1900 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



651 



they did last summer, I say, 'This is much as it 

 is in California in summer, without the dust ;' 

 and when in June the earth is green and the 

 mountains are in their beauty, and the air vo- 

 cal with birds' songs and humming bees, this 

 is New England. And then we have our In- 

 dian summers and all the variations, with an 

 occasional small earthquake that will fit al- 

 most any corner of the earth. But climates 

 that are faultless are not plentiful, and I some- 

 times think we shall have to wait till we get 

 into the next world before we find one that is 

 perfect. ' ' 



' 'Some of us may find it too hot for us there, ' ' 

 said Tim Fasset, who was just going by with 

 his new dog he bought for twenty-five dollars 

 — half spaniel and half hound — good for foxep 

 and coons and rabbits and squirrels ; and they 

 say they think it would follow a deer if the 

 law would allow. I noticed the deacon tried 

 to look serious when I spoke of the next 

 world, but could not help being amused at 

 Tim's droll way of looking at things. 



" Well, it is not altogether a matter of cli- 

 mate with me," said Atkins ; "but I thought 

 if I was going to make a business of bee-keep- 

 ing I might as well begin where there are plen- 

 ty of flowers and lots of honey." 



So we all began to discuss locations, as bee- 

 keepers will. Of course, Charley Atkins 

 thought Cuba the bee-keeper's paradise. But 

 I told him of the long- continued heat and the 

 worse dampness ; the insects, the lack of good 

 society, etc. 



" Well," said Charley, " I think I can stand 

 the heat, and I guess there aren't any insects 

 much worse than the bees themselves ; and as 

 for society, my wife is as good society as I 

 want." 



" Good ! " said Deacon Strong. "I like to 

 see a man stand by and appreciate his wife ; 

 but did you ever think your wife may not be 

 able to remain there long? I have known a 

 good many families to go no further south 

 than Florida, and it would not be many years 

 before their wives or daughters, or both or all, 

 would be coming north to visit ; and they 

 would visit all their brothers and sisters and 

 uncles and aunts, staying at each place a good 

 long while. They seemed to have learned the 

 art of sitting to perfection, and looked so con- 

 tented like when sitting, as though they had 

 kind o' grown to the chair. And pretty soon 

 the head of the family would come too. His 

 skin was several shades darker than when he 

 went south. He usually goes into ecstas)' over 

 our invigorating climate, and thinks he had 

 better stay. And as for insects, I met a bee- 

 keeper from Florida a few years ago, a regular 

 cracker, as northern folks call them, and I 

 asked him what kind of place it was in Flori- 

 da for bee-keeping. ' Well,' said he, 'it is a 

 perty good place over on the Indian River, 

 where there are plenty of orange groves and 

 mangrove. The mangrove gives lots of hon- 

 ey, and of perty good quality, when the frost 

 doesn't kill it ; ' but then he thought of some 

 of the vexations even in that favored locality, 

 and added, ' But there is one trouble in keep- 

 ing bees in Florida, when you handle your 

 bees you have to wear a bee-veil to keep off 



the misquitoes. ' So you see there are troubles, 

 even in that land of flowers." 



" There is another thing ; we must not for- 

 get about locations," said I. " If there is a 

 big yield in any section of country we hear of 

 it and are apt to think that the best place in 

 the world. One year Mr. Manum, of Bristol, 

 Vt., had an enormous yield of honey; yet now, 

 owing to cutting down the basswood, and oth- 

 er causes, the yield of honey is scarcely large 

 enough to make bee-keeping pay, and he is 

 turning his attention to fruit and garden truck. 

 A place may be very good one year and very 

 poor the next. They seem to get pretty good 

 crops in the buckwheat sections of New York, 

 but sometimes the buckwheat fails to yield 

 honey, and it almost always sells for less than 

 white honey. I have always thought the cen- 

 tral parts of Vermont were very poor for hon- 

 ey ; yet Mr. M. F. Cram, secretary of the 

 Vermont Bee-keepers' Association, had last 

 year, I believe, the largest crop of honey of 

 any person in Vermont, and perhaps in New 

 England, and he had a fine crop the year be- 

 fore. He lives in a queer place to think of 

 making bees pay. I made him a visit last 

 summer, and found to my surprise he lived 

 near the top of a great hill. After walking 

 up what is known as Cram Hill until I per- 

 spired profusely, and was not a little weary, I 

 found his place. I am afraid I wasn't very 

 polite ; for, almost as soon as I found him, I 

 accused him of being pretty well stuck up. 

 He said he didn't think he was, as he was only 

 2000 feet above sea-level, which he considered 

 very moderate. Here he makes it pay in pro- 

 ducing choice honey that he sells for prices 

 that might please any bee-keeper at the pres- 

 ent time. 



" Then there is California; but they have 

 drouths, or dry years, and many of the bee- 

 keepers have to leave their families and bach 

 it, as Rambler does ; and while some years 

 they get large crops it doesn't sell as high as 

 our honey right near the markets — at least 

 doesn't net them so much. In Colorado they 

 are already overstocked with bees, and so it 

 goes." 



"I guess," said Deacon Strong, "finding a 

 good place to begin bee-keeping is a good deal 

 like finding a good place to begin to be a 

 Christian. Some folks seem to think it would 

 not be difficult if they were only living among 

 strangers, or were out west, or following some 

 other occupation ; but I believe there is no 

 better place than right where you are. Most 

 of our successful bee-keepers began right 

 where they were, and have made the business 

 pay." 



"Johnnie, what is the matter now?" said 

 Tim Fasset to his boy who was going by on 

 his way home from school, sobbing as though 

 his heart would break. 



"Oh!" said the little fellow, "I didn't have 

 any luck at spelling to-day. The teacher put 

 out slozv lo John Gilpin, and he spelled it 

 s-l-o-w. And then she put out mozv to Dick 

 Carey, and he spelled it ni-o-w. And then she 

 put out dough to me, and I spelled it d-o-w, 

 and the teacher said it wa'n't right — said it 

 was spelled d-o-ii-g-h. I don't see why." 



