Mineral Point Tribune

From the New York Observer,

A Bee Hunt in Crow-Nest.

"A bee hunt!" you exclaim, "What is that?"

That is just the question that arose in my mind one beautiful September morning, when Bennie, a wood cutter and hunter, appeared at my door, in Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, duly equipped with axe, pails, and luncheon, and invited me to join him on a bee hunt in Crow-Nest. So if you will follow us we will learn what he meant, and see one of the old-fashioned rustic pleasures with which these mountaineers gain relaxation from toil.

We started for Crow-Nest, skirting the base of old Storm King, as the morning fog just began to rise from the noble river at our feet. By nine o'clock we were in, what Bennie pronounced, a suitable place to "strike a line." And now, while we await the forthcoming of the bees, (they never work before the dew has entirely left the flowers), we will find out some of the preliminary ideas of this still mysterious subject.

So Bennie says: "I suppose you know that every summer the bees, kept in the hives of the surrounding villages, 'swarm.' That is when their number increases so much that one hive will not hold them comfortably, they divide, and part, selecting a new queen, go off in search of a new home; and, although they are carefully watched by their keepers, many swarms make their escape. These go to the woods, where they select a hollow tree, and having cleared it out, they move in, and begin filling it with their winter's food. Then the next summer this swarm sends out another; and so in a few years, many trees are filled by these busy workers, and yield rich prizes to the fortunate discoverer."

Presently Ben's practised ear caught the hum of a "honey bee," and soon one was discovered busily at work on the top of a "Golden Rod." A cup was produced and in the bottom a small piece of honeycomb was placed; and then bringing the cup beneath the unsuspecting bee, by a dexterous jerk he is imprisoned in it by a cover cut from a shingle. Then a pole is planted in the earth about four feet in height, and the cup placed on it. The cover was now removed cautiously, and on looking in, I saw that the bee, not at all disturbed by his unceremonious handling, was hard at work on the honey,—his proboscis deep down in a cell of the sweet liquid. Obeying orders, I sat down at the foot of a pole, and we kept our eyes fastened on the cup, which appeared clearly against the sky. Soon the bee rose slowly from it, wheeled around a moment to get its bearings, and then started off in a perfectly straight line, and we could see him for a hundred feet over the tree tops.

Then pulling out our watches we noted the time, and in ten minutes, back came the bee, bringing another with him. The two at once settled in the cup, and soon filling themselves with the honey, again we saw them fly off in the same "bee line" as the first bee went, and we could see them a long distance against the blue sky.

"They are not over a mile away, for they are only gone ten minutes, and, they need three minutes to unload," said Ben.

And so, when the two bees came back accompanied with two others, we shut them in the cup, and started along in the direction of the line they had shown us, looking at all the hollow and dead trees on the way. After walking half a mile we stopped, and released the bees we had carried, who by this time having finished eating, were loudly remonstrating against their confinement. They circled around for a moment, and then darted off in the same direction as before. "We haven't passed their tree," said Bennie, "or they would have turned about and flown back." and so we pushed on again, and soon saw them pouring in and out of a hole near the top of a large, hollow hemlock.

And now came the exciting effort to get the honey without being stung.

"We cut the tree down, and the moment it struck the ground, Ben rushed up, and with a handful of leaves, stopped their only means of exit, not minding two or three stings on his hard hands. The enraged bees in vain tried to get out, and their humming resembled the roar of the wind through the distant tree tops. A hole was now cut, and a piece of lighted brimstone inserted, and soon the roar grew fainter and in a few moments ceased, and on cutting into the trunk of the tree, we found the bees all suffocated, and thirty pounds of transparent honey-comb filled with clear, rich honey.

So our hunt ended; but not soon did I cease to wonder at the strange instinct which God had given to the little creatures, that enabled them to find their way through the air, to and from our cup. What seems more strange is that they communicated one to another the discovery of the honey we gave them, and persuaded their companions to accompany them to it.