1918 



AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL 



57 



as the distance from the outside slots 

 to the sections in the middle of the 

 super might be so great that the 

 bees might not finish perfectly and I 

 would advise testing them on a few 

 hives before trying to use them ex- 

 tensively. A honey-board thicker 

 than the one I have described would 

 doubtless work just as well, perhaps 

 better, onl\- it should be made so 

 that part of it between the two slots 

 should be one-fourth inch below the 

 super, for a beespace, so the bees 

 can readily enter the super. 

 Middlebury, Vt. 



My Neighbor's Garden 



By Charles Duff Stuart 



IT was but scant sympathy I re- 

 ceived on the occasion of my 

 first bee sting. 

 "Your thoughts were not right." 

 my neighbor assured me. And as I 

 bathed my swollen forehead and 

 half-closed eyes, I was obliged to ad- 

 mit that they were not. Even then 

 I had in mind the fly-swatter as a 

 means of exterminating the entire 

 Bee family. 



"If you don't feel right toward 

 them they know it," he continued; 

 "You can't fool them. Fear is a poi- 

 son that communicates itself through 

 the atmosphere. That's what makes 

 them sting." 



The diagnosis seemed plausible, 

 but it failed to abate the swelling, 

 which steadily increased, much to 

 the amusement of my neighbor, who 

 attributed his own personal im- 

 munity to life's little discomforts to 

 deep breathing and a proper mental 

 attitude. But I would have traced 

 the cause of his longevity still fur- 

 ther, to the very source — long hours 

 spent in the intensive cultivation of 

 his garden. 



It is truly a wonderful garden. 

 My neighbor him'self did not fully 

 appreciate it until the visits of our 

 bees revealed to him its beauty and 

 variety. Each plant and blossom 

 then took on a special meaning, and 

 this awakened interest expanded to 

 include the honey bees themselves.. 



"See? They don't bother me!" 

 With bared head my neighbor stood 

 beneath a Loquat tree, laden with 

 blossoms on which our bees were 

 working busily. It was an old tree 

 of the Japan plum or Japonica va- 

 riety, and pruned so that its 

 branches were nearly on a level with 

 his face. He stood with head thrown 

 back, listening to the hum of the 

 honey-gatherers and inhaling deep 

 draughts of the clear morning air, 

 while I found refuge behind the 

 screen door of the kitchen and be- 

 sought him not to tempt Providence 

 too far. 



'M MY NEIGHBOR'S STRAWBERRY H 

 (Photograph by John R. Douglass.) 



FEBRUARY is. 



"Get your thoughts right and they 

 w^on't sting!" 



"It's true!" corroborated his wife; 

 "they know their friends instinctive- 

 ly, the darlings ! How I'd love to 

 squeeze them!" 



It was not in me to destroy such 

 perfect faith. I could only stammer, 

 "Oh, d-don't squeeze them! You— 

 you might hurt them, you know." 



"She never hurt a living thing yet," 

 declared my neighbor. And one 

 might well believe it, judging from 

 the care with which a few weeks 

 later she carried cross lots a covered 

 teacup. ' In it was a magnificent 

 drone, captured and preserved by 

 her, under the impression, no doubt 

 gained from its size, that she was 

 restoring to us a valuable queen bee. 



After the Loquat, in December, 

 came the Acacia bloom, in January 

 and February, yielding white and 

 yellow pollen, respectively, and 

 much nectar. The bees throve. The 

 hives waxed strong and full of 

 stores. Already young bees were 

 flying and eager to gather the nec- 

 tar from my neighbor's'strawberries. 

 Simultaneously my neighbor's 



thoughts also turned to the straw- 

 berry patch which was situated just 

 beyond and adjoining our apiary. 

 My neighbor's garden at that point 

 not only joins our bee-yard, but 

 overlaps at the joint. And, notwith- 

 standing the surveyor's stake and 

 my tax receipts, it is that choice 

 strip which for years had produced 

 the berries for which he is famed. 



-My neighbor's thoughts were not 

 m "error"— it was March and high 

 time to put the bed in order— but his 

 demonstrations were not in accord 

 witli the mental science of the bee. 

 At the first stroke of the hoe they 

 flew around him in mild wonder, 

 tinged with an air of reproach. At 

 the second, there was an alarmed, 

 angry buzzing that should have fore- 

 warned him; but he only stopped 

 and inhaled a deep breath. The 

 following strokes brought the situa- 

 tion to a swift climax. The bees at- 

 tacked en masse. There was no 

 time in which to quell them with 

 loving thoughts. He no longer 

 yearned to pet the "intelligent little 

 creatures." Safety first was the most 

 urgent consideration. It was clear 

 that he did not share the philosophy 

 of the old Irishman who raked our 

 yard, who, when a bee attempted to 

 "List him from the premises, fought 

 with one hand and worked with the 

 other, even apologizing for the bee. 

 "Och, he didn't mane inything at all. 

 He was just busy, an' I was distur- 

 bin' av 'im." 



Quite the contrary! My neighbor 

 fled to the shelter of our porch. Gore 

 was in his eye, and just above it 

 waved the poisonous souvenir of his 

 assailant. I gently removed the 

 stinger, but could not assuage the 

 sting. Indeed, no reparation short 

 of the immediate -extermination of 

 the entire apiary by sulphuric fumes, 

 to be administered by himself, per- 

 sonally, would satisfy. 

 • "The book says," I ventured, when 

 at last he paused for breath, "that a 

 high board fence prevents bee 



