68 
FOLLOWING THE BEE LINE 
inserting my knife point far into the center of the 
combs and with a twist bringing out enough honey 
—mixed with pollen—for a taste for us both. 
Perched on a peaked rock, head and shoulders 
draped in white mosquito netting, my companion, 
Mr. Hillery, took several snapshots of me, but of the 
two, I am sure he presented by far the most intrepid 
and romantic appearance. 
Soon afterwards I left the desert and stayed at 
“La Solana,” a small but very pleasant hotel in 
Pasadena. Looking out of my window one hot 
afternoon, I saw a white-clad figure scrambling over 
the roof of a garage below. 
He stopped and lifted a pole. I squinted out and 
saw he was scraping off a big swarm of bees from 
a near-by branch into the basket attached to his pole. 
Hurrying out to the scene of action, I found the 
gentleman was Wong, our Chinese chef. In spite of 
difficulties of language we managed to understand 
each other very well. We both were determined 
to have a good bee talk—regardless. And we did. 
By way of boxes and step-ladders, I climbed on 
other roofs and was surprised to find that Wong 
had fifteen colonies of bees tucked away in various 
inconspicuous roof locations. 
Another colony swarmed the next day—the 
