718 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



NOVEMBKE, 1922 



the rest of the crowd had moved on in the 

 direction of — the fat man was next, I be- 

 lieve — he regarded us a moment with inter- 

 est, then began, there's a woman in Nash- 

 ville — and hesitated. Who? — what about 

 her? the Man-of-the-Party helped out. Then 

 the live-bee-man said three things, one after 

 the other: first, my name; then, You? — in a 

 swift interrogation; and then, I'm coming 

 right around there. And I'm coming right 

 around there! I answered, and we met by 

 the door. It was like meeting an old friend. 

 Indeed, it was that, really. Gleanings doth 

 make friends of us all. 



I was just writing my wife, he said, wav- 

 ing towards the writing materials set aside 

 when his act was called — and telling her I 

 had found your exhibit this morning but 

 couldn't find you, and guessed I wouldn't 

 see you. 



I said we hadn't known of the show more 

 than half an hour. And he said he hadn't 

 been there till Wednesday, having been in 

 Coney Island. That was the beginning. We 

 talked on and on. How strange it seemed, 

 thus being chummy with one of the per- 

 formers in a sideshow. But we were all 

 bee lovers, and therefore friends. Of course, 

 Mr. Woods had met E. R. Root — unhappy 

 the beekeeper who has not! He told us 

 about it — it was while he was with Ringling 

 Brothers — Mr. Wood, I mean, not Mr. Eoot! 

 I iTivited him to eat dinner with me under 

 the tent, but he had to join some friends, he 

 reminisced regretfully. He took us around 

 behind, opened a flap at the back and show- 

 ed us his other small hive sitting on top of 

 one of the big carnival wagons, the bees fly- 

 ing in and out. By using them alternately, 

 he keeps them in good condition. 



Of course I asked his story, and he gave 

 me pictures. But the story begins away 

 back when he was seven or eight years old. 

 His father, following the olden custom, had 

 sulphured his bees to get the honey. The 

 boy actually cried. When I get big, he de- 

 clared, I aint goin' to kill the bees to get 

 the honey. 



It was only two or three years later that 

 a catalog came to his father showing hives 

 with movable frames. P-omptly his father 

 bought one for the boy; and he has been 

 interested in bees ever since. 



His start in the exhibition business was 

 made about 20 years ago, and happened 

 this way. He had 28 or 30 colonies to trans- 

 fer from old-style hives to new ones. Ex- 

 cessive robbing was making it a mean job. 

 8o he built a wire cage and did the trans- 

 ferring within. Then it became easy, be- 

 came pleasant. He began playing with the 

 bees, doing certain stunts and little tricks 

 again and asrain. He was delighted with the 

 ease of it all. 



I'm going to do this at the County Fair, 

 he told his wife exultantly, it'll make 

 folks open their eyes. He went to the see 

 the secretary of the Fair. Yes indeed, said 

 that gentleman, come on. He went on and 

 met with great success. 



One day, there at the little county fair in 

 Pennsylvania, a showman saw him perform, 

 and later hunted him up. I have a string 

 of 20 or 30 fairSj he told him; let me take 

 you on. It's a matter of money, answered 

 Mr. Wood, wisely. I've got it, said the 

 showman. I'll bring my wife tomorrow, 

 said Mr. Wood, wisely, again. They met, 

 they agreed; he started out and is still go- 

 ing. That was more than 20 years ago. 

 Since that talk with the showman back at 

 the Monroe County Fair, he has been all 

 over these United States and into Canada 

 and Mexico. He has shown in Madison 

 Square, New York. Is there anything more 

 to aspire to in the showing line? He hopes 

 his son will continue with the work when 

 he is through. He would rather give his 

 talks and exhibitions before schools and Y. 

 M. C. A.'s, but, as he told the showman years 

 ago, it's a question of money. Perhaps, he 

 says, when the little home is paid for and 

 the children all grown and educated, he will 

 stop going around with shows; there's mon- 

 ey in it, but he wants to get home, settle 

 down by his own vine and fig tree and bee- 

 yard, and enjoy life, back in Pennsylvania. 

 Or he might go to lower Louisiana and build 

 a houseboat, and float his bees up and 

 down the Mississippi. What dreamers we 

 all are! 



Now, ladies and gentlemen. Dr. Wood, the 

 famous King of Bees, will give you — They 

 had gone the rounds again and it was his 

 turn once more! Once more we listened and 

 watched. Once more he joined us outside. 

 I can't give anywhere near all my show, he 

 complained, they give me so little time. But 

 I'm glad I haven't sealed the letter to my 

 wife. I'm going to tell her about seeing 

 you. And we parted. 



Are we not all alike, we beekeepers? — 

 lovers of bees, friends of all other beekeep- 

 ers, and sharing everything with our wives 

 — or, some of us, with our husbands. 



November Memories. 



Softly down the dim west end 



of one November day 

 Came a lonely birdnote floating 



through the silent gray — 

 Across the fields the calling children 



sounded far away. 



Bees, no longer questing forth, 



rested in the hive. 

 Rested? Ah, the loyalties 



that keep their dreams alive! 

 On I wandered, wondering — 



may all dreams survive? 



(Aye. so they be questing dreams, 



rapturous and fair! 

 Aye, so they be beauty-fed, 



fanned by wings that care! 

 Aye, so wings beat loyally 



through dark hours or fair!) 



No one saw the night come: 



something grew more deep — 



Day was diisk and dusk was dark 

 and dark pxit e.nrth to sleep. 



But T, who walked the roads alone, 

 have memories to keep. 



