c 



ur 



.Tui.v, 1919 



t^ AN Y O N E 

 J'\^ who has 



any kind 

 of passion for 

 observation 

 must have dis- 

 covered long ago 

 that a side-line 

 has ever so 

 much more 



charm and appeal about it than a main-line." 

 I found that in a serial novel by Hugh Wal- 

 pole, running in the Bookman. To be sure, 

 since one must be honest, Mr. Walpole was 

 writing about railroads; and his side-line 

 comments rambled delightfully from fishy- 

 smelling little stations to farmers with 

 brown loggings and pipes and knotted walk- 

 ing sticks, from sandwiches and seedcakes 

 and jam-puffs eaten on this interesting lit- 

 tle side-line train to Jeremy, in the title role, 

 falling asleep against his father's leg. But 

 oh, he was so right about the charm and ap- 

 peal of the side line, whether of the railroad 

 one rides or the work one does. There are 

 exceptions, of course, to this statement — 

 else it would be itself a most exceptional 

 statement. But for the most of the people 

 of this earth, how true. 



One of the joys of the side liner is the 

 kindly tolerance the rest of the world grants 

 to his enthusiasms. Tho, for that matter, 

 isn't the world generally pretty tolerant of 

 any genuine enthusiasm? And isn't en- 

 thusiasm one of the virtues — yes, virtues — • 

 most worth possessing? Perhaps that de- 

 pends on what one is enthusiastic about. 

 But take the beekeeping side liner. Think 

 of his joy in being allowed to parade his 

 enthusiasms openly before his more matter- 

 of-fact friends — all the delights and ad- 

 ventures and astounding experiences of his 

 loved avocation. Yes, and with more grace 

 than would be granted those same friends, 

 he makes moan — oh much moan and most 

 wailingly — when some unexpected misfor- 

 tune crosses his apieultural path. 



There was our "ground swarm." It was 

 our first, and we have told about it to every- 

 one who would listen, and that was every- 

 one to whom we told it. Our friends are 

 most polite, and they recall that we are 

 side liners. As I entered the yard one 

 morning, knowing I would have a little less 

 time there than was needed, and so being 

 compelled to be almost strictly business, 

 I noticed bees flying around the little quince 

 tree just beyond the bee yard. Hurrying 

 I went to investigate, and parting the 

 wild growth, I found a tiny outdoor colony, 

 tangled in with the stems of grasses and 

 weeds. They had built one bit of comb, 

 that could lie in the palm of my hand, at- 

 taching it to a stout but drooping stem. 

 How I wanted to play with them, to find 

 their queen, to coax them, small and un- 

 important tho they were, into a shallow su- 

 per and watch them grow thru the summer 

 to the dignity of a full-sized colony. But 

 there was real work to do first, with all too 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



445 



Beekeeping as a Side Line 



1 



Grace Allen 



%J 



there 

 best 



short a time to 

 do it in; so I 

 left them 

 with my 

 wishes. 



Little good 

 the wishes did 

 them, however. 

 When we looked 

 them up in the 

 cold wet grass after several days of rain, 

 they had given up. The pitiful little piece 

 of comb was still there, but the valiant 

 little workers lay in a heap at the roots of 

 things, dead. 



That was the day we found, thru a 

 friend's observant eyes, bees going in and 

 out under a hivestand. Mr. Allen lifted off 

 the hive and in excited expectancy I slow- 

 ly tipped up the bottom-board. There they 

 were, snug and ambitious and prosperous. 

 Can you see them? Down from the bottom- 

 board, in the quiet spot inclosed by the rim 

 of the hivestand, they had hung the fittings 

 of their home. In the comb were both 

 brood and honey. Then we meddling, tho 

 friendly, giants of an alien race came 

 changing things to suit ourselves. Upside 

 down we turned their home. Probably they 

 did not like that, for it wasn't built to stand 

 that way. Then on the hivestand, thus 

 upside down, we set a shallow super of foun- 

 dation, and when we looked a few days 

 later, there was nice new comb with eggs 

 in it. Before the bees know what has hap- 

 pened, these same giants will have outwit- 

 ted them, and they will have come submis- 

 sively out of their stolen home, with its 

 "natural" comb, into a modern hive with 

 movable frames, scarcely knowing how the 

 change was brought about. 



Then there was the gay and stubborn 

 swarm that hung, according to the house- 

 girl, half a day and all night and half an- 

 other day, hidden in an old peach tree here 

 at home. We had been gone one Saturday, 

 and just as we were buttering our potatoes 

 Sunday noon, the housegirl came in to an- 

 nounce, "They's some bees in a tree jes 

 where they wuz all yestuddy evenin." Then 

 as we were ready for berries she came back 

 to add, "Them bees is flyin round agin." 

 So we left the berries for supper, and went 

 forth for to see. Across the back lot they 

 sailed, apparently ticketed straight for a 

 house on the next street where a small boy 

 was swinging his baby brother in the porch 

 swing. Presently there came screams and 

 sounds of excited running, as the bees 

 threatened to take possession of the place. 

 Dismayed, perhaps, by the excitement, they 

 doubled on their tracks, clustering again in 

 a small maple by the fence. Who can re- 

 sist a swarm of bees? Even tho it be a tiny 

 one and its capture involve the Sunday drag- 

 ging of a ladder across to another street. 

 Into a shallow super they were shaken, and 

 who shall say to what they may have grown 

 when another spring count rolls round? 

 Then there was the polite society swarm. 



