852 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Nov. 1. 



on down, so I kept right on without slacking 

 up very much. I got around the house all 

 right, but the path took me down into the gar- 

 den, and before I knew it I had to dip down 

 my head to get under one of the loveliest 

 plum-trees that was ever seen by mortal man 

 or woman ; and there zvas a man and a woman 

 on the scene pretty quick. Let me first ex- 

 plain that the plum-tree was one of the na- 

 tive plums found in the Traverse region. It 

 had, however, been under cultivation, and 

 was loaded almost to breaking with the most 

 beautiful fruit that ever tantalized even Adam 

 and Eve. This last observation I do not give 

 on authority — it is only my own personal 

 opinion. The plums were covered with a 

 beautiful bloom, and there was a shading be- 

 tween scarlet, crimson, and rose color that I 

 never saw equaled on any cultivated fruit. 

 I found that, mounted on my wheel, I could 

 not get under the tree without knocking off 

 the fruit ; so I got off hurriedly, and had just 

 got one plum in my mouth — you see, I want- 

 ed to learn whether they tasted as well as they 

 looked, and I could not wait to go up to the 

 house and get permission. 



At this crisis a woman appeared in the shape 

 of a good-sized German lady who could not 

 speak English, and I could not speak German. 

 I guessed from her gesticulations, however, 

 that she wanted to know what I was doing by 

 flying into their garden in that way, and rush- 

 ing not only toward, but right into her plum- 

 tree. I made her understand that I wanted to 

 get down to the station, which could be seen 

 at the bottom of the hill. She made haste to 

 tell me I had got into the wrong path. I gave 

 a hasty and a reluctant look at that plum tree, 

 and then fearing I might miss the train, and 

 also that I might be arrested for burglary, I 

 slowly followed her to a part of the dooryard 

 where she pointed out the path that led down 

 to the station. I thanked her, and told her I 

 was sorry to make her so much trouble. At 

 this she managed to smile a little and say that 

 it was not any trouble at all, and disappeared. 

 Just then I discovered that that plum was 

 more exquisitely delicious than any other 

 since the time of Adam and Eve. This, again, 

 is my opinion, you know. I wanted to make 

 some excuse for going back and asking for 

 just a few plums from that heavily laden tree. 

 If the good woman could only have spoken 

 English I might have persuaded her that some 

 of them ought to be removed. They were 

 weighing too heavily on the branches, and, 

 besides, they were crowding each other. But 

 I feared the train might come in sight at any 

 moment, and so I got on my wheel and plung- 

 ed down the hill. When I got home I tried 

 to convince friend Hilbert that there was not 

 another such plum-tree on the face of the 

 earth ; but I could not get his enthusiasm up 

 to a point where he would promise to go and 

 see It ; and every time I have thought of it I 

 have felt badly because I did not get half a 

 dozen or more plums instead of onlj' one when 

 there was such an azu/ul lot. "When I get up 

 on my new farm I am going to have some 

 grafts from that very tree — see if I don't. 



When I reached the station I was disgusted 



to find I had more than an hour to wait ; so I 

 wheeled over to the steamboat-landing at the 

 head of Carp Lake, and got aboard the boat 

 to rest a little after my tussle with the sand 

 hills ; for, to tell the truth, I was dripping 

 wet clear through my heavy winter underwear 

 and outer cotton shirt. When I began to be 

 chilly, the engine room on the boat was just 

 the nicest place in the world to dry me up and . 

 keep me from taking cold. Before I reached 

 the station at Bingham I had taken such a 

 fancy to the boat, to the captain, engineer, 

 and fireman, that I telephoned at the landing 

 to my friends, and kept right on. They told 

 me that about dusk we would pass Fountain 

 Point, where there is an artesian well 900 feet 

 deep, that throws a stream from a six-inch 

 pipe 15 or 20 feet high. Sure enough, we 

 caught a glimpse of the, white spray of the 

 fountain when we were fully a mile away. 

 Just a little way beyond the fountain. Carp 

 Lake narrows down between two banks so 

 that a wagon-road bridge is thrown across 

 overhead. After getting through this narrow 

 passage we reached Leland, the county seat 

 of Leelanaw Co., a little after dark. I told 

 the captain I wanted to take a wheelride ovtr 

 to Fountain Point very early in the morning. 

 As there were no guests at the hotel there at 

 that time of year, they were not in the habit 

 of stopping ; but he very kindly promised to 

 stop for me. 



During the night we had a terrific thunder- 

 storm, with torrents of rain. Notwithstand- 

 ing, that beautiful sandy soil in the Traverse 

 region dries up so quickly that I had a mag- 

 nificent wheelride next morning around the 

 border of the lake. In due time I crossed the 

 bridge where our steamer passed under the 

 night before, and reached Fountain Point so I 

 had half an hour to view it before the steamer 

 picked me up. This wonderful artesian well 

 was the result of drilling for oil something 

 like thirty years ago. The water has a slight- 

 ly sulphurous taste, like most artesian wells 

 from great depths. Of course, it is called a 

 medical spring, and the hotel was built as a 

 sort of sanitarium. It will accommodate lOO 

 guests, so I was told. The stream of water 

 would furnish power for lighting the whole 

 establishment by electricity, and perhaps do 

 cooking besides ; but the proprietors have 

 never seen fit to invest in the necessary ma- 

 chinery ; therefore the water has been spout- 

 ing up without interruption for thirty years 

 past, sending a big stream day and night, sum- 

 mer and winter, out into Carp Lake. Where 

 does it come from ? Nobody can tell, but I 

 would suggest that it is the rain water that 

 falls on those sandy hills 700 feet high. It 

 probably is caught in some reservoir of im- 

 pervious clay, and that 900 foot well happened 

 to top the reservoir. 



The steamer on the little lake is very ac- 

 commodating, and it was not only a pleasant 

 but a cheap way to travel. The captain ran 

 his boat up to the wharf at Fountain Point 

 for just one passenger, and that passenger 

 paid him only 20 cents for his passage to the 

 wharf at Bingham. Just think of it — a steam- 

 boat ride on a beautiful lake, every day if you 



