Chapter V: Part 5

The first year it would add to your profit to grow a few of the annual varieties in the hotbed collection: Hollyhocks, sweet sultans, sweet tobacco, asters, wallflowers, mignonette and salvia. Among the perennials which will flower the first season if seed is sown in boxes or hotbeds, are monk’s-hood (which is one of the most charming of the tall blue flowers and comes also in white, and blue-white mixed); larkspur; Chinese bellflower (large bell-shaped flowers of steel blue, white and violet); heliotrope and marshmallows (pink, rose colour, white with crimson spots, and golden yellow with maroon centres)--these are amongst the most valuable of the first-year bloomers, for they flower all through the summer. Three of the most fragrant annuals are sweet tobacco, sweet sultan and mignonette.

Sweet-williams are such old favourites, and are so multicoloured that I have always been thankful that they flowered the first season. Meadow-sweet--or goat’s-beard, as it is often called--is white and fragrant. Blanket-flower grows about two feet high, and has most gorgeous flowers, dark velvety brown marked with blotches of crimson. Of course, all the varieties suggested for early house-culture should also be sown in the open ground in June to produce a plentiful supply of strong plants for the following year.

JUNE ROSES

The first luxury we allowed ourselves on the farm was a collection of roses. We had put aside a sum of money for some necessary repairs, and when they were completed there were six dollars left, which we agreed to spend on the garden. One dollar went for perennial seeds, another for wistaria root. The remaining four were devoted to roses. We sent for an advertised collection of hardy roses, consisting of six two-year-old plants for one dollar and twenty cents, two Crimson Ramblers at fifty cents each and two Dorothy Perkins at fifty cents apiece, a collection for winter forcing, which were only little seedlings, and cost forty cents. Lastly, a two-year-old moss rose was added, which also cost forty cents. Since that time, several two-year-olds of specially desired varieties have been bought, but the purchases made with that four dollars really constituted the stock from which we have populated our own and many other gardens.

The first year the Dorothy Perkins covered about twelve square feet of sidewall, and all but the winter collection and one of the others flowered the first season. One hundred slips were taken, and eighty-two lived. Twenty were sold the following season at ten cents each. The second year one hundred were sold at five cents each to a local store, and three dozen at ten cents to odd customers. The winter collection was not allowed to flower until the second winter; then they were put into the violet-house, where they did quite well, but as we had neither time nor desire to undertake any more hothouse work, we never made any attempt to increase the stock or make any sales. However, rose-growing for the winter market is carried on quite extensively in our vicinity, so I have had ample proof of the profit to be derived from the work when undertaken as a business. But truly, I think growing garden plants is almost as profitable, and most certainly it is a much easier and healthier branch of the work. Moreover, it does not require capital, nor the knowledge required for hothouse culture.

The best soil for roses is that which is rich in vegetable matter, such as sod, roots and fallen leaves which have been exposed to the action of the elements long enough to disintegrate and melt into the soil. It is the condition found in the ground cover of woods and forests, and it can be simulated at home by means of a compost heap. Old sods, leaves and all waste vegetable matter are piled up with alternate layers of garden soil, allowed to remain for several months, then thoroughly forked and repiled. When it is wanted for use, pass through a coarse sieve, and mix with one-half its own bulk of cow manure.

If your garden soil is not very good, dig large holes two feet square and deep. Then fill up with the home-made compost, or soil from the woods, and old cow manure. When the young plants come from the nursery, unpack and stand the roots in water. If the ground should not be ready, or any other cause compels delay in planting, add rich soil to the water in which the plants are standing, until it is about the consistency of mud, and keep in that condition until the plants can be set in their permanent positions out of doors.

Make a hole in the middle of the filled-in space large enough to permit of the roots being spread out to their full capacity. Never squeeze plants into a small hole, which necessitates the doubling under of roots. This applies to all plants as well as roses. After the roots have been spread out evenly in the hole, scatter soil over them to the depth of two inches; then water copiously, and after the water has been absorbed by the soil, fill up with dry earth and firm down thoroughly.

Watering in the middle of the filling-in operation washes the soil into all the crevices around the rootlets, and insures a supply of moisture around the plants. Putting in the dry earth above it prevents evaporation, so that the roots have valuable food while they are recovering their hold on Mother Earth.

Another point to remember in setting out roots is that an eastern or northern exposure is to be preferred to a southern exposure, as the morning sun is better for them than the strong noon-day glare. Keep the ground as clean and well-cultivated as around tender annuals.

Now we come to the question of food for this gluttonous beauty. Get a strong barrel and stand it on blocks to raise it to about the height of a pail above the ground, then tack the mouth of an ordinary burlap bag securely around the top of the barrel, so that the bottom of the bag falls to within one inch of the bottom of the barrel. Insert a common tap just above the lowest hoop, then empty two pailfuls of fresh cow-droppings into the bag, and pour water over it until the barrel is full. Let it stand two or three days before using. Dose: Three quarts of the liquid for each plant every two weeks, from the time they show life in the spring until September.

Hybrid teas are the variety best adapted to garden culture. They embrace some of our most beautiful roses, are perfectly hardy and flower throughout the summer. To this class belong all the Killarney and Lyon family; La France, Viscountess Folkestone, Mrs. Aaron Ward, Harry Kirk and about one hundred others. In order to insure free flowering none must be allowed to fade on the bush. Keep a close watch, and cut the moment the petals show any sign of withering. Allow long stalks, as it is the most natural way of pruning these plants and insures a supply lasting until frost.

Crimson Ramblers I have discarded entirely, for their blossoming period is short, and their foliage is not attractive. Dorothy Perkins and Hiawatha both grow rapidly and are better in every respect.

Two years ago, I bought one plant of the new German climber, Thousand Beauties, which is rightly named, for it is a mass of blossom, and it is like having twenty plants in one, as it bears flowers of all shades, from white to deep crimson. It was a constant wonder and delight the whole of last summer and made quite as much growth as any of the other climbers, so I really think it is worth a place in any collection.

In the fall, all bushes are given a conservative pruning, by which I mean that only some of the old wood is removed--not all--and that the rampant young growth is cut back to about half its length. After the ground is frozen, a heavy covering of cow manure is put around the plants at a distance of two or three feet, according to the size of the bush, and at Christmas-time, before the really severe weather comes, fallen leaves are spread over that, and a few cedar branches, to prevent their being blown away. In the spring, as soon as the ground can be worked, the manure and leaves are worked into the soil, and any branches which have been winter-killed are cut off.

Our collection has been enlarged entirely through cuttings. I cut off about six inches from the end of branches, close to a bud. These cuttings are allowed to stand in water for two or three days, then planted in shallow boxes filled with moist, rich soil, and kept in a light, warm cellar, where the temperature averages about fifty degrees. The following year they are planted out into nursery beds until August, when they are set out in their permanent homes. Last summer I transplanted ten straight from the cellar into a garden bed, and by July they were two and a half feet high, and bore from four to seven blossoms each from August to September 15th, when we had a hard, frosty night, which checked all development.

If cuttings are intended for winter forcing, proceed as before until the second spring, then transplant into pots, which should be plunged to the rim in the ground.

About once a week turn the pots around, to prevent any roots which may force their way through the bottom of the pot from getting a hold on the ground. At the same time nip off any flower buds which may appear. Feed well, to promote growth, and about July have the benches in the hothouse filled up with rich soil, to which has been added a goodly percentage of silver sand. Remove the plants from the pots, and set out about fifteen inches apart. Of course, the fire must not be started in the heating apparatus, and all windows and doors must be kept open, so that the plants have plenty of air, and during the hot, close days, they should be lightly sprayed three or four times a day. After the first of September there is danger of frost, so it is best to close the windows at night, but the principal desire is to keep the plants cool to permit their growth until the fires are lighted and forcing really begins, which should be about October. When the fires are first lighted, keep the temperature down to about fifty-five degrees, increase slowly to sixty-five, then to seventy.

Watering is a great problem, and nothing but practice can really teach you the exact proportions. The only general instruction is: The plant must never be allowed to dry out, nor must it ever be too wet. A spray for green fly and other insects should be used in the evening, once or twice a week, from the time the plants are taken from the garden into the house.

LAVENDER AND HERBS

There should be an herb bed in every garden, for their usefulness is manifold. Ye dames of olden times knew and estimated their value, but when housewifery was metamorphosed into domestic science, the traditional law of our grandmothers sank into derision, and many factors of homey comfort might forever have been buried in oblivion had not some wise person started a craze for old furniture. That aroused a general interest in the old-time housewifery, and resulted in a revival of half-forgotten arts, the hardy garden and herb bed being among them.

I spent most of my schoolday holidays at my grandmother’s place in Yorkshire, England, where many of the customs of Queen Anne’s time remain unchanged. So to me lavender and herbs seemed indispensable in a self-respecting household, and as soon as I owned a garden they were installed. Perhaps you never experienced the delight of sleeping between sheets redolent of sweet herbs, so don’t know what you are missing. At grandmother’s, sheer muslin bags were filled with lavender, thyme and rosemary, and kept in every cupboard, bureau drawer and chest. Large jars filled with rose-leaves and mignonette, all the herbs and many spices were stowed in the sitting-rooms and halls, and the lids were removed for about half an hour after sweeping and dusting were completed, so a faint, indescribable perfume permeated the whole house, and was most delightful. Punk sticks and pastils have such a positive odour that after a time one becomes very tired of them, but herbal odours, being delicate and indescribable, merely suggest the freshness of meadow lands in June, and invigorate the senses instead of wearying.

The herb then is invaluable for all sorts of complexion and hair washes. Even Helen of Troy’s beauty was attributed to their use. As disinfectants--well, the plague was supposed to be banished from Athens by the air being purified with aromatic herbs, and during the great plague in England in Elizabeth’s time, little balls of perfume paste encased in silver, gold or ivory, open-worked lockets or pomades were worn suspended round the neck or carried in the pockets, and during an outbreak of smallpox, grandmamma brought forth several such inherited treasures and filled them with a compound made of beeswax, herbs and spices, and we all wore them in the old way. What influence they exercised over the dreaded disease I do not pretend to gauge, but we all escaped. Separate or mingled fate and superstition has made me use such compounds whenever travelling or knowingly exposed to infection. Even medical men don’t deny the benefit of sweet odours, or their value as disinfectants, so why should not we enjoy the undoubted pleasure when it only means a few packages of seeds and a little trouble.

Lavender is hardy when it is once firmly established, but it is not the easiest perennial to start in this country. At first I bought nursery stock, but out of two dozen plants which I got from four different sources during two years, only one lived, and that was always a semi-invalid, so I resorted to the slower method of sowing seed. In March, a shallow box was filled with potting mould thoroughly soaked with water, then covered with about one-fourth of an inch of soil, patted down firmly, the box covered with glass, and placed in a west window. As soon as seedlings appeared the glass was removed, but they were shaded from the direct sun and slightly sprinkled every morning. When two inches high they were transplanted to a deeper box and set two inches apart. About two months later they were transplanted to a partly-shaded seed-bed in the garden, and the last two leaves were nipped off each plant to insure a bushy growth. Cultivation was constant all through the summer until August, when they were again transplanted--this time into a bed which was to be their permanent home--a border partly shaded by shrubs. It happened to be a very dry summer, so they were sprinkled every evening. When cool weather set in, leaves were scattered between the plants, and the quantity increased as the weather became more severe. In the spring the mulch was removed, and a little bone meal raked into the ground around the plants. The ground must be covered every winter, and it is well to have a dressing of well-rotted cow manure dug into the bed during the early fall.

In June or July we always have huge quantities of flowers. We have never marketed any of them, but they have formed the basis of many Christmas and birthday presents. Ten pounds of lavender flowers, and one pound each of musk, thyme, rosemary and mint leaves, all dried, and mixed with one ounce of ground cloves, was grandmamma’s formula for moth-bags which preserved our furs and woollens just as effectually as camphor balls or tar mixtures.

Sage is needed for pork, duck and goose dressings, and is one of the very best tonics for the hair: the broad leaf variety is the best to grow. It will save time to buy the plants; they only cost ten cents each, are very easy to establish, and quite hardy. Three plants will be sufficient for a home supply. Set out three feet apart in a partly shaded situation. There are two varieties of thyme; both should find a place in the garden, the broad leaf English in the herb-bed for flavoring stews and soups; the almond-scented in the flower garden, for it is a pretty variegated plant which remains green all through the year, and is used only for sachets and potpourri. Both varieties are perennials, but if sown early in the spring will mature the first season. The seed should be sown in rows nine inches apart, on rich soil which has been worked into a fine, loose condition, with a fine garden rake, and later smoothed off with a board or the back of a spade. Mark the rows by pressing the edge of a board on to the ground. Don’t make a furrow, as the seed is very small. Next, sprinkle thoroughly, using a fine rose on the water-can. Keep the can moving back and forth until the ground is thoroughly saturated to the depth of an inch. Wait for an hour, then scatter the seed thinly on the marked lines, and cover about the sixteenth of an inch with dry, fine soil. It is a good plan to fill the flour-dredger with soil, and shake it over the rows, for then you are sure of its being evenly distributed. After the seed is covered, put a board over the row, and press gently, to insure the seeds being firmed into the ground.

Thyme, marjoram--in fact, all small seeds--do better if they are partly shaded. I make long, narrow frames of slats, and cover them with unbleached muslin, then drive a few sticks into each side of the row, and lay the frames over them. For safety against wind-storms, it is well to put a few nails through the frames into the sticks. About eleven o’clock it is advisable to sprinkle the muslin over the frames with water, as the evaporation prevents the seedlings becoming too dry. If time won’t permit making the frames, spread two or three thicknesses over the rows, using stones to hold them in place, or mulch with lawn clippings. I like the former the best, because they are easy to remove, and are not so untidy as a grass mulch, which dries and blows about.

When the seedlings are well established--which is when they have got their second pair of leaves and are an inch high--the mulch will have to be removed, but if the frames are used, they can remain for another week.

Rosemary is another perennial, and the plants can easily be got from any nursery, but if you want to raise some seed, proceed exactly as for thyme. After you have one well-grown plant, it is better to propagate by cutting than to raise from seed. They require rich soil, and a sunny position, and need some light protection during the winter. The whole plant is aromatic, but the flowers are the strongest. It is the essential oil which is distilled from them that is the principal ingredient of eau de cologne. A cupful each of lavender, thyme, rosemary and mint, steeped in two quarts of hot water for two hours, strained and added to a warm bath, banishes fatigue in a miraculous way, and in cases of long convalescence, a cupful of the mixture in the sponge bath is most gratifying and refreshing to the invalid.

Summer savory is an annual. It must be sown in shallow drills nine inches apart, in early summer. Sweet marjoram is a perennial, and should receive the same culture as lavender. Both are used for flavouring, stuffings and soups. Bane, saffron and wormwood belong to the poultry department principally. The first are annuals, the last perennial. Borage is an annual which gives just the piquant fillip to salads and summer drinks which epicures delight in, and bees simply adore it. Plant in dry, sandy soil. Dill and tarragon must not be left out of the herb collection, for they improve the pickles, and are necessary for many sauces. They are both annuals of easy culture, and will grow in any garden. Sow in rows ten inches apart, and thin when plants get second leaves. To make tarragon vinegar, gather a pint of the young sprigs, wash, and pour two quarts of malt vinegar over them. Let it stand two or three weeks, strain, and if not quite strong enough, add fresh sprigs. Strain after two weeks, and bottle for use.

Spearmint requires moist soil. We grow it in large quantities, as we have a good market for it at five cents a bunch during the spring and summer. It is positively no trouble after it is introduced into congenial soil, for it spreads rapidly, and needs no cultivation beyond the cutting what is necessary for market.

Don’t make the mistake of transplanting the common wild mint, for usually the flavour is more like peppermint than spearmint, which is the variety demanded for sauces. We bought three plants originally, which cost fifteen cents each, and now it covers about fifty feet of one side of the back garden, where the ground is moist and shaded by some old quince trees.

GROWING WATERCRESS

Watercress is in constant demand the year round in the markets of all large cities, so it is a salable crop which should especially appeal to the commuter class of farmers, as it must be freshly gathered to be at its best, and naturally cannot be shipped long distances to market, which is perhaps the principal reason for its being such a profitable crop. In France and England, watercress farms are quite numerous, especially in the vicinity of Paris and London; but in this country it is only just beginning to be cultivated to any great extent, the principal market supply being furnished by Italians who take short journeys into the country and gather it from the ponds and streams where it grows wild. Under such circumstances it is not surprising that the leaves of poisonous water plants are often found in bunches offered for sale in the public markets. We have supplied our egg customers and one hotel with cress for four years, and never received less than five cents a bunch--usually ten cents--and from November to March from twelve to fifteen cents for a good-sized bunch.

Like a good many of the side lines which have brought grist to our mill, it developed from an apparent accident. There was a large wild bed in the stream which ran through the lower meadows, from which we gathered cress during the spring and summer. Chancing down a wagon-road one day in January, we were astonished to see lots of fresh green sprigs growing under the meagre shelter of a low log bridge which crossed the brook. We accepted the hint, and determined to protect enough of the brook the following year to supply us with fresh salad through the winter. Some time in October, brush was piled up for a distance of about six feet on each side of the stream. In November, when the nights commenced to be really cold, we made some frames out of thin cedar poles, interlaced them with strong cedar branches, and then placed them over the stream, with the ends resting on the brush, which elevated them about nine inches above the cress. Though primitive, the arrangement proved beyond doubt that forcing watercress was practicable.

During that winter we often put a little cress around the poultry which was being shipped to private customers, and so many requests came for a regular supply that we concluded it would pay to increase the beds. But as the stream was some distance from the house, and accessible to the cows when they were in the lower pasture, we resolved to utilize the escape from the spring-house, which was never failing. It had up to that time been carried off by a tile-drain under the side lawn. Operations were commenced by digging a ditch three feet wide, one foot deep. At first it was only made fifty feet long; subsequently it was increased to one hundred feet. As the ground was heavy clay, we carted clean sand from a bank at the other end of the farm, and covered the bottom of the ditch to the depth of three inches to form a seed-bed, and also to militate the usual creepy-crawly brook creatures.

At every five feet of the ditch, sluices were inserted--just box-like arrangements, made out of rough boards, one of which could be raised and lowered at will, so that the amount of water in each five-foot section would be under control. When the ditch and sluices were completed, a trap divided through the middle was put in front of the escape from the spring-house to divide the flow of water, and one length of the tile at each end of the trap carried it to the opposite sides of the ditch to insure even distribution.

It is a special stone building, twelve feet square, used for milk and butter. The floor is about three feet below the ground, and a gutter, fourteen inches wide and twelve inches deep, runs all round the four sides, and is kept continually full of cold running water from a spring situated about three feet to the right of the house. The water is divided by a stone as it enters the house, and goes to the right or left in the gutter until it reaches the escape at the opposite side of the house. The floor and gutter are made of stone, so the place is beautifully clean and very like an old-country dairy.

After the beds had been thoroughly saturated with water, all but the merest dribble was shut off. Roots from the meadow brook were taken up, washed carefully in fresh water to remove the before-mentioned creepy creatures, and then set out in the sand at the bottom of the ditch. Field stones were placed on the roots of each plant to prevent their being dislodged by the action of the water before they had had time to establish an anchorage. After two weeks the whole supply of water was allowed to run into the ditch, and it covered the bottom to a depth of five inches.

Fully one-half the plants died and had to be replanted, but the following year the entire ditch was a solid mass of cress. The leaves were much larger, and the flavour much better, than the cress had ever been in its wild state. Of course, if the best price was to be obtained in the winter, our desire was to force the crop at that season. We built sides fifteen inches deep to the ditch, using rough slabs, which only cost us fifty cents a load from the sawmill in the woods. Then we used the ordinary cold-frame sash over the top.

After the beds are once established, their cultivation consists in cutting, and nothing else; and, as the cutting is necessary for the market supply, it is really truer to call it harvesting than cultivating; though neglecting to cut the beds regularly as soon as they are four inches high will ruin a bed very rapidly, as the plants grow thick-stemmed and sprawly.

We find that old beds as a rule are not as profitable as young ones, so we make a practice of renewing three or four sections every year. The method is to withhold water in July until the plants die, then pull them up, after which the bottom of the ditch is dug over to let in the air and sweeten the ground. After a lapse of two or three days, it is raked down level again, and a few loads of fresh sand spread over the bottom, saturated with water as before, though, instead of old roots, we now use slips three inches long, taken from the ends of old branching plants. They root very quickly, and make better plants than the old roots.

Twice we have started an entirely new stock from the seed, and think the result quite worthy of the extra trouble. The seed is very light and small, so it is best to start it in shallow pans filled with sand, which must, of course, be kept saturated with water, but not submerged.

May or June is the best season for this planting, for then plants are large enough to transplant into beds in July, and will be well established before the forcing season.

For a small home supply through the winter, half-barrels or wash-tubs may be used. Half fill them with sandy soil and stand in a light, warm cellar. Set slips four inches apart in August, and keep perpetually moist. If you have no means of getting slips, buy seed from any good seedsman. Start in shallow pans in June.

I saw an item in a paper, not long ago, which estimated that an acre of watercress, at its present market prices, would bring from four to five hundred dollars a year.

Watercress should be carefully prepared for market. Gather and bunch at once, to prevent unnecessary handling. Cut the stalks evenly after the bunches are tied up, and pack in light crates lined with hay or moss. Place bunches closely together in rows, with hay or moss between layers. Ship on late trains if they have to go by express, to avoid exposure to the heat of the sun during transit. When small quantities are going to private customers, pack in strawberry or grape boxes, as there is less likelihood of the cress heating and spoiling when packed in this way.

MY EXPERIENCE WITH BEES

The old-fashioned hive was so inconvenient and wasteful that many people who date their knowledge of bee-keeping from the old homestead will find it difficult to believe that apiculture has developed into a practical, money-making industry during the last twenty years, until now the average amount of honey put on the market each year is upward of a hundred million pounds, representing a money value of from eight to ten million dollars.

In a favourable locality one hive, with its average colony of thirty-five thousand workers and a queen, will turn out from thirty to forty pounds, besides the fifteen or twenty necessary to feed the hive through the winter.

The vicious temper of the old-time black bee has much to do with the neglect of this profitable industry. The Italian bees are, however, so much better as honey-gatherers that they are almost universally kept now, and are so gentle in disposition that even a nervous person can easily learn to manipulate them without fear of stings.

The principal honey-producing plants in our Eastern states are fruit bloom of all kinds, locust, white clover, crimson clover, basswood, sumac, goldenrod, buckwheat, sunflowers, grapes and asters. Of these, clover, basswood and buckwheat provide the bulk of our honey crop in most localities, although large yields are often obtained from others. Fruit bloom, though yielding much honey, comes so early in the season that it is mostly consumed by the bees in brood-rearing. Clover commences the last of May, lasts several weeks, and yields a light-coloured honey of fine flavour. Basswood blooms the first part of July, lasts about ten days, and produces a very white honey. Buckwheat blooms in August and the first part of September. It gives a dark-red honey with a strong flavour.

My apiary started with three hives, bought for two dollars at a farm auction. I knew nothing about bees or hives at the time; the owner was not there to be questioned, so it was a truly risky proceeding, not to be recommended. But if chance makes it possible to pick up one or two good hives of the box, movable-frame style, and bees of any sort for a few dollars, take them and improve the stock by introducing good Italian queens, which can be bought for two dollars and fifty cents each from any bee-supply house. They can be shipped through the mail in small cages.

When an Italian queen is introduced into a hive of common bees in May or June there will be no sign of the original occupants in the fall. For the working bees are such indefatigable toilers that during blossom-time they usually wear themselves out in about six weeks, and most certainly never survive more than twelve. The drones are driven from the hive to die whenever any of the different blossom crops which supply honey are on the decline. Queens live for years, but as perpetuators of their race are only to be relied upon for three years.

If your immediate neighbourhood cannot furnish stock to start with, the best plan is to send for frames of nuclei and a queen. One frame would cost three dollars, and hardly contains sufficient bees to build up a strong colony, therefore it is better to send for three frames, which will make a splendid start, and only cost an additional one dollar and fifty cents. If purchased in June or July they will have multiplied so considerably by the time buckwheat is in blossom that you will be able to build up a second colony. Of course, a hive filled with a full complement of bees can be bought, but would cost at least ten dollars. Express charges would be very expensive, as bees come under the head of live creatures, and double rates must be paid. The frames of nuclei are packed in light cases which cost less than half.

A hive must be ready to receive the little travellers on their arrival, and here again it is advisable to consider express charges. One hive ready for use will cost two dollars and sixty cents, and almost as much expressage as five hives “in the flat,” as dealers call it, and the five hives can be had for nine dollars and twenty-five cents. Nails of the correct size and full instructions are sent with the hive, so even a feminine amateur will find it quite easy to put them together. I use two-story, dovetailed hives, which consist of a cover, bottom, brood-chamber and two supers. Bees are best kept in a quiet corner of the garden, or under the trees in the orchard, where they are protected from the noon-day sun and east winds. When we had only two or three hives they stood on a shelf in an open-fronted shelter, which was made from a large packing-case bought from the general store for twenty cents. In the winter we packed straw or leaves around the hives, and set up boards in front, which leaned against the top of the case, and sloped out a few inches at the ground. This was to keep out the snow and rain and yet allow plenty of ventilation. Now that hives are scattered through the orchard, we simply slip each into a case a little larger than itself, and set up a board in front. Further south no protection will be required, but in the North it would be advisable to carry the hives into a dry, well-ventilated cellar for the winter. The only drawback to the latter plan is that the bees may become restless quite early in the spring, so the condition of hives should be watched.

A small hand-mirror held at the opening of the hive, and a light held in the other hand so that it will shine into the hive, will enable you to see what is going on inside. If the bees appear restless, it is a sure sign that they need more air. Opening the cellar windows after dark on a moderate night will usually supply all the ventilation that is necessary, until the middle or end of March, when it is best to let the bees have a cleansing flight if they still appear restless. It is not very much trouble, when only a few hives are kept, to carry them out on a warm day and place them where they stood last fall. It should be done early in the morning and as carefully as possible, so as not to disturb the inmates, who will gradually arouse as the sun gains strength, and take flight. This will relieve the intestines of the waste matter which has caused their restlessness. After the sun has gone down in the evening, carry the hives back into the cellar, and the bees will be quiet until spring is sufficiently advanced to warrant putting them out for the season, which is usually when soft maples and willows commence to furnish pollen.

As soon as the days are warm in spring we go through the hives and give them a general clean-up. If a hive appears to be short of honey, a comb from a hive that is well supplied is removed and given to it, and as some bees are sure to have died during the winter, some colonies will be stronger than others, so things must be evened up. When a hive has more than five frames filled with brood, one or two are taken out and placed in hives having less than five frames filled with brood. A great advantage of the modern frame-hive is this being able to take out and put in brood, and later add supers and empty sections as the original ones are filled with honey.

A bee’s life is apparently a most accurately prearranged existence, filled with allotted duties, which are intuitively understood and unerringly performed. There is only one queen allowed in each colony, and she lays all the eggs, the workers being imperfectly-developed females. Drones are the masculine members of the population, lazy fellows, whom the workers have to feed, hence the reason for their being expelled from the hive whenever food is scarce.

The queen is truly a royal personage, who only leaves the hive to take what is called the nuptial flight, when she meets some drone in midair, and returns to become the sole mother of the hive. She is always guarded by a small retinue of attendants, who feed and care for her as she wanders from cell to cell, depositing an egg in each with untiring zeal. The egg develops into a tiny grub-like worm, which is fed for seven days by young workers; then the cell is capped over by another set of workers, the grub being left undisturbed for eleven or twelve days, by which time it has developed into a full-fledged bee, which gnaws its way out of the cell, and at once takes up the duties of life. For six or seven days its time is devoted to feeding the newly-hatched eggs, then, for about the same length of time, building combs and cleaning the hives, after which it is evidently considered strong enough to leave the hive and commence the arduous task of gathering honey. The queen is exempt from all work.

Within a week or two after a virgin queen has taken her nuptial flight, the hive should be opened and the frames removed, one by one, and examined until the queen is found. She can be distinguished from the others by the length of her body and the way the other bees cluster around her. Pick her up very gently by the back, being careful not to squeeze her abdomen, and with a pair of sharp scissors clip both wings on one side of her body. This insures a short flight at swarming-time. When she again issues from the hive, usually the excited condition of the bees will indicate when this is going to take place, and as the queen cannot fly with her cut wings, you will have little trouble, for she will be found on the ground near the hive, with a group of bees around her, and the full swarm not far away. Approach very quietly, and place a small wire trap over the queen. The traps are sold by all the bee-supply firms, and cost twenty-five cents. Place the trap in the opening of the hive you desire the swarm to occupy, cautiously approach the full swarm, and with a soft broom sweep the bees into the hive if the position they occupy makes it possible; if not, use a box or pan, and carry them to the hive and empty them in front. They will soon commence to occupy the new home. The slide of the queen trap can be opened, and the bees inside will settle down to business.

After the first swarm, early in the season, it is advisable to take every possible means to prevent after-swarms. Want of room is the main cause for old bees leaving a hive, so a great deal may be accomplished by careful manipulation of the frames. The lower part of the hive is devoted to brood-rearing; the other part is composed of the frames which hold the section-boxes. Section-boxes are the small square cases in which comb-honey is marketed.

Among the modern inventions in apiculture is the comb foundation, or starter, as it is sometimes called. In the old days bees had to supply all the wax to build the combs. Now it is bought with the cells ready started, and the bees have only to draw them out and finish off the work, which of course saves the little workers much time, and enables them to store more honey. What is termed medium foundation is used in the brood-frames, and thin or extra thin in the section-boxes. Bees will sometimes ignore extra space when added above the frames where they have been working, so it is advisable to raise the top super, and insert another one below it. This supplying empty sections materially mitigates swarming, but does not always prevent it. It is the after-swarms that it is so important to check, as they are of little use, seldom being able to gather sufficient stores to keep them through the winter. In September all hives should be examined, and if any have less than twenty-five pounds of honey, artificial feeding must be resorted to. Make a syrup of equal quantities of sugar and water; heat slowly, stirring all the time, being very careful not to let it scorch, for burnt syrup means destruction to the bees. Allow it to cool, and then fill what is known as a Miller feeder, which costs thirty-five cents, and fits into any of the movable-frame hives.

STORING FRUIT AND VEGETABLES

At least one-half of the profit to be derived from living in the country materialises in winter when fruit and vegetables can be struck from the family living expenses, so the keeping and storing of the garden and orchard products are of great importance to the housewife who wants to make the home furnish current expenses. To keep well, things must be gathered at the moment between full development and complete ripeness, for, if development is not complete, fruit and vegetables shrink and wither; if completely ripe, they decay rapidly.

The house cellar, attic, or a root-cellar or pit in the garden are all available on a country place, and all suitable for different things. The cellar is best for storing fruits and vegetables. Long ago we had racks made of two-by-two scantling--some six feet long, others three feet, and both two feet wide--to put under barrels and boxes to lift them from the ground and allow a free current of air to circulate underneath them as a protection against damp and mildew. To economise space, we had boxes, ten feet long and ten inches deep, fixed in tiers of three, with one foot of space between. The frames which supported them were also made of two-by-two scantling, and reached from the rafters of the ceiling to the ground.

The keeping of early fruits, like currants, strawberries, and raspberries, depends principally upon the cook’s skill, for they have to be canned and made into preserves and jellies. Get into the habit of doing such work in small quantities--from a quart to six quarts, or even a pint, as the day’s gathering may provide. The habit of waiting for the height of the season, when a big gathering is possible, is frequently the cause of home-canned goods spoiling, because some of the fruit is almost sure to be overripe, and that means that fermentation or mould will set in, in a short time, and ruin the entire boiling.

After wiping and labelling the jars, they must be kept in a cool, dark place. We have a big cupboard at the back of the outside section of the cellar, where all such goods are kept. Begin with asparagus, which is best packed into jars filled with salt and water, and cooked in a steam boiler for an hour and a half. Peas are shelled, and about two quarts of the hulls and a sprig of mint are boiled in four quarts of water for thirty minutes, then strained, the water brought to the boiling-point, salted to taste, and the peas boiled slowly in it for thirty minutes. Fill the jars to overflowing, and screw down the tops at once. Beans must be strung and sliced and boiled in salted water, as for table, or packed in two-inch layers, with a sprinkling of salt between, in a stone crock. Put a plate or a stone on top of the beans to keep them under the brine, and cover closely. When wanted for use, soak in fresh cold water overnight and cook in the usual way.

Gathering and packing is of the greatest importance in keeping fruit. The most favourable time is when the fruit has attained its full growth and colour, which is several days before it is quite ripe. All fruit should be handled with the greatest care; the slightest bruise or scratch starts a condition which will develop rot. A high extension ladder, a high step-ladder, and an agile boy are the requisites for picking. When possible, choose a bright, cool day, have the boxes and barrels ready, and press all help into service. Before allowing anyone to pick apples, teach him how. Take the apple lightly, turn it slowly, and press upward, so that the stem is severed from the branch, not from fruit.

Whoever does the climbing should discard shoes, for they are apt to injure the bark of the tree, which always causes later troubles. A shallow bag, slung across the body sling-fashion, is the best receptacle for the picker to use, because it leaves both hands free. The work is greatly facilitated if two people can pick, two pack, and a fifth take the fruit from the pickers to the packers. Have two bag-slings for each person picking, so that the collector can take the full one and hand up an empty one, which saves emptying the fruit into a basket.

The packers and the barrels, or boxes, should stand side by side, with a box of convenient height and size turned upside down to act as a table on which to place the sling-bags when full. The best apples are packed in small boxes, with paper between the layers. The second quality are put into barrels. Put a layer of hay in the bottom of the barrel, fill it with the fruit, and end with a layer of hay. The small ones may be used for cider and for feeding stock.

Onions are ready to harvest when the tops fall down and dry. Choose a dry day to dig them up. Leave the bulbs lying on the ground for several days, then carry into a shed, where they can be spread out for two or three days more, while the work of cutting off the roots and tops is being completed. We have a room over the woodshed which we use for onions, as they are apt to sprout in a cellar that is moist enough to keep other root-crops in good condition. We had tiers of shelves, made of slats, put up all round the walls, on which the onions are spread out, and, as a precaution against frost, they are covered with bags or dry autumn leaves as severe weather approaches. Bore holes about nine inches apart in the sides of the barrels; fill with the onions, leaving the head of the barrel off, and stand in any unused room.

Potatoes should be dug as soon as the tops die down. Choose a dry, bright day and cart at once into a dark place to dry. Don’t leave them in the light on the field, but spread out for a few days, then pack them in the cellar in barrels which have a few holes bored in them, or in bins which have a bottom made of slats.

Carrots, turnips and beets should be packed in boxes or on tiers of box shelves. In either case, they should be well covered with sand or soil to prevent the roots shrivelling. Put a few boards in a sunny place, and stand the squash and pumpkins on them. They should stay there about a week or ten days, and be covered at night with bags or an old blanket, after which put them in some dry, cool place.

Cauliflowers are pulled up with as much soil as may be attached to the roots, and hung head down from ceiling of the cellar; Brussels sprouts, the same. Cabbage is pulled up in the same way and packed in rows of two or three abreast on the cellar floor. These are for use in very bad weather. The main quantity is stacked in a pit in the garden and covered with earth, straw and brush.

Celery is partly protected by being earthed up for bleaching, so it can be left in the garden until the first of October, or even the fifteenth if mild, but it must be brought in before heavy frost. About nine inches of soil is spread on the floor all along one side of the cellar. The celery is dug and brought in with what earth adheres to the roots, and then set in the soil just as if the plants were expected to grow, only they are put very close together and about three abreast. When the row is completed, boards are set upon end, the full length of the row, and another set of heads is packed in the same way, each additional row being divided by boards. This is done to prevent the celery heating, and rot setting in, as would be the case if the entire mass was allowed to touch. After the setting-up is all done, earth is scattered heavily between the heads.

There is usually a large quantity of green tomatoes still on the vines in the fall, and the full-sized ones can be packed in shallow boxes, with paper between the layers, and kept in a cool, dark place. Later in the season bring out a few at a time to ripen in the window of a warm room.

Grapes must be carefully cut, the bunches examined and any faulty grapes removed with a pair of scissors. Put slats across a box about two inches from the top, tying the bunches of grapes to the slats and letting them hang down into the box, leaving a space between the bunches. Fill the box up with finely-cut tissue-paper and keep on the shelf in the cellar.

The cellar for storing fruit must be well ventilated and free from damp, though a cement cellar is apt to be too dry, which causes the fruit to shrivel. In such a case, stand a tub or a couple of pails of water in the cellar, and do not fail to change it once or twice a month. A dry cellar with an earthen floor is usually about right, though, if rapid thaws occur during the early spring, such a floor is likely to become very damp; as a remedy, put one or two wide, shallow boxes, filled with unslaked lime, into the cellar, which will absorb the moisture.

FORCING RHUBARB AND ASPARAGUS

We had little more than settled on the farm when I read an article in some farm paper about forcing rhubarb in a dark cellar. There was a lot of rhubarb in the garden, and a lot of room in the cellar. Several roots were dug up and packed in one corner of the section we kept for vegetables, but as the article had not mentioned that any heat was necessary, and that it was necessary to expel all light, the venture was not a success, for there was a window in the wall near the chosen corner, which allowed the light to shine right on the roots, and the temperature was much too cold. There were dozens of spindly little stalks, with large green leaves at their ends, but nothing worthy the name of pie-plant.

However, before the following winter I had secured technical knowledge and vicarious experience, to start on. The window was boarded up, and two lanterns were kept burning near the roots. We had rhubarb charlotte and rhubarb pies, and stewed rhubarb for breakfast, just as often as we liked, from December until March, and what is more to the purpose, we sold eighty-two dollars’ worth.