January, 1016. 



21 



accept. I did. The change from a 

 thickly populated manufacturing State 

 to that outof-the-way rural spot was so 

 abrupt that I felt out of place and had 

 to bring a good part of my adaptability 

 into play to become reconciled to the 

 new situation. 



My church was located two miles 

 distant on Basswood Hill, in the center 

 of the "town," said town supposed to 

 be six miles square with an enrollment 

 of 1)0 qualified voters at the last elec- 

 tion. 



One day one of my parishioners, a 

 thoughtful man, brought me a beehive. 

 He thought it would be well for me to 

 tinker with something of this sort. He 

 claimed for it both pleasure and profit. 

 It was accepted. I recalled that my 

 grandfather in Europe had been a bee- 

 keeper whose rows of straw skeps I 

 often watched in the summer waiting 

 for the "big bee" to come out of 

 which I heard him speak occasionally. 

 With visions of my boyhood days I 

 readily seized the opportunity of be- 

 coming a beekeeper myself, though it 

 had to be on a small scale. 



I knew nothing about bees, so I ven- 

 tured a few questions. The man who 



Campanilla HoNEy 



brought the hive told me that there 

 were yellow bees, called Italians and 

 black German bees. The yellow bees, 

 he said, were considered gentle, while 

 the "Germans" had a bad reputation 

 as ferocious stingers. Mine were 

 mixed, the blacks predominating. 

 Furthermore I was advised to give the 

 hive some kind of winter protection in 

 the shape of an old carpet or quilt, and 

 in order to keep the ants out, the 

 hive should be raised up from the 

 ground. Of course, no honey could be 

 expected until the bees had swarmed 

 next summer. 



GUAYABA 



American liee Journal I 



Being thus thoroughly instructed in 

 beekeeping, I felt competent to take up 

 the new pursuit, and that same evening 

 I began operations according to in- 

 structions. It was an old lO-frame 

 Wisconsin portico hive with a tele- 

 scope cover glued down tight all 

 around. IJefore throwing the carpet 

 over the hive curiosity prompted me to 

 pry up the cover to take a look at the 

 bees. They were all alive ; in fact, very 

 much so. Almost automatically the 

 cover dropped back onto the hive. It 

 gave a nice thud. The carpet wasn't 

 half in its place when the entire api- 

 arian force within the hive was already 

 mobilized against the bungling intruder. 

 There really wasn't time to contemplate 

 with what precision and determination 

 the nttack was made. I beat a hasty 

 retreat to the nearby woodshed carry- 

 ing the advance guard on my black 

 fur cap. 



The noise and commotion caused by 

 this sudden outbreak of hostilities 

 aroused the whole family. They all 

 stood in the doorway, at a safe dis- 

 tance, half frenzied, watching, advising, 

 sympathizing with father, the victim of 

 innumerable, merciless infernal bugs. 

 I was fanning the air like a windmill. 

 The excitement did not subside until 

 the last wretch of a bee was tread un- 

 der my feet. Surely, I felt that some 

 "capital punishment" had been in- 

 flicted upon me. The burning impres- 

 sion of several well-aimed stings be- 

 hind the ears and two similar punc- 

 tures on the upper lip emphasized the 

 wisdom of a strict neutrality toward a 

 hive of live bees irrespective of color 

 or nationality. 



All winter long the carpet hung over 

 that hive in a neglectful way. When 

 spring came and it was time for all 

 nature to awaken, my bees continued 

 their peaceful slumber. 



I was glad they were dead. For now 

 I could investigate the ins and outs of 

 a beehive without fear of being mur- 

 dered. Feeling reasonably sure from 

 outward observation that all within 

 were dead, really dead, I opened the 

 hive. What I saw was new and in- 

 structive. Of course, the suggestion 

 of a covering was misunderstood. It 

 should have, the books explained, been 

 placed directly over the frames inside 

 of the hive. As it was, the bees froze 

 to death, huddled together between the 

 frames, a starved, soiled, sorry-looking 

 lot, offering a practical illustration of 

 poor wintering. 



I now dissected the hive, took out 

 the frames, one by one, with an eye to 

 their size and shape. I studied the 

 construction of the combs, the worker 

 drone and queen-cells and their posi- 

 tion. With the aid of a manikin I be- 

 came familiar with the anatomy of the 

 queen, the workers and the drones, 

 their functions and habits. What I 

 read was supplemented by actual obser- 

 vation later on. During the first win- 

 ter in the country I burrowed through 

 considerable bee-literature, domestic 

 and foreign, and when the season was 

 at hand I was ready to put my book- 

 knowledge to some practical use. 

 Without the book, the hive, no doubt, 

 would have remained a mysterious puz- 

 zle. Beekeeping, I found, is a con- 

 glomeration of complicated details 

 which must get fixed in one's mind be- 



D. W. Millar and a Native Cuban 



fore anything like success can be at- 

 tained. 



I bought 10 new colonies. I increased 

 and decreased, voluntarily and invol- 

 untarily. Each season had its ups and 

 downs. There was profit and loss, 

 pleasure and pastime galore. The 

 science of queen rearing and the man- 

 agement of bees at swarming time 

 proved to be a many-sided and very 

 fascinating problem. The scientific 

 bee-masters of Europe, for instance, 

 are still wrangling with the subject of 

 parthenogenesis, while the American 

 beekeeper is largely interested in what 

 he can get out of a hive in the way of 

 a honey crop. 



Experimenting with many new in- 

 ventions I found that the most simple 

 appliances give the best results. When 

 foulbrood, that dreaded bee-disease 

 appeared in my yard I was startled. At 

 a beekeepers' convention I interviewed 

 a veteran on the subject. He spoke 

 consoling and encouraging words. 

 The books and bulletins explained the 

 cause, effect and remedy. I got along 

 fairly well with the so-called McEvoy 

 method of shaking all the bees onto 

 starters. But I succeeded best by my 

 own more radical cure of consigning 

 the whole infected lot to the furnace. 

 For a time the question of hives also 

 preyed upon mv mind. All beginners, 

 it seems, are affected that way. Not 

 that I felt called upon to invent some- 

 thing new, it was merely lack of con- 

 fidence in the style of hive I had 

 adopted. The doctors did not agree 

 on the subject at that time, nor do they 

 now. I selected the lO-frame hive 

 which is now becoming standard. 



The question of comb or extracted 

 honey production was decided in favor 

 of the latter because it was a surer and 

 therefore more profitable crop in my 

 locality. 



Today I am down South preaching as 

 before. But my two boys who learned 

 with me as they grew older remain on 

 the farm in that remote town looking 

 after the 85 colonies that make up the 

 present apiary. In the summer I plan 

 to go back to the old homestead to 

 spend sometime among the bees. Their 

 ceaseless hum and industry never fail 

 to freshen and inspire me to new en- 

 deavors. At swarming-time, it seenis, 

 there is more " going on" within the 

 200 square yards that encompass the 

 apiary than in 20 city blocks. It cer- 

 tainly is nature's own moving picture 

 show Cambridge, Mo. 



