The first spring wild-flowers, whose shy faces among the dry leaves and
rocks are so welcome, yield no honey. The anemone, the hepatica,
the bloodroot, the arbutus, the numerous violets, the spring beauty,
the corydalis, etc., woo lovers of nature, but do not woo the
honey-loving bee. It requires more sun and warmth to develop the
saccharine element, and the beauty of these pale striplings of the
woods and groves is their sole and sufficient excuse for being.
The arbutus, lying low and keeping green all winter, attains to
perfume, but not to honey.
The first honey is perhaps obtained from the flowers of the red maple
and the golden willow. The latter sends forth a wild, delicious
perfume. The sugar maple blooms a little later, and from its silken
tassels a rich nectar is gathered. My bees will not label these
different varieties for me as I really wish they would. Honey from the
maples, a tree so clean and wholesome, and full of such virtues every
way, would be something to put one's tongue to. Or that from the
blossoms of the apple, the peach, the cherry, the quince, the currant,
--one would like a card of each of these varieties to note their
peculiar qualities.
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