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AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL. 



of its diminutive blooms is a microscopic 

 laboratory for evolving and perfecting 

 nectar. 



Among the congregated redwoods up 

 the savage defiles of northern Sonoma 

 and Mendocino, and higher still in the 

 remotest trenches of giant peaks that 

 skirt the sea surge, the rose-bay, or rho- 

 dodendron maximum, spreads a regal 

 panoply of blossoms over moss-patched 

 rocks and shadowed dingles of mount- 

 ain streams. These rosy, wide-mouthed 

 bells, spiced with a nameless fragrance, 

 hold in their freckled throats a poisonous 

 sweet that bees will sometimes gather. 



An old bee-hunter in these heights 

 observed that his bees waited . longer 

 than was tlieir custom before capphig 

 combs filled from this handsomest of 

 California's laurels. By this he inferred 

 that the wise little chemists intended the 

 dangerous essence to evaporate from the 

 honey before they sealed it for future use. 



In the dry year of 1877, while camp- 

 ing under the majestic Druid oaks on 

 the upper Simi, we found in the spring- 

 less ravines, fresh heaps of dead bees 

 strewing the faded earth. For weary 

 days they had traversed miles with a 

 speed that exceeds that of the fleetest 

 horse. The frayed gauze of each fragile 

 wing bore eloquent testimony to the 

 stupendous effort they had made before 

 succumbing to hunger and exhaustion. 

 By some extraordinary good luck, one 

 stiffened little creature had succeeded in 

 filling its honey-pouch ere it fell by the 

 wayside. This pea-like receptacle was 

 already pierced by an enormous ant, 

 whose knotted body visibly expanded 

 while he voraciously dipped into the con- 

 tents with his spoon-like liguJa. 



"Twin Oaks," so called from the 

 actual union of the trunks of two sturdy 

 young oaks, is in a picturesque canyon 

 of the foot-hills that sink their varying 

 undulations in the broad, free sweep of 

 the San Fernando plains. 



Just out from the apricot and fig 

 orchards circling the pleasant little city, 

 the road makes a straight line to the 

 magnificent mountains that prop the 

 eastern horizon. All up the gradual 

 ascent, under the dazzling mantle of the 

 morning sun, there were billowy leagues 

 on leagues of wild blooms, shading into 

 every conceivable tint of orange, Vermil- 

 lion, and purple dies. Much of this 

 radiant esplanade has a bewildering 

 strangeness to the eye, though now and 

 then a familiar shrub or flower brought 

 its glad sui-prise. 



The solitude of this ravishing bee- 

 pasture was unbroken, save by trill of 

 bird throats and the rythmic hum of 



insects darting and floating about like 

 live jewels. The all-pervading sunshine 

 under the fleckless sky, the caress of 

 wooing winds stirring the silken flower- 

 ets into a thousand sweet perfumes, the 

 sublime uprising of the farther mount- 

 ains, all gave a vivid joyance to the 

 mind. Countless bees swept the hollows 

 of the nectariums with their tiny probo- 

 scides, then hurried away with their 

 precious loads. The little creatures 

 were discriminating in their fancy, often 

 passing the gaudiest and most odorifer- 

 ous blooms, to settle on a simple flax 

 flower or white mignonette. ' 



At intervals, far down the slopes and 

 up the pinnacled hills, the yucca reared 

 its gigantic snowy plume. This wonder- 

 ful liliaceous plant is often 20 feet high, 

 a shaft of waxy blossoms, redolent as 

 tuberoses, and of a like dead whiteness. 

 The yucca is sparing of nectar, but not- 

 withstanding, is not wholly valueless to 

 the bee-man. From the fibrous leaves 

 growing close to the ground .around its 

 flower stem, he makes a soft brush, 

 leaving a piece of the stalk for the 

 handle. With this novel whisk, which 

 is almost indestructable, he sweeps the 

 bees off the combs that are to go into the 

 extractor. 



In June the luxuriant coloring of 

 tropical Spring is merging into the more 

 subdued tints of first Summer. In the 

 browning clover there was yet an occa- 

 sional eschscholtzia — the copa de oro of 

 the Spanish — burning like a miniature 

 fallen sun. It is the most conspicuous 

 of all California's wild flowers. Hardly 

 a month before, whole meads and up- 

 lands were ablaze with its splendid 

 orange, which gave an almost painful 

 brilliance to a noonday landscape. If 

 one walks among these 



" Poppy-plains keeping 

 Such dream breath and blee," 



soon after day-dawn, he sees the folded 

 flowers trooped about like fairy knights 

 in gray-green suits, with golden visors 

 just visible under their high-peaked, 

 martial caps. These they wear "tip- 

 titled," ready to be doffed at the first 

 approach of their great commander, the 

 Sun. There is a consciousness of daring 

 impropriety in slipping off this soldierly 

 chapeau one's self, that is both captivat- 

 ing and repellent ; man's egotism makes 

 his alteration or precipitancy of Nature's 

 order a keen delight to him, even though 

 a diviner instinct cries out against the 

 profanation. 



The canyon of "Twin Oaks" is not 

 one of those jagged, sharp-toothed 

 gashes that lay bare to the valley all the 



