GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



July, 1919 



on an upturned nail that rests on a wooden 

 arm that rests across a big empty can that 

 rests on a coarse strainer-like wire that 

 rests on another empty can. Have you the 

 whole restful picture? Next you take your 

 uncapping knife, which has been heating in 

 a pan of hot water on the stove near which 

 you are standing, and neatly slice the cap- 

 pings off the honey, first one side then the 

 other. The aforementioned upturned nail 

 steadies the comb while you cut. The cap- 

 pings drop into the empty can, while the 

 honey still in them runs on down thru the 

 wire into the lower part. Then you put 

 this drippy, uncapped comb into your ex- • 

 tractor, which is another big empty can, 

 about as high as your waist; at least, it 

 would be empty if it didn't have various 

 things in it — baskets made of stout wire 

 and something else, tin, maybe, or something 

 galvanized, and parts that fit into each oth- 

 er and turn. There's a handle — it's on the 

 outside — and when you have a comb of hon- 

 ey in each of these baskets and turn this 

 handle fast enough, out whirls the honey. 

 "Do you remember about centrifugal 

 force, Eobert? I do. We had it at school. 

 There were twins, centrifugal and centri- 

 petal. The books said one of them kept the 

 earth from flying off into space and the oth- 

 er kept it from being drawn into the sun 

 and burned up. I knew which was which 

 for a while, but it was hard to keep them 

 separate long at a time. Now I know, again, 

 and will never have any more trouble with 

 the twins. Centripetal force doesn 't help 

 us a bit in extracting, it 's the other does the 

 work. It doesn 't do it all, tho. Somebody 's 

 got to turn the handle. 



' ' Well, after the honey is thus centrif- 

 ugally extracted, the combs are returned to 

 the bees. You have to be careful to put 

 them back on the hives towards evening, 

 or the bees, smelling the fresh honey, get 

 excited and lawless and start robbing one 

 "another's hives. Isn't it a pity bees and 

 nations do that kind of thing? 



' ' Later the honey is strained and put into 

 barrels or big cans or little cans or bottles. 

 We 're doing a lot of that work now, and 

 putting on labels. Mr. Lowe ordered some 

 new labels last week and I told him he 

 ought to make them read, ' Anne Lester and 

 Daddy Lowe, Beekeepers. ' Today he tells 

 me he did! I don't know whether he's jok- 

 ing or not, but I do know the 'Daddy Lowe' 

 part would make a hit around here, for 

 that's what so many peoj)le call him. 



' ' Now you know all about extracting — ■ 

 maybe! Anyway you know enough to see 

 that I'll need an extracting room at that 

 little country place we're going to have 

 when you come home. You can 't tell, I 

 may get to be such a big producer that I '11 

 have a power extractor. Yes, they do have 



such things. Isn't it wonderful? We never 

 knew, and most people never guess, what a 

 big business honey production is. The only 

 trouble, tho, with my having a power outfit 

 is that I'd have to have somebody around 

 to run the machinery. I can say that to you 

 safely — no danger of your starting at once 

 to be an engineer. But I'd be seared to say 

 it to Theodore! 



' ' Speaking of Theodore, tho, I honestly 

 think you do him an injustice when you re- 

 fer to him as a slacker. He isn 't that, 

 Eobert, he's just Theodore. You know as 

 well as I what that means. He's like the 

 darkey woman buying her mourning ward- 

 robe. Eemember her? When the clerk sug- 

 gested that it wasn 't really necessary to in- 

 clude black underclothing, she answered re- 

 bukingly, ' When Ah mo 'hus, Ah mo 'hns. ' 

 That's Theodore to a T, and on thru the rest 

 of the letters. When he does a thing, he 

 does it. That 's why he 's out here, learning 

 to farm! And when he believes a thing, he 

 believes it. That's why he couldn't volun- 

 teer. You and I can't understand his view- 

 point — to us it looks, as you say, 'absurd 

 and puerile ' — we can 't see his side at all (if 

 indeed, there really is such a side). But 

 surely we must honor the quiet and courage- 

 ous stand he has made for what he thinks 

 right. He knows only too well how we and 

 practically all his friends feel, but that 

 doesn 't seem to matter. He 's being loyal 

 to something inside. That isn't cowardice, 

 Eobert, it's courage. 



' ' Then the really distressing part has just 

 come. He decided to accept the draft with- 

 out any claim for exemption because of 

 these convictions, answered his call — and 

 has just been found unfit. His heart didn 't 

 stand the examination. Now don 't joke, 

 dear, and say I could cure his heart! It 

 isn't any joking matter for a young man 

 like Theodore to find he has something radi- 

 cally wrong with him. I am trying to per- 

 suade him to give up this farm notion, and 

 go back to the office, where the work is so 

 much lighter. He merely looks hurt and 

 starts talking about crop rotation and silos, 

 certain other subjects being forbidden. And 

 he isn 't a bit interested in either of these, 

 and he hates perspiring and getting his 

 hands dirty. But at that he 's some Theo- 

 dore, and you shall not malign him. Which 

 surely reverses our attitudes, from the time 

 you first brought him home with you! 



"I wish you could see how quietly the 

 level sunlight lies along the hills. The 

 world is utterly peaceful here, utterly love- 

 ly. Some day it will be so over there. Then 

 you'll come back and tell me how you helped 

 make it so, while we drink that iced and 

 minted tea by the hollyhocks in my own 

 beeyard. Lovingly,* 



Anne." 



