284 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



May, 1921 



c 



HAPPY HOURS IN CALIFORNIA 



CONSTANCE ROOTrBOYDEN 



(Stancy Puerden) 



SINCE we re- 

 turned home 

 some n e 

 a s k e d m e, 

 "Well, do you 

 like Californi;i 

 just as well as 

 ever?" Indeed 

 we do, "we" 

 meaning not the 



editorial pronoun, but including the gentle- 

 man who shared the responsibility of count- 

 ing bags, wraps, and umbrella when we left 

 the train at our various stops. We love the 

 Golden State in spite of the fact that, dur- 

 ing our too brief stay within it, many foggy 

 days veiled the mountain scenery, and some 

 rainy days prevented interesting motor 

 trips. I love it in spite of a bloodthirsty 

 Hea who inflicted an amount of anguish 

 upon me all out of proportion to his size. 

 (For all I know to the contrary, that flea 

 is still alive, doing his best, or worst, to 

 prevent the tenderfoot tourist from believ- 

 ing California is Paradise, for he was kick- 

 ing strongly when he rode the whirlpool 

 down the bathtub drain, where I consigned 

 him after vainly trying to crush him with 

 the heel of my shoe as a hammer. If the 

 cat has nine lives, the California flea has a 

 hundred.) 



Perhaps if I should try to sum up the 

 things which make me love California so 

 much, it would be in the order named: the 

 mountains, the climate, the perfect high- 

 ways, and the flowers and fruit. By moun- 

 tains I mean not only the great, snow- 

 capped peaks, but also the foothills, can- 

 yons, and valleys with such wonderful scen- 

 ery as the Yosemite, which I have not yet 

 seen; and, instead of climate, perlmps the 

 word should be climates; for, because of 

 the hills and mountains and the contour of 

 the ocean with its bays, there is often a 

 fascinating variation of climate within a 

 radius of two or three miles. 



SATURDAY afternoon, after the lunch- 

 eon, given by the Alameda Beekeep- 

 ers' Association to the visiting bee- 

 keepers at the Hotel Oakland, we were in- 

 vited by friends to accompany them to their 

 home in Mill Valley, a commonplace naine 

 for what has seemed a veritable bit of 

 fairyland to me ever since we had a glimpse 

 of it on our way to the summit of Mt. Ta- 

 malpais a year ago. To reach Mill Valley 

 we had to take a miniature sea voyage on 

 the ferry from Oakland to San Francisco 

 and another from San Francisco to Sausa- 

 lito. Those ferries on San Francisco Bay 

 leave with such clock-like regularity, they 

 are so clean and pleasant, the view so de- 

 lightful, and the bit of salt bi-eeze so in- 

 vigorating that the commuting business 

 man does not pity himself at all. I have 

 been told by friends who have used the 

 ferry daily for inany years that they never 

 tire of it, and that the fresh air does much 

 to keep them well. From Sausalito to Mill 



1 



Valley is only a 

 few minutes ' 

 trolley ride, and 

 the car is al- 

 ways waiting at 

 the ferry. 



I must con- 

 fess that I do 

 not know the 

 distinction be- 

 tween a valley and a canyon, nor can I 

 find any help in the dictionary. Mr. 

 Boyden tried to make me believe that 

 the sides of a canyon are perpendicular or 

 more nearly so than those of a valley; but 

 we have visited many so-called canyons with 

 sides no steeper than those of Mill Valley. 

 My own idea of a canyon is a deep, narrow 

 valley, and with that in mind I should de- 

 scribe Mill Valley as a great, curving, 

 branching canyon with steej), beautifully 

 wooded slopes which rise to a great height 

 on either side, with attractive residences 

 scattered on the steep hillsides and almost 

 hidden by the trees and foliage, and with 

 occasional glimpses of the elusive peak of 

 Tamalpais peeping above the nearer hills. 

 The peak is elusive because it has a way of 

 swathing its neck and shoulders in a chiffon 

 scarf of clouds and mists, hiding the sun- 

 shiny peak from those in the valley below; 

 but the peak itself is nearly always in the 

 sunshine. 



Our friends have a beautiful home on the 

 steep hillside perhaps 20 minutes ' walk 

 from the trolley station. The feminine half 

 of the party took a taxi which climbed a 

 road leading up the side of the hill, while 

 the masculine half walked by a lower road. 

 Had I realized the distance was no greater 

 than it was, I too should have walked, for 

 every bit of that valley is fascinating and 

 unusual to Ohio eyes. As we stopped my 

 friend remarked, "We came the back way 

 to avoid the climb to the house from the 

 road* in front." The narrow mountain road 

 on which we stood is perhaps about the 

 height of the second story of the house, 

 which is near the back of the lot, and we 

 had to go down the hill a little way to 

 reach the kitchen door. The kitchen seemed 

 almost on a basement level, as the hill rises 

 so steeply behind it; but, on going thru to 

 the dining room and looking out of the wide 

 window, the ground was so far below that 

 it seemed like a second-story room, as in- 

 deed it is, for there is a high basement 

 room below. Now, our lawn in Ohio is so 

 level that there is no slope at all from the 

 basement wall to the street. Perhaps that 

 is one reason why that steep yard in Mill 

 Valley seemed so picturesque to my eyes. 

 It is certain that our friends do not have 

 the problem of keeping a lawn mower oiled 

 and sharp, for their whole lot is tilted at 

 such an angle that one has to climb it from 

 the street in front by a zigzag path inter- 

 spersed by flights of steps. I believe Mr. 

 Boyden said he counted 50 steps arranged 

 in groups alternating with the aforesaid 



