762 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



June 15 



all I came across, subscribed for three magazines, 

 and put all my spare minutes on the ever grow- 

 ing problem of bees. 



Then I bought another hive, being determin- 

 ed to have a first-class one as a standard of com- 

 parison. It came from Flint, and I know now 

 that Mr. Hutchinson sent me a dandy. I won- 

 dered how so many bees could find room in so 

 little space. 



My first went from bad to worse, and at last a 

 happy idea struck me. The wonder is, it did not 

 strike me before. As editor of a technical jour- 

 nal I had to answer daily over a dozen letters 

 from people who were in trouble, and so I decid- 

 ed to call on Mr. York and state my case for his 

 opinion. He was kindness itself, and at the out- 

 set doubted my diagnosis of bee paralysis. Nay, 

 more; he volunteered to examine the hive, diag- 

 nose the disease, and prescribe the remedy. He 

 made short work by pronouncing it a case of 

 queenlessness, with at least one laying worker. 

 Remedy, total extinction. I pictured the sulphur- 

 chamber; but, no; he advised placing it above my 

 other hive with a sheet of ordinary newspaper 

 between, in the center of which was punched a 

 small hole with an ordinary leadpencil as the 

 readiest tool to be found. He went even further, 

 and administered the medicine himself. 



A rather amusing incident then happened — in 

 fact, two of them. Mr. York looked over my 

 new hive to see how it had stood the journey, 

 and of course I wanted to see the queen, as I had 

 never seen one. I remember he declined to put 

 on gloves. I had had too sharp an experience 

 with my first effort to be ever without them; in 

 fact, the bees got at my fingers through the cot- 

 ton lots of times until I oiled the part that cover- 

 ed my hands. That oiling experience was amus- 

 ing because 1 soaked them so thoroughly that it 

 took two weeks' exposure over a steam-boiler to 

 dry them. The next time I applied sweet oil to 

 bee-gloves I tried to see how little I could lay on 

 them; but even that was a plenty. So I closely 

 watched Mr. York's fingers as he handled the 

 frames, and I must admit I chuckled when a sud- 

 den "ouch" broke from his lips as he sharply 

 swung his left hand against his trowsers leg. It 

 is not the same word I would have used, but I 

 guess it meant about the same thing. 



To return to the queen-hunt. The first over- 

 haul was fruitless; the second, the same. Mr. 

 York decided the task was hopeless, and made all 

 preparations to close the hive. I happened to 

 step behind him and look downward, when my 

 eye caught sight of a large yellow bee just above 

 the calf of his leg. I quietly mentioned the fact 

 to him, so he gently looked round and pronounced 

 that I had found the queen, which he speedily 

 returned to the frames, in which she disappeared. 

 My acquaintanceship with Mr. York had been 

 very short, but I had at one time lived several 

 years in his "locality," and knew that he bore a 

 very excellent reputation, so did not insist that he 

 was trying leg-bail tricks with my only queen. 



In less than a week my double and now only 

 hive had a lot of finely chewed paper lying around 

 its entrance; and when the upper hive was lifted 

 I found the paper entirely gone, and evidence that 

 the bees from the lower half had taken full pos- 

 session. A few weeks more this hive was simply 

 full of bees; and since white clover came in bloom 



I decided to dodge swarming by dividing my 

 hive. I had never in my life seen a swarm of 

 bees, and I never wanted to. My friend who had 

 kept bees as a boy had suffered a relapse of bee- 

 fever, and bought a hive from Mr. Hutchinson 

 when I got my second. Being a practical man 

 he despised books, and told me I was simply 

 wasting time, as the only way to learn bee-keep- 

 ing was by experience. Then the theorist got on 

 his nerve and proposed a competition, the test to 

 be selected by the practical man. He said hon- 

 ey, and honey it would be. 



So to the books and magazines I went more 

 assiduously than ever. I had one Dovetailed and 

 one Danzenbaker hive, so I had to decide which 

 I would adopt, and I studied the pros and cons. 

 The decision was in favor of the latter on purely 

 theoretical grounds, and so two more were got. 

 I ordered a couple of queens, and on their arrival 

 I drew ten frames from my double-decker and 

 placed five in each, alternating with empty 

 frames, then introduced the queens, which were 

 accepted. Transferring seemed a big problem, 

 but it had to be done if uniformity of appliances 

 were to be secured, so this was tackled and suc- 

 cessfully accomplished. 



The season of 1906 in Illinois was a poor one, 

 as every one knows, and I waited expectantly 

 long weeks to see what a honey-flow looked like. 

 White clover bloomed June 1 , but the bees did not 

 develop that tremendous energy I had read about 

 but had never seen. My practical friend was 

 longing for a swarm, and in picturesque language 

 he described the delirium of the bees as they 

 rushed pellmell out into the wide, wide world to 

 seek a new home. To him at that moment the 

 whole pleasure of bee-keeping seemed to consist 

 of one huge swarm of absconding bees, with him 

 racing after them in wild pursuit. I am too lazy 

 for that kind of excitement, and prefer expansion 

 under control. 



Sweet clover bloomed July 1, and by the mid- 

 dle of the month I was able to provide a lawn 

 party of a dozen at my house with six complete 

 sections, purity guaranteed, and believed, since 

 they saw the honey taken from the super. 



August 15 the honey-flow was over, and my 

 first venture in bee-keeping stood thus: 30 fine 

 sections of honey from iiive No. 1; one new hive 

 had finished its combs and built up in good 

 shape; another new one, in fair shape, but not 

 nearly so good as the other. 



My friendly rival had all the fun he wanted 

 racing after three swarms, climbing as many 

 trees, and learning by experience that what was 

 fun at fifteen is a nuisance at forty-five. But he 

 got no honey. Need I say how I would occa- 

 sionally call him up on the phone, and in my 

 blandest tones tell him I had a rather curious 

 substance called honey at my house; and, if he 

 cared to see it, just to come over. Or I would 

 ask him very politely if anybody had ever told 

 him what bees were kept for; if he did not know 

 I could tell him — it was to get honey. Twice I 

 sent a section to his wife, with my compliments, 

 and he handed me the cigars when we met. 



The theorist had beaten the practical man. 

 The Danzenbaker hive had won a victory over 

 the Dovetailed. 



Medford, Oregon. 



To be continued. 



