What are the Odds?

July 12, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / 2 Comments

A winter storm dropped nearly an inch of sleet on us overnight. I crunched through the ice in the dark this morning to feed the animals. After emptying sleet out of the chickens’ feed tray and filling it with pellets, I turned and saw, in one of my footprints, a bright green/blue glowing spot.

Bioluminescence. There was no mistaking the colour. I carefully scooped up the bit of glowing sleet and held it in my hand. I could think of no terrestrial source of the glow. There are no glowworms in my vegetable garden, and no bioluminescent fungi. Besides, this was in the ice, not on the ground.

The spot glowed for a moment between my fingers. Then the ice melted, the light went out, and whatever had made the glow dripped to the ground.

I spent an hour online looking for any reference to bioluminescence in snow, and found none. The only explanation I could come up with for my glowing sleet was that a phosphorescent marine creature was picked up in sea spray four kilometres away, frozen, and then deposited in my garden. My stomping foot disturbed it, and it glowed briefly before, most likely, succumbing to a deadly infusion of fresh water.

What are the odds that organism would be picked up from the sea and whisked four kilometres inland? What are the odds it would land in my garden? What are the odds it would have still been alive when I trekked out to feed the animals? What are the odds I would step on that tiny organism and induce it to glow?

Very, very tiny.

I was given a tremendous gift this morning. One of those gifts that reminds me to always keep my eyes open. You really never know what you might see.

Old-fashioned Fever Remedy

July 10, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

So, with the family head cold this week, my daughter got a fever. She’s terrible at being sick. She can’t stand not being constantly in motion, but the fever dragged her down so much she couldn’t do anything. It was bad enough feeling icky, but to not be able to go outside and ride her unicycle, or do some climbing, or build something was a fate worse than death.

I suggested some paracetamol to bring the fever down, but she refused (she hates taking medicine). I was a bit frustrated—the brunt of her bad mood landed on me (because I was sick, too, and we were both confined indoors).

Then I remembered that my mother used to give me crushed ice to eat when I was sick. I reckoned it might just do the trick.

She briefly refused the ice, but I think the novelty of a glass full of crushed ice and a long-handled spoon to eat it with won her over.

The results were brilliant—a glass of ice, and she was out the door and on the climbing wall. The fever came back in an hour or so, but the window of exercise did the trick for her mental health. When the fever spiked again, she happily retreated to the fireside to read a book. When she got antsy to get out once more, I made her another glass of ice.

Proof once more that Mother knows best. Thanks, Mom!

Citrus for Sickness

July 9, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Salty lemons and sweet lemon curd…mmmmm.

The entire family came down with a nasty head cold last weekend. We’re all still feeling under the weather a week later.

The scientific evidence is pretty clear that, contrary to popular belief, vitamin C doesn’t actually help a cold. Regardless, we’ve all been gravitating to citrus fruit this week. We went through more than six litres of orange juice, a kilo of lemons, half a kilo of oranges, and the better part of a bottle of lemon juice. I made lemon cornmeal pound cake for the week’s lunchbox treats. I made lemon barley scones with lemon curd for Sunday breakfast. As I type, my husband is making roast vegetables with salted lemons for dinner.

There’s something soothing and clean about citrus on a sore throat. Something refreshing about a juicy orange, even if you can’t taste it because of a stuffy nose. No, it doesn’t actually help us get over a cold faster, but it’s pleasant. When you’re sick, all you want is comfort.

So bring on the citrus. I’m under no illusions about its health benefits, but if that’s what tastes good, I say enjoy.

Planning Season

July 7, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / 2 Comments

It’s that time of year again, when I eagerly await the seed catalog. The garlic has been planted, and I’ve made a list of the seeds I have and the seeds I need. I’ll determine what seeds I want once the catalog arrives.

I’ve created the garden map for this coming season, but haven’t yet filled in the spaces. I’ll wait for some cold, nasty evening to do that.

I’ve been eyeing the garden itself, too. There’s still clean-up work to be done out there, and there are big mallow plants to be pulled (the chickens manage many of the weeds, but they can’t deal with mallow). I keep telling myself it won’t be long before I can get out there again. It’s a bit of a lie—it’s still six weeks before I can realistically start preparing the garden for spring. But if I keep myself busy with planning, spring will be here before I know it.

That’s my hope, anyway.

Knitting Socks

July 5, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / 2 Comments

You could call me stubborn.

It would probably be more accurate than the more polite persistent.

But sometimes stubbornness pays off.

I hate knitting.

I’m lousy at it. Really. I was first taught how to knit before the age of ten.

I’m now 47.

I still couldn’t knit my way out of a wet paper bag.

But I’m also stubborn.

I will knit.

Specifically, I will knit socks.

I know, I know. Socks are not the sort of project a non-knitter should attempt. They’re bound to end in tears. And they have, over and over again.

But I’m so close to being able to make all my clothes. I make shirts, trousers, jackets, underwear…

The only thing missing is socks.

Once all your other clothes are custom-made and fit perfectly, the ‘one size fits most’ socks they sell in the stores feel like they were made for aliens.

I need socks that fit.

Which means I need to learn to knit socks. Not just any old socks, but socks that are perfect for my feet.

So, how many socks have I knitted in the past 37 years since my first knitting lesson?

Um…none.

But, as I say, I’m stubborn.

I’ve never been able to knit in the round (which, of course, dashes my chances of making socks), but with fresh stubbornness this winter I had another go.

After several blood-pressure-raising sessions, I have knitted SEVEN CENTIMETRES of sock!

I’m so excited.

Think of it. SEVEN CENTIMETRES! Give me another 37 years and I might make it to the heel of my first sock!

Upcoming Event: The Forest Floor

July 4, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Join me and the Lincoln Envirotown crew on 13 July to explore the forest floor!

I’ll be there with live bugs and books to sell. Be the first to pick up a copy of my new bug book for kids–limited pre-release copies available at the event!

Thursday 13 July, 10am-12.30pm

Lincoln Event Centre

FREE Event, Gold coin donation appreciated

Discover the fascinating world of New Zealand’s forest floors. Examine the variety of life that makes our forest floors so exciting. Make your own forest and the things that live here. Find the bugs and insects. Crawl through the under forest tunnel and many more activities to keep the kids entertained.

Booking not required. Caregiver must be present.

This year find us in our larger hall at the Lincoln Event Centre.

For all ages 1 to 100!

The Mathematics of Pastry

July 3, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

I was making pastry for cheese pasties the other day. I made a thick round of the dough on the kitchen table and cut it into eighths for rolling out into individual pastie rounds.

The cut pastry on the floured table was so lovely, I had to take a picture. There’s something pleasingly mathematical about the shapes.

Makes me think about those old school days…

Robinne makes a double-crust recipe of pie dough and divides it into eight equal portions. She makes a cheese pastie from each portion. What percentage of a pie is each resulting pastie? If each of the four family members eats one and a half pasties, what percentage of a pie has each member eaten? How long before they all die of a coronary from eating too much pastry?

Saturday Stories: Dance of the Dead

July 1, 2017 / Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

Photo: Egres73, Wikimedia Commons

It’s been a while since I posted a Saturday story. Here’s a little flash piece I wrote last week.

The longest night of the year started off cold and clear. As the stars came out, the entire village gathered in the square for the solstice celebration. Lanterns flickered all around the square, each one lit in memory of a loved one gone.

Claire wended her way through the crowd just in time to see her brother light the great bonfire. A cheer went up from the crowd. Musicians struck up a tune and the dancing began.

It was the dancing that drew the dead. At least, that’s what the elders said. Only on the winter solstice. Claire joined the others, stomping feet and turning circles. Her neighbour, Tom, caught her eye and smiled, but Claire hardly noticed as she looked around.

Where was Geoffrey? So lately dead, he should be one of the first to arrive. It was always that way. The ones who had been dead for longer took longer to return. More engaged in the afterlife. Eventually, most stopped coming altogether. But Geoffrey was only killed two months ago. Claire shuddered at the memory of the crushed body the other woodcutters carried home from the forest that day.

The circle of the dance brought Tom back around. “Good to see you, Claire.” They joined hands and spun. “Would you like to join me for a pie later?”

“Huh?” Claire had been craning her neck for a glimpse of Geoffrey. “Um…” The dance whirled them apart.

Where was Geoffrey? The dead were arriving in numbers now. Charlotte, who died last year in childbirth, was dancing with her husband Neil. The boy, Carter, who drowned during spring flooding, was holding his mother’s hand. Even Old Man Gardner was standing at the edge of the dance, clapping his hands and tapping a foot. His wife Henna, also of the dead, joined him with a smile and swept him into the dance.

So where was Geoffrey? Surely he’d arrived by now, if even Henna–three years dead– was here. Surely he was here and looking for her.

Twice more, Tom danced close enough to smile at Claire and ask his question. But Claire shook her head. “I’m waiting for Geoffrey.”

“Oh. I’ve seen him.” Tom looked like he was about to say something more, but then thought better of it. “Look, won’t you just go have a pie with me?”

Claire refused. It was the dancing that brought the dead. She had to keep dancing. For Geoffrey. She danced on. In the middle of the second dance, she noticed Tom, standing at the edge of the crowd, eating a pie alone.

Finally, well into the third song, when the dance was thronged with dead, she saw him–her Geoffrey!

Dancing with another girl.