1907 



rTLEANINGS IN^BEE CULTURE. 



263 



FLORIDA "FLYING-MACHINES." 



If anj^body should ask you what A. I. Root 

 is doing this wintex- you can tell him he is 

 down on an island oft the west coast of Flori- 

 da, manufacturing ftying-machines. No, 

 that isn't quite right — not "manufacturing" 

 but creating. But that is not right either, 

 for it is not he that "creates," but "God," 

 who "in the beginning created the heavens 

 and the earth." A. 1. Root has gra(-iously 

 been permitted to ]}& present and to witness 

 the "creating," and perhaps to help some 

 by running errands, and, to a certain extent, 

 in a humble way. assist in the creating. Yes, 

 and we have the "tlying machines" that not 

 only^/f^ but they are the most beautiful and 

 wondrously wrought conceptions of the in- 

 finite mind that pen, poet, or painter could 

 well conceive. 



Years ago I won the gratitude and afi"ec- 

 tion (I think this last is true) of a little 

 Brown Leghorn hen by saving her life when 

 our teamster was going to "wring her neck " 

 because she persisted in roosting on the back 

 of one of the horses. I gave her a decent 

 roosting-place in cool weather, and she show- 

 ed her gratitude by giving me eggs and 

 chickens until I said to Mrs. Root: 



"Sue, I shovild like no better fun than to 

 see that little hen cover a farm with her 

 chickens and their posterity." 



i have many times since looked back and 

 thought I could afford to give a year or more 

 of my life just to enjoy the fun of seeing how 

 large a family one good hen (with a suitable 

 companion) could evolve in, say, a year or 

 a year and a half. 



I have already told you that Mr. Shumard, 

 by my direction, purchased tive White Leg- 

 horn pullets. Well, these five were descend- 

 ants of a little White Leghorn hen that (like 

 the one I have mentioned) had a mania for 

 laying eggs and hatching chickens, winter 

 and summer, year after year. I said White 

 Leghorn; but the mother had also a dash of 

 game blood in her veins, and this helped, 

 probably, to make her such a devoted and 

 fearless mother in caring for her chickens. 

 Mr. S. brought the tive pullets home,* but 

 they were so wild that, when let loose, in- 

 stead of going with his regular flock all five 

 decamped for the woods and had been thei'e 

 alone perhaps a week or ten days when I 

 reached the island. As they had neither 

 food nor water (except salt water) he thought 

 they would eventually come up with the 



*He tried to buy the mother, but they would not 

 sell her at any price, and consented to sell these pul- 

 lets only because they could not be kept from getting 

 out ol the yard. 



other poultry. Not so, however. When I 

 first saw them they hid like wild birds. I 

 took to them at once. Thei'e was something 

 aristocratic and high-bred in the way they 

 carried their heads high up in the air, with 

 their tail feathers standing almost horizon- 

 tally straight back. As they are pure white 

 this peculiarity of carriage is about the only 

 thing that indicates their game ancestry. 

 When caught they were so exceedingly wild 

 It was for some days a hard matter to make 

 friends with them at all. They are in a cir- 

 cular yard about 50 feet across; but for a long 

 time they would skulk out of sight amid the 

 clumps of cedar whenever I came in sight. 

 Little by little I have gained the confidence 

 of these high-toned wild birds, and, with the 

 help of plenty of good food and water, they 

 soon began to flesh up and get handsomer 

 every day. The fii'st egg one of them laid 

 was taken "straightway" to the incubator, 

 and now it is a handsome white chick ten 

 days old. A full-blood choice Leghorn roost- 

 er was given them, so you see I am going to 

 have a family of respectable ancestry — that 

 is, according to my notion. 



I like to hear a boy's voice just when it is 

 changing, indicating he is turning from boy- 

 hood to manhood. While I think of it (?) I 

 also like to listen to the musical voices (and 

 laughter) of young girls that are just turning 

 from girlhood to womanhood; but I do not 

 know that I ever enjoyed any thing much 

 more than the notes of one of my wild pul- 

 lets when she did her first cackling over her 

 first egg. Her poise as she stood on one leg 

 was grace and beauty, and the high key and 

 flute-like note oi her childish cackle thrilled 

 me through and through.* But, "what has 

 all this to do with flying-machines ?" do you 

 ask ? Patience, please. It is just ahead of us. 



Stoddard, in his book, "The Egg-farm," 

 lays great stress on the importance of exer- 

 cise — exercise r.lmost from the day the chick- 

 en is hatched. My oldest ones are now a 

 little over two weeks, and they go chasing 

 about outside the yard from the time they 

 can see in the morning until it is dark at 

 night. They are about ten days older than 

 the white one from the pullet's first egg; yet 

 this one, when he was 48 hours old, followed 

 the hen with her 27 older ones. I tried to 

 keep him in a little longer; but he caught 

 sight of the rest, and would go. These chii-k- 

 ens are almost constantly on the jump. 

 When hungry they "leg it" back to where 

 they know the wheat is kept for them (and 

 for them only), and then they are off in the 

 woods again. The hen pretends to be moth- 

 er to them all, but I am quite sure those two 

 weeks old would do quite as well without a 

 mother, 07i this island. Now, it is not only 

 the legs that need exercise, but it is the wings 

 also. All our fowls on the island roost in 

 the trees. While on a visit last fall to Dry 



* To-day. Jan. 22, for the first time I got five eggs 

 from the live pullets. I had been having four for sev- 

 eral days. I planned to have my five hens keep the 

 incubator running continuously, but this is going to 

 overload it. 



Za^#/'.— Yesterday, only three eggs; but to-day, 24th, 

 five eggs again, 



