BEE-spoke-data/bees-v0 huggingface dataset:
When I was a little older I remember helping my stepfather carry home, one night, a colony of bees in a box-hive (movable-comb hives were not yet invented) the colony being intended to stock a "bee-palace." This be-palace was a rather imposing structure. I think it cost ten dollars. It was large enough to contain about four colonies and was raised about two feet high on four legs. On the top was a hole over which the box-hive was placed, with the expectation that the bees would build down and occupy the entire space. The bottom was made very steep, so that wax-worms falling upon it would, however unwillingly, be obliged to roll out! When a nice piece of honey was wanted for the table, all that was necessary was to take a plate and knife and cut it out, a door for that purpose being in one side of the palace. The plate and knife were never called into requisition, the magnitude of the task of filling that palace being so great that the bees concluded to die rather than to undertake it. Many years after, I saw at the 'trene of an intelligent farmer near Marengo the exact counterpart of that beepalace, which an oily-tongued vendor had just induced him to purchase.
_Fig. 3--lide Frame._
Notwithstanding my utter ignorance of bees, I began to feel some immediate interest in the bees in that barrel. I put them in the cellar, and at some time in the winter I went to a bee-keeping neighbor. James F. Lester, and with no little anxiety told him that some disease had appeared among my bees, for I found under them a considerable quantity of matter much resembling coarsely ground coffee. He quited my fears by telling me it was all right, and nothing more than the cappings that the bees had gnawed away to get at the honey in the sealed combs.
In the spring I saved away that portion of the barrel not occupied by the bees, and when the time for surplus arrived I bored holes in the top of the hive and put a good-sized box over. There were holes in the bottom of the box to correspond with the holes in the hive. I made three box-hives, after the Quinby pattern, with special arrangement for surplus boxes, and they were well made.
"Taking up" bees.
When the bees swarmed I lived them in one of the new hives, and later on "took up" the bees in the barrel. Altogether I got \(93\) pounds of honey from the barrel, and am a little surprised to find it set down at \(12\,\mathrm{\SIUnitSymbolDegree}_{2}\) cents a pound. Perhaps butter was low just then, for in those days it was a common thing for honey to follow the price of butter.
I left one of the hives with a farmer, and he lived a prime swarm in it. for which I paid him five dollars. In the remaining hive I had a weak swarm lived, paying a dollar for the swarm. I bought a colony of bees besides these, paying $7.00 for hive and bees.
## 7. wintering upside down.
The bees were wintered in the cellar, and according to Quinby's instructions the hives were turned upside down. That gave ample ventilation, for when the hives were reversed the entire upper surface was open, all being closed below. I doubt that any better means of ventilation could be devised for wintering bees in the cellar. There is abundant opportunity for the free entrance of air into the hive, without anything to force a current through it. Equally good is the ventilation when all is closed at the top and the whole bottom is open, as when the hives without any bottom-boards are piled up in such manner that the bottom of a live rests upon the top of a live below it at one side, and upon another live at the other side, and the ventilation is perhaps as good when there is a bottom-board so deep that there is a space of two inches or more under the bottom-bars.
_Fig. 4--Heddon Super._
season of 1863.
The four colonies wintered through, and I find charged to the bees' account for 1863 three movable-frame lives at $3.00 each, three box-hives at $1.00 for the three, and some surplus boxes at 10 to 30 cents each. These surplus boxes held from 6 to 10 pounds each, some of them having glass on two sides, and some having glass on four sides. Small pieces of comb were fastened in the top of each box as starters. I also bought another colony of bees at $7.00, and I bought Quinby's text-book, "Mysteries of Bee-Keeping Explained." I think I had previously read this as a borrowed book. I got 82 pounds of honey, worth 15 cents a pound.
I began the year 1864 with seven colonies, which had cost me $23.39 ; that is, up to that time I had paid out $33.39 more for the bees than I had taken in from them, reckoning interest at ten per cent, the ruling rate at that time. Besides getting new lives that year, I bought a colony of bees for $5.00, and twenty empty combs at 15 cents each. I took 54 pounds of honey, 39 pounds of it being entered at 30 cents, the balance at 35 cents.
The year 1865 opened with nine colonies, and the total crop for the season was 10 pounds of honey. Alas! that it was so small, for that year it was worth 35 cents a pound.
## first Italians.
In 1866 I got my first Italian queen, paying R. R. Murphy $6.00 for her, and the following year I paid $10.00 for another to Mrs. Ellen S. Tupper, who was at one time editor of a bee-journal. The crop for 1866 was 10034 pounds of honey, which that year was worth 30 cents.
## getting even.
I took 131 pounds of honey in 1867, worth 25 cents a pound, and this for the first time brought the balance on the right side of the ledger, for I began the season of 1868 with seven colonies and had $10.40 ahead besides. It will be seen, however, that had wintering had been getting in its work, for there were two colonies less than there were three years before.
There was certainly nothing brilliant in being able after seven years of bee-keeping to be able to count only two colonies more than the total number I had started with, together with the four I had bought. But there was a fascination in bee-keeping for me, and it is very likely I should have kept right on, even if it necessitated buying a fresh start each year. At any rate, my friends could no longer accuse me of squandering money on my
_Fig. 5=T Super._
bees, for there was that $10.40, and the time I had spent with the lees was just as well spent in that way as in some other form of amusement. Indeed, at that time I am not sure that I had much thought that I was ever to get any profit out of the business. Certainly I had no thought that it wouldn ever become a vocation instead of an avocatiously.
In 1809, while away from home, I came across a copy of the American Bee Journal. I subscribed for it, and also obtained the first volume of the same journal. That first volume, containing the series of articles by the Baron of Berlepsch on the Dzierzon theory, has been of more service to me than any other volume of any belejournal published, and to this day I probably refer to it oftener than to any other volume that is as much as two or three years old.
Among the most frequent contributors to the American Bee Journal when I subscribed for it were H. Alley, D. H. Coggshall, C. Dadant, E. Gallup, A. Grimm, J. L. Hubbard, J. M. Marvin, M. Quinby, A. I. Root, J. H. Thomas, and J. F. Tillinghast, most of which are well known names a third of a century later. G. M. Doolittle did not appear on the scene till late in 18?0.
A. I. Root, under the _nom de plume_ of Novice, was then just as full of schemes as he has been since, and was trying a hot-bed arrangement for bees, and in my first communication to the American Bee Journal, in 18?0, I wrote, "I am waiting patiently for Novice to invent a machine for making straight worker-comb; for as yet I have found no way of securing all worker-comb, except to have it built by a weak colony." At that time he probably little thought that he would come so near fulfilling my expectations, sending out tons upon tons of foundation.
## attempt at comb foundation.
I made some attempts myself in that line, simply with plain sheets of wax. I poured a little melted wax into a pair of hot water, and when it cooled I took the sheet of wax and gave it to the bees. It was not an immense success. I dipped a piece of writing paper into melted wax, and gave to the bees in an upper corner of a frame where no brood was reared, and for years you could hold that frame up to the light and looking through the comb see the writing that was on the paper. Then when foundation came upon the market, what a boon it was!
## visits a. I. root.
In 1870 I made my first visit to Medina, then several miles from a railroad station. Mr. Root was then a jeweler; his shop had been burned up, and his house (not a large one at that time) was doing duty as both shop and dwelling. Just then he was full of the idea of having maple sap run directly from the trees to the hives. I showed him how to use rotten wodd for smoking bees, and he thought it a great improvement over the plan he had been using. I do not now remember what his plan. I had been, but hardly a tobacco-pipe, for I have heard that he has some objections to the use of tobacco. Pleased with his newly acquired accomplishment, I had hardly left town when he tried its use, and succeeded in setting fire to a hive by means of the sawdust on the ground. Whether it was burned up or merely put in jeopardy I do not now remember. He did not send me the bill for it.
At that time he knew nothing of a bee-smoker, and neither of us then thought that in the next third of a century he would send out into the world three hundred thousand of them.
## adopts 18 x 9 frame.
In 1870 I made a change in hives. I cannot now tell the size of frames I had been using, but I think the frames were considerably deeper than the regular Langstroh. I say "the _regular_ Langstroh," for in reality all movable frames are Langstroh, but the _regular_ size is 17% x 9%. J. Vandervort, a man well known among the older bee-keepers as a manufacturer of foundation-mills, had at that time a machine shop in Marengo, and upon his moving away in 1850 I bought out his stock of hives. The frames were 18 x 9, 3\(\$\) of an inch longer than the standard size, and 1\(\$\) of an inch shallower.
## change to regular langstroth.
So little a difference in measurement could make no appreciable difference in practical results, yet after going on until I had three or four thousand of such frames, the inconvenience of having an odd size was felt to be so great that I felt I must change so as to be in line with the rest of the world, and be able to order hives, frames, etc., such as were on the regular list without being obliged to have everything made to order. The change to the regular size cost a good deal of money, and a good deal more in labor and trouble, extending over several years.
In that same year, 1850, I got a honey-extractor. With much interest I made my first attempt at extracting, the supreme moment of interest coming when after having given perhaps 300 revolutions to the extractor I looked beneath to see how much honey had run into the pan beneath. Very vividly I remember my keen chagrin and disappointment when I found that not a drop of honey had fallen. The machine was one of the first put on the market, a Peabody extractor (Fig. 2), the entire can revolving, and it had not occurred to me that the same force that threw the honey out of the comb would keep it against the outer wall of the can so long as it kept in motion. When the can stopped revolving, a fair stream of honey ran down into the pan, and I resumed my normal manner of breathing.
I began the season of 1870 with eight colonies, increased to 19, and extracted about 400 pounds of honey.
This warned up my zeal considerably. In the winter I lost three colonies, so I commenced the season of 1871 with 16 colonies, took 408 pounds of honey, and, the season being favorable. I increased without much difficulty until I reached thirty or forty, and I thought it would be a nice thing to have an even fifty, so I reached _about_ that number, for so many of them were weak.
_Fig. 6-Heddon Slat Honey-Board._
not sure exactly how many it would be fair to call them. I fed them some quite late. too late for them to seal over, and they were put into the cellar with little anxiety as to the result.
## Disastrous wintering.
In the winter they became quite uneasy, and February 11 I took out five colonies, which flew a little, and then I put them back. They continued to become more uneasy and to be affected with diarrhoea, and, February 22, I took them all out and found only twenty-threealive. They flew a little, but it was not warm enough for a good cleansing flight; and soon after there came a cold storm with snow a foot deep, and by April 1 I had only three colonies living, two of which I united, making a total of two left from the forty-five or fifty.
It was some comfort to know that nearly everyone lost heavily that winter, but what encouragement was there to continue under such adverse circumstances? I was on the road traveling for Root & Cady all the time, with only an occasional visit to my bees, and no certainty of being there upon any particular date. and evidently with no great knowledge of the business if I had been home all the time. To be sure, I may have got enough money so as to feel that there was no particular money loss, but after eleven years at bee-keeping, and after having bought, first and last, quite a number of colonies. here I was with only two colonies to show for all my efforts!
I do not remember, however, that any question as to continuance occurred to me at that time. Perhaps I didn't know enough to be discouraged. Instead of selling off the two colonies and going out of the business, I bought five more colonies early in April. They were in box-hives, and one of them died before the season warmed up, so I began the season of 1872 with six colonies. These I increased to nineteen, and I think I took no honey. With the number of empty combs I had on hand, there was nothing to exit over in this increase, especially as the colonies were not in the best condition as to strength.
## Winter in cincinnati.
The thousands who have been charmed by the delightful music rendered under the guidance of the baton of that prince of conductors, Theodore Thomas, at the May Musical Festivals held in successive years in Cincinnati, will have no difficulty in understanding that a congenial, although somewhat arduous, occupation was afforded me when the managers offered me the position of "official agent," charged with doing the thousand and one things needing to be done to carry out their wishes in preparing for the first of these festivals. I began this work in 1873, some six months in advance of the time for the Festival, making my abode in Cincinnati, although I still called Marengo my home. In the winter I went back home, put the bees in the cellar December 7, and then locking up cellar and house for the winter I took my wife and child to Cincinnati, from which place we did not return till late the following May.
The bees were left entirely to their own devices throughout the winter. In the latter part of March the weather at Cincinnati became quite warm, and I wrote to my bee-keeping friend, Mr. Lester, to get him to take the bees out of the cellar. He took them out under protest, for Cincinnati weather and Marengo weather are two different things, and when they were taken out, March 31, they were probably ushered into a rather cold world. They were in bad condition when taken out
condition, the whole eight alive, and hardly a teacupful of dead bees in all. These eight I increased to 33. taking 390 pounds of honey. Of course they were increased artificially.
I attributed the previous winter's success partly to their having been taken in earlier than ever before, so I decided to take them in still earlier, and went out for that purpose Oct. 29. But the bees decided they would _not_ be taken in, and whenever I attempted to take them _in_ they boiled _out_. So, just as I had done a good many times before, I had to give up and let them have their own way, leaving Mrs. Miller to get them when the weather was cool enough for _then_.
November 19 they had a good flight, and November 20 they were taken in by Mr. Phillips, a farmer with the average knowledge--or perhaps the average ignorance --of bees, aided by "Jeff," Mrs. Miller's factotum, one of the liveliest specimens of the African race that ever jumped, with considerable more than the average fear of bees. December 12 my wife gave the cellar a good airing, and then it was closed up for the winter.
The winter of 18\(
d\)-5 was one of remarkable severity, and I felt some anxiety about the bees. The last of February my wife went out and warmed up the house and cellar, finding the bees somewhat uneasy, but after being warmed up and aired they became quiet. Then the house was again closed up, and they were left till April 6, when the men took them out.
TIMATES FROM ADAM grimm.
Three of the twenty-two had died, leaving nineteen to begin the season of 1875. May 10 two colonies were received from Adam Grimm, for which I paid thirteen dollars per colony for the sake of getting Italians to improve my stock, for notwithstanding the several Italian queens I had got, some of my bees were almost black. May 37 I made my first visit, and I did not find the colonies very strong. Two colonies had died of queen lessness, so that with the two Grimm colonies I had still only nineteen.
June 25 I visited Marengo again, and was surprised to find very little gain in the strength of the colonies. I he season had been extremely unpropositions. July 7 I made another visit, of three days, and found scarcely any honey in the hives. I made a few new colonies, and by giving empty combs and plenty of room I left them feeling that there was little fear of any swarming for that season.
## trouble with swarming.
But a sudden change must have come over the bees and the season, and the bees must have built up with great rapidity, for letters kept coming to me saying that the bees had swarmed, and Mrs. Miller was kept busy superintending the hiving, "Jeff" doing the work. It was a mixed-up business for them, for I had left the queens clipped, and swarms would issue only to return again, and then in a few days there would be after-swarms, and they didn't know which swarms were likely to have young queens, and which clipped queens. Some swarms probably got away, but in the round up when I went out again, August 10, I found the whole number of colonies had reached 40, there having been an increase of 13 by natural swarming in addition to the nine colonies I had formed artificially.
## back to country life.
Clearly, keeping bees at long range was a very unsatisfactory business. City life was also unsatisfactory; a traveling life was worse. So in spite of the reduced chance of making money, I decided for a life in the country, turned my back upon an offer of $3,500 and expenses, and engaged to teach school at $1,300 and bear my own expenses; all because I wanted to be in the country and have a chance to be with the bees all the time. I have never regretted the choice. If I had kept on at other business, I would no doubt have made more money, but I would not have had so good a time, and I doubt if I would be alive now. It's something to be alive, and it's a good deal more to have a happy life.
_Fig. 8-Carrying with Rope._
I did not, however, get away from the city till August 12, 1876, but that was early enough to see that all colonies were well prepared for winter, and to be sure of being with them through the winter.
Six of the forty colonies were lost in the preceding winter, and the remaining 34 had given 1,600 pounds of honey, mostly extracted, and had been increased to 99.
## Improved wintering
The advantage of being at home through the winter was apparent, for in the next four winters the average loss was only \(2\) per cent, while for the preceding four winters it had been nine times as great. \(\lambda\) new factor, however, had come in, to which part of the change was to be attributed. There was chance enough to ventilate the cellar, for two chimneys, ran from the ground up through the house, a stove-pipe hole opening from the cellar into each. But the only way to warm the cellar was by keeping fire in the rooms overhead, and by opening the inside cellar-door. One day when I came home from school--I think it was in December, 18?6--I found my wife had decided to hurry up the matter of warming the cellar, and had a small stove set up, and throughout the winter there was fire there a good part of the time.
## first section honey
In 1877 I gave up extracted honey, the introduction of sections having made such a revolution that it seemed better to go back to comb honey. The sections of that day were crude compared with the finished affairs of the present day. One-piece sections were then unknown, four-piece sections being the only ones, and there was not a remarkably accurate adjustment of the dove tailed parts, so that no little force was required to put the sections together. When a tenon and mortise did not correspond, rounding with a malt would make the tenon smash its way through.
In order to fasten the foundation in the section, the top piece of the section had a saw-kerf going half way through the wood on the under side. The top was partly split apart, the edge of the foundation inserted, then the wood was straightened back to place. I was not well satisfied with my success in fastening in the foundation, and in 1878 wrote to A. I. Root for a better plan, describing minutely the plan I had been using, giving a pencil sketch of the board I used on my lap, with the differentparts upon it. In June Gleanings in Bee Culture my letter appeared in full, pencil sketch and all, and he sent me a round sum in payment for the letter, but no word of instruction as to any better way! I hardly knew whether to be glad or mad.
## wide frames.
The sections were put in wide frames, double-tier, making a frame hold eight sections (Fig. 3). I had an arrangement by which the sections, after having been lightly started together, were all punched into the frame at one stroke, driving them together at the same time, and another arrangement punched then out after they were filled with honey. The super in which they were put was the same in size as the 10-frame brood-chamber--in fact there was no difference whatever in the two except that the bottom-board was nailed onto the brood-chamber and an entrance cut into it. The super held seven frames, and that made 56 sections in a super. Lifting these supers when they were filled was no child's play, especially when loading them on the wagon at an out-apiary, and unloading them at home, as I had to do in later years.
## broad-combs as bats.
In order to start the bees promptly to work in the sections, a frame of brood was raised from below, and the sections facing this brood were occupied by the bees at once if honey was coming in. Care had to be taken not to leave the brood too long, for if the bees commenced to seal the sections while it was there they would be capped very dark, the bees carrying some of the old, black comb over to the sections to be used in the capping.
## bee-keeping sole business.
In 1878, at the close of the school year in June, I decided to give up teaching for a time, and since that time I have had no other business but to work with bees, unless it be to write about them.
In 1880 I began out-apiaries in a tentative sort of way, a few bees in two out-apiaries. In March of that year my wife died. When the bees were got into the cellar for winter I closed up the house, took my boy with me, and went to Johnstown, Pa., to spend the winter with my sister, Mrs. Emma R. Jones. When I returned near the close of the following April, deep snow-banks still surrounded the house, and matters were in anything but a happy condition in the cellar.
When the bees were ready to begin upon the harvest of 1881, there were 67 colonies left out of the 162 that had been put in the cellar the previous fall. A loss of 59 per cent was additional proof that it is better for the bees and their owner to spend the winter in the same State.
## encouragement