776 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Nov. 1. 



I was to wii'o Mr. Coe when we were ready to 

 leave for Windham. Accordingly, after dinner 

 the next day, I took tlie wheel for the village, 

 three miles away. It looked somewhat like 

 rain, but I thought I could get back before it 

 actually began to storm; but. unfortunately, it 

 poured and poured, when I had got just about 

 half way. Hurrying as fast as I could, I forgot 

 to observe the direction I was going, and I got 

 on the wrong road, a couple of miles out of my 

 way. Back I came through the mud and rain, 

 dripping wet. In some places the hills were so 

 steep that I had to dismount and plod along by 

 the side of the wheel, with great clods of mud 

 hanging to my low cloth bicycle shoes. I final- 

 ly reached the village, sent the telegram, and 

 started back. The roads began to dry off from 

 the effects of a downpouring sun; and before 

 long I was back at the hotel, pretty nearly as 

 dry as when I started out, but somewhat muddy. 



We were about to go in to supper when a 

 mountain wagon drove up, bearing the name 

 "Windham Hotel." A middle-aged man step- 

 ped out, whom I took to be Mr. Coe. Advanc- 

 ing toward me he said, " This is Ernest, I sup- 

 pose?" I then inti'oduced him to Mrs. Root 

 and to my relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Bedell. As 

 it was a little late, we took a lunch, fastened 

 the bicycle on the wagon, and started on the 

 road to climb an elevation of about I'M) feet for 

 Windham, eight miles distant— a i)oiut in the 

 heart of the Catskills. It was growing dark 

 fast, and we did not see very much scenery that 

 evening. In the meantime, Mr. Coe and myself 

 talked bees as only two bee-men can. He has 

 kept them for a good many years: Init on ac- 

 count of difficulties in wintering he had lost 

 about as much as he had put in. He could 

 bring them through the winter well enough; 

 but along in the spring he would invariably 

 lose heavily from spring dwindling. He had 

 tried all the best methods for wintering, both 

 indoors and out, but he invariably encountei-ed 

 that dread malady along in April and May. 

 The curious thing was, that, with all his mod- 

 ern improvements, box-hive men would carry 

 through successfully their black bees. The 

 result was, that, in order to carry on bee-keep- 

 ing, he was obliged to buy from them, transfer, 

 and start anew. I suggested that it might be 

 that the black bees would winter better than 

 his Italians. No, that could not be it, because 

 he had tried in vain to winter black bees. 

 " Why," said I, " why don't you leave them in 

 your single-walled hives outdoors, as your box- 

 hive friends do ?" 



" I did try that, and still they would die." 



The facts were, he was about 1500 feet above 

 the general level of the surrounding country. 

 The winters are very cold and severe; the 

 springs backward, and generally unfavorable 

 to the bees. There is no doubt that Mr. Coe 

 has conditions to combat against that many 

 of us generally do not have. But there were 

 those old box-hive bee-keepers— how is it that 

 their bees, apparently neglected, came out all 

 right in the spring? That was a conundrum 

 that I. a supply-dealer, editor, and an advocate 

 of moderii improvements, could hardly answer, 

 and I should be glad if any of our readers would 

 solve it. Mr. Coe had as good a wintering re- 

 pository as I have ever seen. He has practiced 

 all the best methods, tried all the different 

 ways of ventilation— done every thing, in fact, 

 and yet the general result seemed to be the 

 same in the spring. 



On this ride Mr. Coe also explained his pro- 

 ject of moving his bees to the alfalfa regions of 

 the West. He would either move them this 

 fall, or very early next spring, before spring 

 dwindling had a chance to commence. He de- 

 sired to know what I thought of it. I told him 



I thought it risky business. The alfalfa fields 

 seem to be boundless in their resources foi- nec- 

 tar, and he might make a big failure of it, or a 

 big success. At best, moving bees so far is haz- 

 ai'dous. To this he explained that he would 

 lose them all anyhow, if he attempted to win- 

 ter them at hom(\ and he rather decided to ac- 

 cept the other horn of the dilemma — sending 

 them to the alfalfa regions. He had some 500 

 hives filled with nice perfect combs on which 

 the bees had died, the same carefully stowed 

 away in his bee-house. This was capital lying 

 idle, and he would never be able to vise it or 

 sell it unless he could move the same to a local- 

 ity where he could both winter the bees and 

 get paying crops of honey. 



This was about the strain of our bee-talk on 

 that pleasant evening ride: and ere long we 

 ran up to a large- four-story hotel, with accom- 

 modations, if I remember correctly, for about 00 

 guests. It was so dark that I did not recognize 

 the place fi'om the pictures I had seen of it; but 

 that you may get a view of it, I will ask Mr. 

 Coe to send an electrotype, that you may all 

 see ihe place. 



After being introduced to Mrs. Coe and to his 

 son and daughter, we were conducted to our 

 room; and the next mortiing, from the window 

 there was revealed a beautiful view of the 

 mountains in the rear of the hotel. What a 

 lovely place, we thought! It would be delight- 

 ful to stay here during the summer months — 

 cool and bracing, even during the hottest 

 weather; never any malaria, and always good 

 sight-seeing! 



OFF TOI'KING AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 



The evening before, Mr. Coe had told me that 

 he was going to make up a party of two loads 

 to drive among the mountains, the objective 

 point being the Mountain House, and the now 

 almost world-renowned Kaaterskill. The latter, 

 I suppose, is one of the most magnificent and 

 expensive structures for the accommodation of 

 guests that was ever built. It was erected un- 

 der circumstances which I will pi'esently ex- 

 plain. 



After an early breakfast, Mrs. Root and I, 

 together with a party of several others, took 

 seats in one of the mountain wagons. These 

 wagons look very much like ordinary stages. 

 They have three seats, each holding three per- 

 sons, or nine in all. As I have before remarked, 

 these mountain horses seemed capable of per- 

 forming marvels in drawing these heavy loads. 

 They have learned to economize their strength, 

 and I suppose they will last about as long as the 

 average horse on roads more level. 



As we climlx^d into the wagon, Mr. Coe hand- 

 ed me an aneroid barometer, which he had pur- 

 chased of A. I. Root, saying. " Here, you may 

 carry that." 



"What is it for?" said I. 



" Why, it is to record elevation. You can tell 

 at any point in your journey just how many feet 

 you are above the surrounding level." 



It then flashed through my mind that barom- 

 eters are used for that very purpose. 



"Now." said he, "notice where the pointer 

 stands on the dial, for we are going to climb the 

 mountains to-day." 



Up, up, and up we went; and as we ascended, 

 the little pointer on the dial recorded the num- 

 ber of feet we ascended in a ijeriicndicular. until 

 we were 1000 feet higher. AVhat astonished me 

 was, that several times when we appeared to be 

 going down hill that dial showed that we were 

 actually ascending; and sometimes it would 

 behave the other way. It seemed to me that it 

 did not know what it w^as about; but it was evi- 

 dently correct. 



At one point I remember Mr.Coe called out. 



