346 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



June, 1920 



ing the little rascals around and working 

 w'ith them." There lies the object of prac- 

 tically all backlotters, pleasure and honey, 

 or else honey and pleasure. Money, which 

 is necessarily the ultimate object of the 

 commercial producer, is doubtless a prime 

 factor among only a few backlot beekeepers, 

 at first. Later, if skill or location, or a hap- 

 py combination of the two, makes a baek- 

 lotter realize what he might attain with 

 bees, he often ceases to be a simon-pure 

 backlotter, and passes quietly into that class 

 who are in the transition stage, with big 

 production as their goal. 



This contrast between the aims of the 

 sideline beekeeper and the big honey-pro- 

 ducer is what accounts for, yes and justifies, 

 the difference in their methods. The man 

 who expects to produce honey by the ton, 

 b}^ the earlot, must make every minute and 

 every motion count. He will "examine" 75 

 or 100 or more colonies in a day. The back- 

 lot beekeeper will hover over one hive for 

 half an hour or longer. He has much to 

 learn; much to enjoy in the learning. There 

 is the queen to watch as she moves across 

 the comb, the depositing of the eggs to be 

 noticed, the concentric arrangement of the 

 brood to be observed, the brushing-off of 

 pollen from the workers' legs into a cell to 

 be noted, and all the other marvels of the 

 hive to become familiar with. While doing 

 all this, he is attaining his object — enjoy- 

 ment, as the quiet, spirit-refreshing hours 

 pass over him, shot thru with sunshine and 

 birdsong and the humming of the bees. 



Or, starting out to ' ' examine ' ' his hives, 

 rather than to observe their workings, he 

 counts his combs of brood, taking each one 

 out in turn, searching painstakingly for 

 queen-cells, noticing his incoming honey, 

 slowly deciding what to do next; enlarge 

 or reduce his brood-chamber, raise .brood, 

 give supers or take supers away. While the 

 big producer has reached his conclusions, 

 perhaps, by the drawing out of a single 

 comb of brood, its size and general appear- 

 ance serving his alert and experienced mind 

 as an index to the conditions thruout the 

 hive; or he may merely raise the cover and 

 look down in without taking out a single 

 comb; or he may look only at the entrance 

 and say, "We'll give more super room 

 here." 



Yet generally he has reached his present 

 stage of quick judgment by the sideliner's 

 route. Perhaps as a boy in "his father's bee- 

 yard, he spent long busy lazy vacation days 

 watching the bees outside the hive and in, 

 and "helping Dad"; or he, too, may have 

 had bees first as a sideline, an avocation 

 that brought him so much of either interest 

 oi' success (probably both) that he has since 

 made it his real work. Great oaks, you 

 know, must have — and that without excep- 

 tion — the oft-remarked little acorn begin- 

 ning. 



All sideline beekeepers will not choose to 

 take up honey-production as a main work. 

 One will prefer to go on with just .a few 



bees humming among his flowers and trees, 

 his pets and enthusiasm; he will be a sort 

 of bee-fancier. I recall one such who wrote 

 me once of his great delight in his bees, 

 yet adding that he could not understand at 

 all how anyone would want to keep bees for 

 a living. Another may be so accurate an 

 observer, so painstaking a recorder, so good 

 a reporter, that he comes to be widely 

 known as an authority on bee behavior. 

 There are several such, well-known, who 

 have never made beekeeping a main work. 

 Yet there will always be some, and right 

 now there are undoubtedly many, who catch 

 the fever of honey production on a large 

 scale. And promptly they pass into that 

 growing class who have reached the transi- 

 tion stage. 



* * * 



A CHILD'S WONDER-SONG. 

 The world, is full of music, sweet and glad, or soft 



and low — 

 I think mj' baby sister hears it, for her eyes look 



so. 

 I know my Mother hears it, for she's trying 



all the time 

 To help me listen for it, as I listen for a rhyme. 

 And how I love a ringing rhyme ! And sometimes 



how it sings ! 

 Them how I listen thrit it for the singing heart of 



things! 



The singingest of all things is a music-throated bird 

 Like one in our old oak tree, that I've so often 



heard. 

 He wakes me in the morning when the grass is wet 



with dew, 

 With a song so full of gladness that I'm glad 



myself all thru ! 

 "Now listen! Listen! Listen!" — seems to me 



that's how he sings, 

 " I'm blowing music-bubbles and they fly away 



on wings ! " 

 Sometimes I wonder if the morning isn't singing 



too ; 

 Sometimes I stop and trv to hear — sometimes I 



think I do! 



Another song I love to hear is buzzing of the bees, 

 Humming, humming, humming in the clover and 



thei trees. 

 Packing pollen in their baskets when the plum is 



white with flower. 

 Flying round the rosy petals of the peach bloom 



by the hour. 

 I've heard their happy humming where the clover 



blossoms rock 

 And I've heard their busy buzzing in a friendly 



hollyhock. 

 Sometimes I wonder if the flowers may not be 



singing too; 

 Sometimes I stop and try to hear — sometimes I 



think I do! 



Then comes a tiny baby breeze a-whispering a song. 

 Or bands of rushing grown-up winds that shout 



so loud and long. 

 I wonder where they come from and I wonder 



where they go ; 

 I wish that / knew all the places that the winds 



must know. 

 They blow across the ocean and they blow across 



the land. 

 Singing all their wonder-songs to folks that 



understand. 

 Sometimes I wonder if the stillness might be 



singing too; 

 Sometimes I stop and try to hear — sometimes I 



think I do! 



And then I wonder up, away beyond the yellow 



light. 

 To where the sky is blue by day and O so dark by 



night. 

 I wonder if lliei silver stars may not be singing too; 

 I'm listening right now to hear — and O I think 



I do! 



