1898 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



835 



The roads were good, the wind at my back, 

 but the weather was very hot. 

 East Towasend, O. 



»«»«»«■• » ■ 



RAMBLE 155. 

 A Bee-keepers' Paradise. 



BV RAMBLER. 



When Pizarro landed upon the Isthmus of 

 Darien he faced a turbulent band of followers; 

 and ill order to pacify them he drew a line 

 upon the sand with his sword, and said, " On 

 this side is Panama and beggary; on this, Peru 

 and gold; which will you choose?" Every 

 one chose Peru and gold. 



Judge Levering, lest February, acted as my 

 Pizarro; and, drawing a line upon the streets 

 of Los Angeles with his cane, he said, as he 

 pointed north, " This way leads to the alfalfa- 

 fields of the northern portion of the State, and 

 to honey and prosperity ; this," pointing 

 south, "leads to the starvation of bees and 

 to the poverty of the bee-keeper." 



Figuratively speaking I was in the condi- 

 tion of the Blasted Hopes bee-keeper so often 

 illustrated in Gleanings, and was glad for 

 this ray of encouragement. My friend added 

 several more rays of hope and encouragement 

 by inviting me to go north and aid him in the 

 care of 265 colonies of bees that belonged to 

 the estate of his brother, recently deceased, 

 and of which he was the administrator. 



Mr. Levering left for the scene of operations 

 early in March. It did not take many min- 

 utes to decide to follow him ; and my first du- 

 ty thereafter was to put my own bees in con- 



dition to withstand the hardships of a dry 

 season. They had ample stores to last them 

 for many months, and to enable them to hus- 

 band said stores I ordered Tinker zinc from 

 The A. I. Root Co., and constructed enough 

 queen-excluding honey-boards for all of the 

 colonies. I made the wood-zinc board, for 

 they are infinitely better, and more durable 

 than a plain zinc, for the}' do not get out of 

 shape and into innumerable twists. 



I knew that my bees would be so enterpris- 

 ing as to rear a large amount of brood upon 

 the stores already in the hives; in fact, they 

 were already at it, and had a good amount of 

 brood in the latter part of March, and hives 

 well filled with bees. As fast as the honey- 

 boards were prepared I confined the queens to 

 one shallow story of the Heddon hive; and, 

 with plenty of honey and a restricted brood- 

 nest, I felt it safe to leave the bees alone for 

 several months in Durfee Canyon. 



Early in April I received a letter from Mr. 

 Levering, wherein he gave a glowing descrip- 

 tion of the country, and he closed his letter 

 with the following refreshing sentence: " It 

 is now raining; let her rip." It had been so 

 long since I had seen even the indications of 

 rain that I was in haste to get to the north. 



Although in a hurry to get north I thought 

 it best to drop all thoughts of bee culture, and 

 spend one day with an old friend and fellow- 

 townsman, one of my old schoolmates — yes, 

 two of them, for his wife was a fellow-towns- 

 girl too, and we all went to school together. 

 It had been nearly twenty j'ears since I had 

 last met Theodore Reynolds and his wife Jane; 

 and, learning that they lived in Dos Palos, a 

 town directly on my route, it would take a 

 hard-hearted person indeed to pass them by, 

 and I dropped off the train a little past mid- 

 night on April (Uh. Dos Palos is on the West 

 Side S. P. R. R., in Merced Co., and about 

 lialf way between Los Angeles and San Fran- 

 cisco, or 150 miles from the latter, and in the 

 great San Joaquin Vaiiey. In passing from 

 the depot to the only hotel, the moonlight 

 view of the town was not flattering. There 

 were but few houses, the country looked dry 

 and poor, and I mentally pitied friend Theo- 

 dore for living in such a place. When I en- 

 tered the hotel the only live occupant was a 

 kerosene-lamp. It flickered a sort of welcome 

 as I closed the door, and, finding nothing else 

 to amuse myself with, I rapped on the table. 



"Hello! who's there?" came in a dream- 

 land voice from an inner room. 



" It's myself," said I, " and I want a bed." 



" Have you matches? " said the dreamland 

 voice. 



" I have," said I. 



"Then," said the voice, "take yourself up 

 stairs, find room No. 12, and go to bed." 



" Shall I register on the table here ? " said I. 



" Register be h-a-n-g-e-d ! " and my invisi- 

 ble voice had drifted back to dreamland. 



My morning impressions of Dos Palos were 

 not so favorable as the moonlight impression, 

 and again I had a pitying feeling for my old 

 neighbor and friend.' After the hotel man 

 had finished dealing out drinks at the bar 

 (not to the Rambler, mind you) I inquired 



