196 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Mar 1 



NOTES or TRAVLi. 



I BY A. I. ROOT . 



TRAVEI/S IN THE SOUTH. 



Although I have been over the Louisville & 

 Nashville between Cincinnati and New Or- 

 leans toward a dozen times in years paat, I en- 

 joy the trip each time almost as much as I did 

 at first. With modern improvements we can 

 get on a fast train at Cincinnati at 6 p.m. and 

 reach New Orleans the next evening. To do 

 this the train stops only at large cities. Meals 

 are served on board. This saves time, but I 

 have often objected to the extra cost. Last 

 evening I noticed on the bill of fare, "Ar- 

 mour's Chicken Tomales, 20 cents." In San 

 Francisco or in Arizona, Mexican tomales 

 (pronounced to-»ia/-e) are a common thing. 

 They are made of pounded corn, chicken 

 meat, etc., with plenty of peppers (chili), and 

 served hot ; but it was a new thing on a Pull- 

 man car — a new thing that AvDiour should 

 run opposition to the Indians in their manu- 

 facture. I didn't suppose a tomale would 

 make any thing like a meal, and so I ordered 

 other things with it ; but, to my astonish- 

 ment, for the 20 cents /<7«r tomales, smoking 

 hot, done up in corn-husks in true Indian fash- 

 ion, came on a plate. They made a pretty 

 good square meal of meat and vegetables ; 

 and although Armour had put in rather more 

 chipped beef than chicken, it certainly made a 

 very nice, appetizing, and low-priced addition 

 to the menu. 



When I left Ohio, every thing was white 

 with snow and frost ; but as I opened my eyes 

 this morning the full moon was shining on 

 bare fields — not quite green fields, but the 

 hills were covered with the green foliage of 

 the evergreen-trees. The scenery along about 

 Blount Springs and Birmingham, when illu- 

 mined by the morning sun, is especially fasci- 

 nating. The rocky hills are not only covered 

 with beautiful pines and cedars, but by spar- 

 kling cascades and rapids leaping from rock 

 to rock along the railway. I alwaj's enjov 

 watching a stream, because it tells when we 

 are climbing up or going down. At one point 

 we went up what seemed to me a pretty steep 

 grade for more than a mile. It seemed like 

 going over the Rocky Mountains. As we get 

 further south the hills gradually change to 

 level timber land and swamp, and, finally, to 

 great expanses of canebrake and tall swamp 

 grasses, higher than one's head, with bodies 

 of water interspersed, until we begin to get 

 views of the great ocean itself, or rather, per- 

 haps, the great Gulf of Mexico. Of course, 

 the cotton-fields, sugar-cane, and other south- 

 ern crops are a novelty to the Northerner. 



Through the swamps and wet woods the 

 palmetto surprises and delights one who sees 

 it for the first time ; also the beautiful Span- 

 ish moss that usually comes into view at about 

 the same time. The lumber industry continues 

 to grow, much as it was a dozen years ago or 

 more, but on even a larger scale in many 



places. The supply of nice trees for timber 

 and boards holds out better than in Michigan, 

 seemingly ; and then all along in the low wet 

 woods, where water always stands nearly one 

 foot deep, is found the beautiful cypress. For 

 building greenhouses, and for making hot- 

 bed sash, there is no wood in the world like 

 cypress. The heat, dampness, cold-without- 

 and-hot-within conditions that rot and twist 

 every other timber seem to have little or no 

 effect on this clear straight-grained wood. I 

 have sometimes thought that it is because it 

 grows in the water is the reason that wet and 

 heat never harm it. Greenhouse rafters (or 

 sash-bars) are often furnished of cypress, 20 

 or even 30 feet long, without a knot or flaw of 

 any kind. 



At New Orleans I left the L. & N. to take a 

 trip up the Illinois Central toward Jackson, 

 Miss., to visit Mr. Day, the author of the to- 

 mato book. At Ruddock Station, a town built 

 by the Ruddock Cypress Co. , there is quite a 

 little village with its streets all water, or, per- 

 haps I should say, water and water-plants. A 

 great sawmill is located in a cypress swamp, 

 and the town is for the wives and children of 

 the workmen. Of course, the houses are all 

 on piles, as are the plank sidewalks too, for 

 that matter. I at first wondered why they 

 had streets at all ; but it would hardly look 

 businesslike if they didn't have spaces where 

 one could imagine streets might sometimes be 

 needed ; but then, where is the earth (topped 

 with gravel) to come from? Well, over near 

 the mill they are starting streets by dumping 

 sawdust into the water where the streets are 

 to be. I began wondering why it is that the 

 children didn't tumble off those pl^nk walks, 

 and go plump into the water. Perhaps they 

 learn by "intuition" (the ^/r/ babies, any 

 way) not to fall " overboard." 



One often wonders at the queer names of 

 railroad' towns. The L. & N. has one called 

 " Pine Barrens." I wondered at this somewhat, 

 especially as it is in Florida, where they have 

 so many spread-eagle names. It looks truth- 

 ful and honest, any way — painfully honest — 

 if they ever have a real-estate boom for that 

 locality. On the Illinois Central there is a 

 station called "GuUetts." I have thought 

 many of the names of new places sounded as 

 if the people were really hard up for a name 

 at christening time. Hadn't some one better 

 write a book, or at least an article, on " nam- 

 ing new towns"? Perhaps the U. S. Post- 

 office Department might take the matter up 

 jointly with the companies that are building 

 new railroads. 



Well, my good friend Day is still growing 

 tomatoes, and using the cloth-covered beds, as 

 he was nine years ago, and of late he uses the 

 beds the fore part of the winter for growing 

 the finest cabbage plants I ever saw. Cabbage 

 is so hardy the cloth is all the protection he 

 ever needs in his locality. Last season, from 

 plants grown by this new method he not only 

 grew the first cabbage, but th^ finest new cab- 

 bage, sent off to market ; and, as a result, he 

 got as high as $S.oo a crate for some of it. 



I wonder if I dare tell a little story about 

 those nice cabbages. One of friend Day's 



