1900 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



577 



C- *-; B y ^ *- 



" PIvAGUE TAKE THAT BEE ! " 

 In another column in this issue is illustrated 

 not an uncommon occurrence of what may- 

 have happened in our younger days. When 

 the white clovers are in bloom, and the bees 

 are busily at work on them, the small boy is 

 often reminded of the fact in a very pointed 

 way. He knows just what hashappentd, and 

 generally lets every one else know. In nine 

 cases out of ten he will give free rein to his 

 noise-making apparatus in a series of boo-hoo- 

 ow-oo-ow-oo-oucn ! He never thinks of re- 

 moving the sting, but runs or hops around on 

 one leg. The foot swells, and then he begins 

 to scratch it ; and the more he scratches, the 

 mcjre it swells and the more it itches. He is 

 told not to scratch it, but he says he's "got 

 to, 'cause, 'cause, it itches." Sympathizing 

 friends will do the foot up in mud ; others 

 will dose on vinegar, saleratus water, and the 

 like ; but probably not one of them will have 

 the sense to remove the sting if it is still in 

 the wound ; and in two days, if the trouble is 

 over, he may be stung again. But go barefoot 

 he will, stings or no stings. 



The picture was executed to order by our 

 si^ecial artist, R. V. Murray, for our A B C of 

 Bee Culture. 



WINTERING BEES IN COLORADO ; OUT IN A 

 COLORADO SAND STORM. 



In our issue for July 15 I promised to tell 

 something about my experience in the sand- 

 storm in Colorado. We were at Longmont, 

 and Mr. Rauchfuss and myself, a night or two 

 after Thanksgiving, were looking up into the 

 sky. Mr. R. remarked, as he scanned the 

 horizon, " We shall probably have a sand- 

 storm to-morrow." 



" That is just what I have been wanting to 

 see," I said. 



" Well, after you have seen one, maybe you 

 will not want to see another one," he remark- 

 ed. 



" Why so ?" I asked. 



" You will find out to-morrow." 



I did not see any thing peculiar about the 

 sky. It looked remarkably clear, and I en- 

 joyed being 'Ah\& to sit out in the open air un- 

 til after 11 o'clock without feeling any dew 

 nor experiencing a chdly feeling. We were 

 both at the hotel, for we had just come from 

 a family where there was scarlet fever, and 

 we did not feel like visiting the residences of 

 bee keepers of Longmont. But Mr. J. E. 

 Lyon and Mr. Philip Large, of that place, had 

 promised to take us out to the foothills of the 

 mountains next day, and, incidentally, take 

 us round among some of the apiaries of the 

 vicinity. 



The following morning opened up bright, 

 but it was evident that some sort of storm was 

 brewing. By the time Mr. Lyon and Mr. 

 Large came after us with a buggy it seemed 



like a perfect hurricane. But nothing would 

 prevent us from taking the projected trip, and 

 accordingly we four got into the buggy. 



Clouds of sand were blowing in every di- 

 rection. Indeed, it was almost impossible to 

 see any distance ahead of us at times, for the 

 wind had picked up every thing loose in the 

 streets and in the outlying country, and ap-. 

 parently was pouring it down our necks. I 

 buttoned up my coat collar, pulled my felt 

 cap clear down over my ears so that I looked 

 like a genuine tramp ; but the Colorado sand 

 had a fashion of getting into my e} es, ears, 

 and mouth, and down my neck just the same. 

 At all events, I noticed that the other fellows 

 didn't try to keep it out, and they were wise, 

 I am thinking. I had heard much about the 

 clear atmosphere of Colorado, and had had 

 some delightful evidence of it ; but I was con- 

 vinced there was not always clear air there to 

 breathe. 



We stopped at Mr. Large's home apiary, 

 and looked at his solar wax-extractor, men- 

 tion of which I have already m (de. Then we 

 four got into the buggy for the foothills, some 

 12 or 15 miles away, but which reallv stemed 

 to be only a mile or so away. I had my cam- 

 era with me, prepared to take snap shots of 

 jack-rab its or any thing unusual or extraor- 

 dinary ; but the sand filled the air so much 

 that it was alniost impossible to see any thing, 

 much less take pictures. After we had gone 

 some six or seven miles I asked the boys 

 where they were going. 



" We are going to the fo thills, of course." 



"Well, you have been goi; g there for the 

 last hour," I said. 



My teeth were chattering, and filled with 

 sand, and so were my ears. I was chilled 

 through, and the other fellows ditto. 



" Well," said I, " have we gol to go to the 

 foothills to day ? " 



"No," they said; "we are going lor yoiir 

 benefit." 



" For my benefit ! " said I, as another show- 

 er of sand went down my back. " Suppc se 

 you turn around. I have had all of the foot- 

 hills, all of the sand storm and all of the Col- 

 orado atmosphere I want this morning ; and 

 if you fellows have had enough, I certainly 

 have." 



With that they turned right about face. I 

 thought I had been facing the wind in going 

 out, but we had no sooner turned around than 

 the wind was again in our faces, or, rather, it 

 was a perfect whirlwind of sa'id. 



On our way hack we stopped at one of the 

 out -yards of Mr. Lyon, which was all prepar- 

 ed for winter. Theextracting-house had been 

 blown over on its side. His hives were out 

 in the open, in groups of eight (-r ten, mder 

 little sheds. Nothwithstandmg the sand w-as 

 blowing about furiously in every direction, I 

 said I be ieved I would attt mpt to take a pho- 

 to. I poised the camera on two hives, and 

 took a time view — yes, two or three of them — 

 for I did not know what I could get in such a 

 storm of sand. The picture is given in anoth- 

 er column, and it is not so bad but one can 

 easily see that the atmosphere was not as 

 " clear as a crystal " that day. The hives are 



