GLEANIJSIGS IN BEE CULTURE 



FROM THE FIELD OF EXPERIENCE 



May, 1917 



ripened honey, taken off after the harvest is 

 over, near the ceiling of a warm room for 

 several hours, it can be extracted as easily 

 as when first sealed, and a quality procured 

 not obtainable in any other way. 



Borodino, N. Y. G. M. Doolittle. 



Letters from a Beekeeper's Wife 



In the Garden, May 1, 1917. 

 Dear Sis: 



The bees are flying every day now, I can 

 see them dart past me on their way to the 

 apple orchard, which is all pink and fluffy 

 with blossoms. I never feel that the world 

 is real this month — it seems like a dream 

 world or Fairyland. There's such a light- 

 ness and buoyancy to trees in their new 

 green, and the fruit trees on every hand 

 are just huge, soft pinky bubbles that 

 would disappear at the slightest touch. I 

 wonder if the bees are as deliriously happy 

 as they look when they come flying out of 

 their dark hives after the long winter. 

 How wonderful the world would be to us 

 each spring if we had been indoors for five 

 months and our memories were not long 

 enough to hold over remembrances from the 

 year before ! 



Rob is taking the packing away from 

 the hives and is delighted to find his colo- 

 nies in splendid condition — strong and 

 vigorous. It certainly paid to give them 

 plenty of winter stores and lots of i^acking. 

 The only colonies in the home yard that 

 suffered at all are the few that were at the 

 end of the yard beyond the wind-break of 

 evergreens. They are weak and two are 

 dead. The colonies at that end used up a 

 far larger amount of honey than the others. 

 Of eoui-se it took more energy to keep them 

 warm, and the honey stores had to supply 

 the energy. 



Mr. Hood brought an old beekeeper over 

 here yesterday to see Rob. He is from 

 way back in the mountains and this is his 

 first trip from home. His wonder and de- 

 light over Rob's beekeeping appliances was 

 pathetic. He keeps his bees in box hives ! 

 But the most curious thing about him was 

 liis big bundle -of superstitions. Rob asked 

 him how many colonies he kept, and he re- 

 jilied, " I don't count my bees — it's bad 

 luck." Then he went on to say that last 

 year be lost a good many colonies, that 

 his little boy had died, while he himself was 

 quite ill, and his wife was so worriecl and 

 grieved that she neglected to go out and Inp 



each hive and tell the bees of the boy's 

 death. Of course it was only to be expect- 

 ed that the bees would die after such an 

 omission! Think of really believing such 

 things! I would like to venture that those 

 colonies died of foulbrood. 



It seemed as if some superstition cropped 

 up every minute during the conversation. 

 Rob asked him how much he sold his colo- 

 nies for, and he said that down his way 

 they never sold bees. Then be went on to 

 tell how they manage a money transaclion 

 over bees. A prospective buyer will talk 

 with a beekeeper about the value of hives 

 of bees in a general way, casually inquiring 

 what the beekeeper thinks his bees are 

 worth and whether he would be willing to 

 part with any. If the price suits him, he 

 takes a team the next dark night and carries 

 off as many colonies as he wants, leaving 

 the money for them on an adjacent box. As 

 soon as he has gone, the beekeeper, who in 

 all probability has been on the lookout, 

 goes out and finds the money, and every one 

 is satisfied. Oh, yes! the money must be in 

 gold coin — nothing else will do if bad luck 

 is to be averted ! 



We sliouted over these things when Rob 

 told us, but there's a pathetic side too. 

 Think of being bound by beliefs of past 

 and out-grown centuries. I'm glad we are 

 living in this good, free, and enlightened 

 twentieth century. We all scoffed at super- 

 stition, but I made mental note that Rob 

 has a horseshoe over the honey-house door 

 and I can't keep from picking up a pin so 

 that I'll have good luck all day ! Don't tell 

 any one that there is still a remnant of the 

 fifteenth century in us ! 



After our mountain fi'iend had gone yes- 

 terday I was cleaning the bookcases, and as 

 usual could not resist dipping into a book 

 now and then. I can see you shake your 

 head over that girlhood trick of mine. I am 

 afraid I am too old to be cured of it now ! 

 Among the books I found one on bees 

 written by one Moses Rusden, " an Apothe- 

 cary, Bee-Mafter to the King's moft ex- 

 cellent Majefty " in 1679. In his preface 

 he talks about " many falfe proverbial fay- 

 ings " relating to bees; viz.: " Tliat Bees 

 are lucky to fome perfons, and will thrive 

 with them; but unlucky to otliers and will 

 not thrive with them. That they muft be 

 bought with Gold, or Corne, or elfe muft be 

 given, or found; otlierwife (forfooth) they 

 can by no means be fuppofed to thrive. 

 And that they are unlucky to be carried 

 by water, and must be removed Couthward, 



