421 



AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL 



December 



There is no more interesting sight 

 to the bee watcher than to stand out- 

 side a hive on a hot summer night 

 and see the ceaseless beat of wings 

 from the squadron of ventilators. 

 Notice their orderly lines, one going 

 and making way for another, for the 

 work is hard and cannot be long sus- 

 tained by the single bee, and listen 

 to the subdued roar like waves fall- 

 ing on the distant beach. 



A Hint to Beekeepers 



Bees are often caused unnecessary 

 suffering by the beekeeper who 

 thinks he is wiser than his charges. 

 The supers and brood nest of the bees 

 should always have warm covers on 

 top. Extra ventilation should only 

 be given by opening, in hot weather, 

 as widely as possible, the entrance 

 blocks. A light covering 'only, on the 

 top, involves to the bees more or less 

 of vertical draught, and to the bee- 

 keeper it means a loss of honey, for 

 the bees will never enter the supers 

 unless they are kept warm and free 

 from a down current. 



England. 



BEES IN THE CUT-OVER COUN- 

 TRY 



The Success of the Apiary in the 

 Forest Region of Cloverland 



By L. D. Tucker. 

 Ever since the hum of the saw-mill 

 first pierced upper Michigan's dense 

 forests of hard wood, a half century 

 ago, the problem of the profitable 

 utilization of the idle, cut-over lands 

 thus created, has been a source of 

 endless research and study. 



There have been any number of 

 suggestions, and a few of these are 

 now in operation. But when, just 

 three years ago, statistics revealed 

 the fact that there were over 8,000,000 

 acres of idle cut-over lands in the 

 peninsula, the lumbermen and other 

 big landowners began to sit up and 

 think. "What are we going to do 

 with it?" they asked. And then and 

 there began an energetic campaign 

 for almost any type of industry which 

 dealt in cut-over grassed lands. 



First came the grazer. A two-years' 

 publicity and advertising campaign 

 among the sheep and cattle sections 

 of the west brought 50,000 head of 

 sheep and .S.OOO of cattle, with some SO 

 settlers, and they colonized, in all, 

 appro.ximately 100,000 acres of cut- 

 over lands. But 100,000 is the merest 

 fraction of 8,000,000 and, consequent- 

 ly, the work is only just begun. 



And now comes another important 

 feature, and one which might easily 

 surpass the other in its relation to 

 the more rapid growth and progress 

 of the idle acres — beekeeping. 



We sort of happened onto it, a very 

 short time ago, while making an au- 

 tomobile trip to the village of Iron 

 Mountain, Mich., where Henry Ford 

 and son arc establishing a mammotli 

 body manufacturing plant. Wo pulled 

 into the village about one hour ahead 

 of schedule, and decided to run out 

 beyond the limits for a short distance 

 and look over the site of the proposed 

 plant. 



We had gone about a mile and were 



rounding a sharp curve, when there 

 appeared on the side of a hill, to the 

 right, what seemed to be three or 

 four long rows of bird houses, 

 perched up on stakes and nestled 

 there among the trees as though to 

 invite the most exclusive of the feath- 

 ered tribe. We slowed up to view 

 the sight, and then distinguished a 

 huge sign board at the juncture of a 

 road which turned sharply to the 

 left, leading into the "bird house" 

 colony. The sign read: "Eskil's 

 Apiary." 



Being more of a "news hound" than 

 an agriculturist or a bee farmer, the 

 sign meant little to me, and. in fact, 

 I went so far as to ponder upon the 

 possibility of having suddenly come 

 upon an ape-breeding farm, a zoo 

 or something of the sort. Imagine 

 my surprise, then, when a mere road- 

 side urchin informed me that: "That's 

 where they raise them stingers.' It 

 was a bee farm. 



I had never seen a bee farm before. 

 It was something entirely new to me. 

 Recollecting certain eventful days in 

 my youth, I admit painful familiarity 

 with the buzzing species, but the 

 thought of hazarding one's physical 

 comfort to the extent of actually cul- 

 tivating the bee had never occurred 

 to me as a very healthy occupation. 



But, armed with the reporter's curi- 

 osity, I turned into the road and 

 drove up to the house. Finding no 

 one at home, I walked towards the 

 "bird houses" and encountered a 

 rather curious sight. It, or she, was 

 a middle-aged person, and at first 

 sight I wondered whether or not I 

 had intruded upon a bridal party, for 

 she was draped from head to foot in 

 a long, trailing veil of what appeared 

 to me to be nothing more nor less 

 than mosquito netting. The long, 

 elbow-length gloves added to the 

 "bridy" appearance. 

 "Pardon me, but — ," I began. 

 "Oh. that's all right," she broke in 

 cheerily. "Just stand back far 

 enough so they won't see you, and 



Nest of titmouse under cover of D.i(Iant hive, 

 at apiary of Ugo Lori near Florence, 

 Italy. 



you won't get bit." I looked around 

 hurriedly for "they," expecting to 

 see nothing more nor less than a pair 

 of broad-chested, long-toothed Eng- 

 lish bull dogs, or, worse yet, a playful 

 cub liear or two— but saw neither. A 

 second glance, however, prompted me 

 to take a sudden step backward, for, 

 from the nearest "bird house" there 

 arose a black cloud of the fattest, 

 buzziest, busiest bees I had ever seen. 

 And as they hovered playfully over 

 my head I looked almost plaintively 

 to the kindly-faced person for help. I 

 gazed warily once more, at the "bird 

 house," and ventured a step forward. 

 "I was just passing by, and noticing 

 the sign, thought I'd drop in and find 

 out what it was all about," I re- 

 marked. 



"Well, to begin with, she replied, 

 smilingly, "it's a bee farm— an api- 

 ary." I agreed, with a frantic swing 

 at a huge drone which hung all too 

 close to the end of my nose. "So I 

 see." 



"You might tell me, if you will," I 

 began, "what you think of this coun- 

 try as a honey producer," and I neg- 

 lected my friend the bee long enough 

 to dig up my pencil and paper. 



"Well, this particular spot here 

 used to be ideal for cultivating bees 

 and producing honey," she remarked, 

 "but I'm afraid the community is be- 

 coming too thickly populated lately 

 to permit sufficient open area for the 

 bees to work in.' 



"We have 110 hives," she remarked, 

 placing her hand rather affection- 

 ately, I thought, on one of the "bird 

 houses." And incidentally, right then 

 and there I learned the "why" of the 

 "bird houses." "During the past sev- 

 eral years we have averaged $35 to 

 $40 profit on each hive." A hasty 

 mental calculation placed the aggre- 

 gate at about $4,400. "This year, 

 however, we were forced to move 

 part of our apiary to a less thickly 

 settled district. My husband is 

 handling that end of it, and I am 

 closing the season out here at the old 

 stand. 



"I believe that the open, cut-over 

 areas are the best type of lands for 

 the profitable raising of bees," con- 

 tinued Mrs. Eskil, busily scraping 

 away on a comb which she had lifted 

 from the hive. "You will notice that 

 most of the open areas in this nor- 

 thern Michigan country are thickly 

 covered with the different types of 

 clover-alsike, June red-top and oth- 

 ers. And the clover, of course, is the 

 ideal stamping ground for the bee. 



"In our several years of operation 

 in upper Michigan, we have enjoyed 

 excellent success. With very little 

 extra help we have found time not 

 only to care for our apiary of 110 

 hives, but to do quite a bit of farming 

 as well,' and she waved a hand to- 

 wards a narrow valley just beyond 

 the house, where corn, potatoes and 

 other truck crops appeared to be 

 thriving in the best of manner. ".•Xnd 

 what's more," she remarked, empha- 

 sizing the statement with a brandish 

 of the knife she was using, "Mr. Es- 

 kil has a |)hotographic studio over 

 there at Iron Mountain, in which he 

 spends considerable time." 



