The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-04-20

dreamy April sunshine. Only family in
leaf are the naples as yet-misty visions
Of pale pink and greenland the stubborn
old oak tree near the farm gate is still in
unopened bud; but their lightly swaying.
long-reaching shadows play gracefully
across the short sward in the warm April
wind. April clouds in the blue. blue sky
cast fine floating masses of shadow over
orchard. field and valley, and the denser
shade OF the evergreen trees. up and down
the hillsides, makes happy mixture in
Aprils new world of verdure.
Last week the bees-"the fervent bees
came out of their hives under the orchard
trees and were cross. Farmer John said.
because hey could find nothing of which
to make honey. Man is ill-humored when
not making money, and bees are unamia-
BILE when not making honey. Now the plum
trees are in bloom, and the blossoms are
full of crazy bees, flying wildly from spray
to spray. and humping against each other
in mad exuberance of joy and industry.
Among the yellow maple blooms, too. they
are buzzing and grumbling. darling and
climbing in clumsy, inebriated gladness.
Before the sun shines, after a gentle April
rain. they are out again, busy and happy.
What bees do on long, rainy days is a
matter worth careful investigation. Lady
bug is here, faded grasshoppers and spiders
are nimblY everywhere, ants of all kinds
are scurrying n~ervously in all directions
at once. Even our little blind brother. the
mole, has caught the infectious springtime
eagerness. All about, from sheer intoxica-
ton of the "veTnant EARTH he is making
zigzag tunnels from point to point, with
great apparent waste of time, space and
effort.
In the lower orchard. the crayfish settle
nent is hard at work, although tantalizing-
ly never visible at it's community improve
ments. Twenty-seven crayfsh abodes open
or the village streets; but the natives are
so artfully retiring that no society notes
could be CLEANED. Sheppy, the cherished
farm dog, knows the ways of Bunny cotton
tail and of the mole; but the crayfish are
too much for him. He shifts curiously and
even contemptuously at their queer little
towers of mud, or their slanting round holes
in the moist ground, but never attempts to
dig into them.
On the pretty upland farm, grit about
with hedges, lanes and woods-woods
where anemones are now in bloom and
bluets echo in color the sweet April sky
all is moving forward with a precision and
sureness that almost matches nature. AL
ready are the sweet peas out of the ground,
racing daintily with their homely neighbors,
the young onions. Ben Bolt and old Andy,
guided by faithful David, are in the south
orchard, blowing up the new raspberry
beds, for which the young plants are wait
ing. Dead wood has been cut away, in
berry-field and orchard; and the blue smoke
of brushwoOd fires is floating everywhere
among the hills. March winds are gone and
April breezes ftfully and softly blow,
twisting dead leaves from the trees, sweep
ing the ground clean to assist new growth.
Herb-life has begun; catnip, mint and
tansy are up and thriving. Setting hens are
now important and the outcome a matter
to be t~elephoned from farm to farm. Young
chickens are cuddled in baskets by the
household fires, and mysterious absences
from the hearth towards bedtime means
that Elizabeth and Farmer John have gone
out to "set a hen" Despite the encourage
ing inroads of general education there are
still plenty Of people who do not know that
young chickens peep without opening
their mouths. and that after. dark is the
best time to set a hen.
XXX
Rabbit-snares are abandoned now, espe-
cially since one of the pretty guinea hens
was rash and greedy enough to snap at a
bit of apple and get throttled. But the
timid Bunny, like the esthetic daisy. is the
farmers perennial pest. Dozens of young
pear trees were nibbled and killed by
Bunny during the icy weather of February,
and a vigorous campaign of revenge is al
ready planned for next season. AS the
pretty little brown rabbit Bunny cotton
tail wins admiration; but as the ruthless
despoiler of orchards, the heart of man
hardens against him.
For all dear lovers of lost hours" April
is the month of pain as we'll as pleasure.
1t has been so long waited for and is so
soon gone. If ''fair-handed Spring would