#langstroth

Lorenzo Langstroth, 1890. From Langstroth on the hive & honey bee, rev. by Dadant. 1892.

December 25th, Christmas Day, is a day for sharing and giving. It also happens to be the birthday of a man known as the father of American beekeeping: Lorenzo Langstroth, born Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 1810. With both happy occasions in mind, Mann Library is pleased to announce a resource that we’re pretty sure students of beekeeping and its history will find a wonderful gift: a fully digitized, searchable copy of Langstroth’s handwritten personal journal. Where a researcher would have once had to make an in-person trip to our special collections reading room to attempt a deciphering of Langstroth’s (infamously difficult to read) handwriting, the journal is now freely available (and actually readable!) as both a digitized version of the original work and in a transcribed form as part of the online Biodiversity Heritage Library.

Page from "Journal on matters relating to bees, etc.," unpublished manuscript, Lorenzo Langstroth 1852-1895. in the special collections of Albert R. Mann Library, Cornell University.

For those not yet fully in the know, Lorenzo Langstroth looms large in American beekeeping history thanks to discoveries and inventions he made as a self-taught apiarist, innovations which essentially revolutionized the 19th century practice of beekeeping in North America and facilitated its development into the profitable industry of today. His guide on beekeeping, The Hive and the Honeybee, was first published in 1853 and remains in print even today.  Langstroth’s story is also poignantly notable for a reason that you don’t have to a be a beekeeper to appreciate deeply: his struggles with debilitating depression, which stymied many of his professional endeavors. While working intermittently as a pastor and teacher when his mental health allowed, Langstroth found constant, life-affirming inspiration in the bee world he observed closely through the prism of the hives he kept for most of his adult life.

The history of beekeeping stretches back to prehistoric times, but when Langstroth patented his movable frame beehive in 1852 it created a worldwide revolution in the practice of keeping bees. On this page of his journal, we see the exact moment—the “aha” moment—that Langstroth landed on his brilliant insight: the significance of applying the concept of "beespace" to design hives that allow easier harvesting of honey than possible in earlier hive structures. The rest, as they say, is history.

The journal Langstroth kept is a treasure for several reasons. It provides fascinating insight into pivotal moments of beekeeping’s technological history. It is, as well, an intimate view of resilience in face of sometimes devastating mental health challenges. And last but really not least, in the comments and pet peeves that Langstroth also recorded in his ongoing notes-to-self, his off-the-record writing offers a more mundane but no less instructive tour through the day-to-day concerns—from keeping bee hives productive to the vexing challenges of protecting trade secrets and securing patents for promising new discoveries in a timely way—that would have been top-of-mind for any aspiring agricultural entrepreneur of the 19th century.

Page from "Journal on matters relating to bees, etc.," unpublished manuscript, Lorenzo Langstroth 1852-1895. in the special collections of Albert R. Mann Library, Cornell University.

The online availability of Langstroth’s journal in both its handwritten and transcribed form has been a work very long in the making. When early 20th century entomologist Everett Franklin Phillipps joined the Cornell faculty 1924, he made it his mission to establish one of the world’s most important collections of beekeeping materials—now known as the E. F. Phillips Collection at Mann Library. Recognizing the importance of one of this collections’ gems—the Langstroth journal—for the beekeeping field, Phillips began the painstaking process of transcribing 600 pages of its cramped, highly slanted script—rendered even more illegible by the frequent ink bleed-through from other pages—into easily readable typescript. The project remained unfinished at the time of Phillips passing in 1951, and others took up the work intermittently over the following decades. But it wasn’t until the epic pandemic-era national lockdown of 2020 that intrepid collections specialist Betsy Elswit finally found herself with the time needed to finish transcribing of the journal's final 200 pages.  Thanks to this heroic work, a browse through the work on the Biodiversity Diversity Heritage Library today provides a look at Langstroth’s original writing with a side-by-side view of transcribed, machine-readable text.  Thank you Betsy! And thank you, Reverend Langstroth, for persevering through the inspirational highs and deep lows of life to impact the practice of beekeeping so profoundly, and to leave us such a rich record of such remarkable scientific observation and personal achievement.

Theodore Ashmead Langstroth was an avid collector and scrapbooker. Known as the Scrapbook King, Langstroth made scrapbooks from his collections and refurbished other people's scrapbooks. Langstroth's multiple collections included, ceramics, artwork and rare books. One of the most heavily collected items were from Cincinnati's color-lithography industry as well as early color work from New York, Philadelphia, London, Paris, Amsterdam and many German cities. Born in East Orange, New Jersey in 1910, the Langstroth and Ashmead families were old Germantown, Pennsylvania families. “Ted” Langstroth made his way to Cincinnati in 1950 to work as an ink chemist for a local company.

The bees are *mostly* alright based on my most recent “checkup” and I’m only down one and a half colonies that I knew were already weak. One of them I suspect was taken out due to a leak in the lid that made the wood damp and less insulating. They must have left very early in the season because the bottom of the hive was FULL of wax moth cocoons and eggs and cockroach poop and all kinds of nastiness. I scraped it out and didn’t see any sign of lasting mold on the wood though so it mustn’t have been too damp.

The other four langs are doing just dandy as well. All have enough bees in them to show activity at 50f and overcast so they’re apparently healthy. Already bringing in pollen too!

The super hive seems to be doing incredibly well also! They have propolized up the front of the hive in what I can only presume is an effort to manage air flow and the openness of the entrance. Since I seldom ever check the front 10 frames I suppose that’s alright, though if they are to abscond it will be a chore to get those frames out.

The leaning tower of beesa!

Apparently some water had been getting under the mat (due to bees chewing holes in it) and started rotting the plywood on the bench. That, combined with an extra 70-ish lbs of honey/comb in the top boxes from the fall flow has caused this hive to sink in to the bench!

So the super hive is strong as ever still, and has a loooooooot of brood and nectar. Barely any capped honey, but lots of nectar.

The first picture isn't a great representation of the amount of bees in there because when I peeped in the window there was what looked like a whole swarm of bees hanging off the roof in the empty back section. The front section was also completely covered with bees when I first opened it but they dove under cover before I could reach for the camera.

There was also a frame of nectar/drones in the back that half broke when I pushed it away from the rest of the frames, so in the best interest of the bees I have removed it so they can scavenge what nectar was in it and not risk it falling inside the hive once it heats up. I put several empty and built frames in there was well to give them some place to continue laying and storing resources.