glad when these old fellows die off, 

 especially the ones who can not be taught any 

 tiling new. A few days ago I took a boy of 17, 

 on an emergency, and started him ditching. 

 JSaid I: 



" Look here, Frank, if you do just as I tell 

 you, you can dig ditches right along, and do it 

 «asily, and you can dig more than a great big 

 stout man. The only thing is, you must do 

 exactly as I tell you." 



In a little time Frank smiled until his mouth 

 stretched wide, to find that he could indeed 

 walk right along through the stiff hard clay, 

 and leave a nice finished ditch. It was not an 

 hour, however, bi'fore he and his spade some- 

 how got '• rattled," and he could not for the 

 life of him without help get the ditch back into 

 shape so he could do nice clean work, and do it 

 ■easily. Well, there was one more thing that I 

 learned liesides about the file. Our ditching 

 has been mostly done with a long straight-edge. 

 If the liottora of the ditch is uneven we have to 

 lay a brick or tile under each end of the 

 straight-edge, so as to get the general level. 

 The straight-edge has got to be put in place in 

 the bottom of a ditch, and a level must be 

 hunted up, the dirt wiped off' from the level and 



straight-edge both, and somebody stands on 

 the edge to see if it is just right, and caves in a 

 lot of dirt on the level and straight-edge both. 

 Weil, our book on tile drainage has a picture of 

 a common-sense leveling tool. The one I saw 

 there was so light you could easily pick it up 

 with one hand. This surprised me. I had an 

 idea from the picture and description that it 

 was nearly as heavy as the letter-A drag. On 

 the cross-bar of the letter A, a spirit-level was 

 securely screwed. Now, all you have to do is 

 to stand on the edge of the ditch and set your 

 letter A so it stands on both feet on the bottom 

 of the ditch. The spirit-level is right up in 

 plain sight, where you can see just what the 

 general average of your work is going to be. 



The following is what the book "Tile Drain- 

 age" has to say in regard to this span-level: 



Mine Is a liome-miide atfair— simply a A 

 triangle, or Greek delta, 8J4 feet on eiicli / \ 



side, made of two-liicli pine or poplar, / \^ 



plain battens, and has a spirit-level screw- / 

 ed accurately to the crows - l^atten that /_ 

 makes a capital letter A of the triangle. 

 Care must be taken tliat the spirit-level be exactly 

 parallel to the base of the triangle. For convenience 

 in using, a sliort inch strip is tacked I0 each end of 

 the bottom edge of the base. The level is graduated 

 to show a grade of one, tv\ o, and tliree luclies to the 

 rod. 



Friend Chamberlain, like myself, prefers to 

 see water running down the ditch before the 

 tiles are laid. There had just been rain enough 

 during this beautiful month of November, so 

 he had about all the water he needed to be sure 

 that his tiles would all work right. You may 

 wonder, perhaps, how a coujile of college grad- 

 uates could afford to dig ditches and lay tiles. 

 My friend, the time is coming when college 

 graduates can even dig ditches more profitably 

 than men with abundance of muscle who are 

 too ignorant to realize that they do 7iot knoiv 

 too much to be taught by anybody. 



It was Saturday afternoon, after 3 o'clock, 

 and I was about 35 miles from home. At just 

 .5 o'clock a train leaves Akron that passes 

 through our own grounds. I stopped so long to 

 look at the tile drainage, the wheat crop, and 

 other things, that I knew it was going to be a 

 hard pull to make Akron by 5. There was not 

 any moon; and when I got to Cuyahoga Falls 

 it was not light enough so I could keep out of 

 the sand. I put in my best licks, however, and 

 reached the depot just five minutes after the 

 train had gone. There were particular reasons 

 why I wanted to be in Medina over Sunday; 

 but it was a good 20 miles, and a dark night. I 

 began trying to rec ncile my; e f to the prospect 

 of spending Sunday away from home. But I did 

 not enjoy it— that is, the prospect. I was tired 

 out, and hungry, so I went for that well-known 

 "city restaurant." As usual, the waiter gave 

 me a plate of bread and a pitcher of milk, while 

 he took my order for steak, etc. Why. it is just 

 fun to live when you can enjoy bread and milk 

 as I enjoyed it that evening. I do not know just 

 why, but somehow or other I ate a great big 

 supper before I left the table. Then I thought 

 I would take my wheel and ride in the direc- 

 tion of home as far as the vitrified brick pave- 

 ment and electric lights extended. I had no 

 sort of idea what 1 should do when I should 

 reach the end of the pavement. I knew from 

 experience that there is a stretch of deep 

 sand on the road, that bothers even an expert 

 wheelman to get through by broad daylight. I 

 somehow felt restless and uneasy, and wanted 

 to be doing something. As I left the electric 

 lights I saw a wayside watering-trough pour- 

 ing out its liquid treasures by the side of the 

 road. I drank so long and so heartily that a 

 bystander whom I had not seen before in the 

 gloom remarked: 



