Science Fairs

The homeschool Science Fair was last week. All three kids planned projects for it; Max did a study of mason bees and the twins did a joint project about their gardening adventures. (They tied it into a science topic by taking a closer examination of the germination of the various seed sprouters they used) We worked on it for about 10 days beforehand, reading garden stories, reading about pollinators, reading about germination rates and Super Soil. Fun stuff.

Then we cast our gazes to the appearance of their display boards.

FDPG wanted something witty and artsy for her title, and Dominic, no doubt influenced by his suddenly-self-conscious older brother, didn't want anything that stood out or otherwise called attention to him and anything to do with anything to do with him (and yes he said it exactly that way). So I talked him into ignoring what other people think and going out on a his own creative limb we compromised.
Now tell me, do you recognize this painting? It's called American Gothic. It was painted in 1930 by Grant Wood. I thought it was a famous painting (heck, it's been black-velveted, surely that qualifies it as world famous?), and I thought everyone would recognize any allusions to this painting...

You can see where this is going, can't you?

FDPG and I happened upon it one day, on our on-line explorations, and we also saw all the things people have done to it (biker look, hippie look, doctor/nurse look, etc) and we both thought it would be most amusing to feature her and Dominic as Canadian Gothic farmers in front of their own farm. Allusions, baby, allusions. Dominic, as I said, was not so taken with the allusion aspect, but FDPG bribed him with some of her impending Easter candy convinced him to play along, and so it was that we found ourselves outside one bright shiny day, them posing, me with a camera. One with a fork and the other with a shovel, FDPG looking fondly over at her farmer brother:
Maybe it was because Dominic lacked the hollow, haunted-eyed expression of Wood's farmer, or maybe it was because FDPG didn't have a ponytail and a glum gaze, but everyone at the Science Fair drew a blank about the original. No one seemed to know what we were on about. We get this a lot so it's not as if we were crushed or anything, but it did strike me as highly unusual that no one knew the painting. "That's okay," said FDPG, "we can laugh at ourselves!" Yup, we sure can, FDPG.
The twins' contribution featured a Seed Lab section, where they examined 5 different methods of sprouting seeds: two were those conventional Jiffy pot/clear cover sprouters, one with a heat mat and one without; one was just a tray of open pots; then another covered sprouter (from Lee Valley) but featuring an unusual design; the last one was an aquarium with a nightlight in it.

Then they decided to show all the garden prep. they'd done: sieving soil (for those finicky carrots and beets), pesticide-free gardening, making plant tags, and learning about growing cycles. As one usually does with boards of this ilk, the twins attached photos of all the things they'd done along the way, in addition to their Seed Lab experiment results. We were all particularly struck by the before and after photos of the garden. The after refers to after they'd sifted the soil through the strainer, enlarged the garden 5' and cleaned up the strawberry bed.

FDPG, aka The Girl Who Does Not Much Like Drawing, shocked us all by reproducing a sketch of an aphid that looked like something out of an art book. "I can't believe I did such a good drawing!" she exclaimed, while we all nodded in surprised agreement.

Dominic looked at it with narrowed eyes, wondering if he'd perhaps done it and she was taking all the credit. I mollified him with a request to draw the cabbage looper.


What attracted the most attention was this glass vase. Someone gave it to me for Christmas one year. It was a little on the AWKWARD and BIG side (it's almost 3' tall), which meant that it had been relegated to the basement, but 10 days before the Science Fair we were poking around in the Cold Storage room and I came across one of our seed potatoes from last year. "How about we plant the potato in that glass behemoth and get everyone to guess what it is?" I said. Even Dominic liked this idea. So we layered some sand (drainage) and soil and stuck the potato in the ground. I left a slight hole so the kids would have an easier time guessing, but not one single person guessed what it was.

Wait, I lie.

One person did guess, but it was her 12th guess.

Now I'm wondering if we should leave it in here or remove it to more roomy climes (like the garden). I kind of feel for it, all squished in there.

Max's project featured the life cycle, wants and needs of the Mason Bee, a native bee around these parts. It's a very undemanding little bee, and one we see a lot in our back yard. It's also a prodigious pollinator. Max, wanting to figure it out for himself, struggled a little with the question of what to include, but after some discussion he settled on conservation and habitat. Luckily the newspapers were being unusually topical this week, and we managed to find some handy articles on beekeeping and local pesticide bans.

He also learned how to cut mat titles.

No blood was shed in the making of this blog post.





He included a sketch (a copy taken from this article):
Some thought-provoking titles:
And an exhortation to fill one's garden with Mason Bee houses.
And thus it was that we all had a fine time at the Science Fair. FDPG raffled off some of her special plant tags, Max convulsed his pals with some displays of Star Wars Lego men (and ignored his science board altogether), and Dominic felt as though his dignity was still intact at the end of it all.

I went home and had a stiff drink.

I'm In Poetry Love Friday

I make toys but I've got aspirations.

And from one of my favourite songs: "Maybe it's fair to say there was a lack of communication." (oh that I could have been half as articulate and self-aware in high school)

Freak Heat Waves

We're in the middle of a freak heat spell here. Yes, I did say "heat spell," but you will notice that it was prefaced by the word "freak." I feel compelled to add that in because this is not the Herald of Spring heat. It's Freak Heat. The rains are forecast for later in the week, sob.

It was so hot that I had to turn off the heat in the cold frame for the past couple of days. So hot we ate dinner two nights running on the deck. Outside. Outside on the deck. And we wore shorts and tank tops and dresses without thick woollen socks. Well, some of us did. Some of us cling like grim death to our hoodies and jeans and long sleeve shirts, just in case some random speck of sunlight tans our skin. Some of us even wear the hood of the hoodie over our head. Out in the sun. Some of us have been like this so long that some of us have forgotten why some of us do this. (have I totally confused you yet? welcome to life with my pre-teen son) But eventually it got so hot (25ºC) that even that pre-teen son I was talking about some of us eventually had to shed a layer or two in order not to die of heat stroke. Talk about worlds of wonder.

Anyhow, enough about the kids. How about those new plants, eh? (good with segues, aren't I?) In the foreground of this photo is a hellebore, also known as a Christmas Rose, given to me by my good friend Andrew. Andrew is the kind of friend every gardener should have, a) because he has a good eye for his friends' gardens, and b) because he actually thinks about what might go nicely in them. Richard, in contrast, says things like "Nice rose, why didn't you wait so I could buy that for your birthday/Mother's Day/the time I need some brownie points?" both of us knowing all the while that he has no intention of going into a garden centre. Ever. He is happy to lift and shift but has in interest otherwise. We have a 'running joke' about him having absolutely no idea what anything in the garden is called, but it's not really a joke because he really has no idea what anything is called despite having spent the past 14 years hanging out with me (it's sort of worrying actually). But Andrew, he gave me a hellebore before I even knew what they were. "It blooms in the winter, and it's nice to have something blooming then" he told me. And you know, he was right.

When we were getting ready for the Science Fair (last week), Max and I started rethinking our Pollinator Garden. It's highly ironic to me to think that I have spent the past 10 years wanting double blossomed flowers and really unusual hybrids, only to find this year that they are the last thing you want if you're looking for plants with lots of pollen. So we went out this week and got a couple of strange plants that produce a lot of pollen, are attractive to bees and butterflies, and double as berry bushes for the birds in the fall.
This is the first one: Sambucus nigra 'Madonna.' It's an elderberry. I always associate elderberries with Waldorfians, just like I associate pumpkin juice with Hogwarts, because it seems that every Waldorfian I know loves elderberries. You have only to mention the things and their eyes glaze over. (don't tell my Waldorfian MIL I said that please)

This elderberry is not the edible one, according to the internet. The berries are toxic, they say. According to the fellow at the garden centre (I feel relatively safe assuming that he has no intentions of poisoning me) as long as I cook them I am fine.
It's life on the edge here, isn't it? If you don't hear from me in the next little while, you can safely assume that those berries were toxic.




This is the other plant I acquired: Lonicera caerulea 'Kamtschatica.' Otherwise known as a Honeyberry Honeysuckle (it's that bushy thing to the left of the bird bath). "Large dark blue berries for fresh eating, jams, jellies or baking. White flowers in spring on pink stems, with lightly fragrant blue-green foliage turning yellow in fall" was what the tag said. I guess we're safe in assuming that this one is edible. I couldn't resist this one: it met almost all of my requirements. First of all, it was cheap. This is one of my Prime Directives in acquiring garden plants. They must not cause me to regret spending the grocery money on them. The other reason I liked this plant is because I'd never heard of it before. Nothing like being outwitted at the Garden Centre (makes me feel like I'm on Survivor). Finally, I like the fact that it will have berries on it. Then it can take up space and feed the kids at the same time. I won't need to break off from gardening to go inside to get them meals.
This is not a new plant - I planted these pansies last fall. I like pansies. They bloom so early in the spring here, and even though the slugs are mad about them, they still look pretty good when half-chewed (wish I could say the same about myself).

The bees like these ones, too.












This is my Fake Out Pot. It's a broken pot tucked around some squill and irises, but when people walk by it they always exclaim "Oh, that's so cute - that pot tucked in there like that!" Once someone tried to pick it up, only to haul away one of the halves. Boy, writing this makes me think jeez, sheila you are so immature, tricking your visitors like this.












This bed got an overhaul today. I removed all those beach rocks and reshaped it, disturbing a miniature ant nest in the process, not to mention many many spider nests. I was tempted to squish all those spider nests, because I am so not a fan of the Wolf Spider (I have been known to running screaming from them, ask everyone I know), but my adherence to yet another Prime Directive meant that all I could do was materialize briefly in their lives before zipping off to another planet place in the garden to inflict myself on other creatures keep digging up the grass
Honestly, I am so rule bound, aren't I?

Friday I'm In Poetry Love

In honour of Poetry Month, I've decided to spend my Fridays inflicting a sampling of musical poems on you all (sheila peers into the dark with her hand cupped over her eyes, guitar at the ready). No, no, fear not, I am not going to perform them. Links, baby, links. It's poetry, right? Just a different method of delivery. So settle down, no groaning now. Here, have some popcorn.

Here's a little number by a lovely fellow in a white sweater and a tidy mod haircut. Many an evening, when I was a cook at a Mexican restaurant (I know, I am SO Mexican, I hope you never had to eat there but know that I have improved greatly since), was spent blasting this over the heat of the ovens. We used to pride ourselves on knowing every word. Still haven't managed to swivel my hips like that though.

And then there's the lovely AND adorable Billy Bragg (how can you not love someone who sings with their accent doggedly intact?) doing Great Leap Forward. I wanted to include Shirley but all the versions YouTube has are crap, which makes me inclined to inflict this on you again, just because I love it so (besides, what's not to love about Fridays?).

Then there's this companion piece to Mr Brightside. I want this man's hair.

Let's not forget our Canadian content. Here is a greatly underrated Canuck, in my never ever humble opinion, who really should be getting far more air time. You might recognize this one, done with Chris Martin of Cold Play, and you know, I don't usually agree with the YouTube commentators especially when they have cheesy nicknames but in this case I think Chockles makes a valid point: this is one of the greatest songs ever written. Well, if you don't count this one, particularly if we're talking in present tenses. Is she not the most beautiful thing ever? Sigh.

And finally, because I love this song so much, here's Billy Bragg doing his version of Jerusalem.

Reading Harry Potter

We just finished Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows today, after a breakneck Harry Potter marathon over the winter. I would have drawn it out longer, and sprinkled a few other authors in here and there, but we began running into an unusual number of kids who were far too willing to spill the beans about the ends of the books to the twins (why oh why do kids do this? it's never little kids doing this, either, but kids you'd think would know better than to ruin an entire 7 book plotline for a couple of seven year olds, leaving their mother to White Lie it a bit so as not to totally ruin the oncoming deaths of Important Characters). Since I couldn't very well duc tape anyone's mouth shut, I decided to speed up our consumption of that phenomenon known as the Harry Potter series.

We'd already read The Philosopher's Stone, The Chamber of Secrets and The Prisoner of Azkaban; they were begun in the lazy dog days of summer, when none of us could bear to think about school regimens. A good read aloud, I'd thought, that's what we need - that will ease us back into a schedule. And what better than a series about school (albeit a magical school)? Max and I had already read each book as it had come out, so I knew the story, or at least, I thought I did. The twins were captivated. It was a new and wildly delightful world for them. FDPG started carrying around a broomstick, from an old Halloween costume, and we found a website that told us how to make a Hogwarts wand so she could completely irritate her older brother with cries of Expelliaramus! Alohamora! and Wingardium Leviosa! She donned an old Waldorf silk cape and spent so much time whipping around the house on her broomstick that she eventually knocked over most of the houseplants and scared the you-know-what out of the cat (who still flees in utter panic whenever she enters the room). Dominic spent all his time wondering about the finer points: Did all wizard kids go to regular school or just Muggle-born wizard kids? Did they have to do math ever? Why did they wear those billowy cloaks when playing Quidditch? Why does Dumbledore ignore so much critical stuff? Why didn't Snape wash his hair?

We had a brief Diana Wynne Jones interlude (House of Many Ways, The Game, Dogsbody, Castle in the Air), to start the new school year, mostly so FDPG could steel her imaginative resolve a little in time for The Goblet of Fire and its accompanying movie, because we always had a movie showing after the book. But the series takes a more, err, mature turn here: perfectly nice people die, long dead parents have poignant cameos, and the Death Eaters have several creepy scenes (not to mention the fact that my old heartthrob Ralph Fiennes makes an alarming appearance in the film without a nose). I could see all kinds of problems arising if I started this book too early with FDPG: the combination of an impressionable seven year old and a very dramatic story about wizarding tournaments, not to mention sudden and irrevocable death, was not one I was willing to make. Besides, Max and I had seen Goblet of Fire in the theatre when Max was eight, and I was still slightly scarred from watching him cry as we left the theatre. "That was kind of scary," he'd said shakily. He was right - I'd no idea it would be quite so dark. I spent the final 20 minutes of the film cursing all the movie reviewers who'd neglected to mention this while Max hid behind his container of popcorn every time Ralph Voldemort screeched and swung and sliced. I had no intention of revisiting that place with FDPG: to hell with The Boy Who Lived, FDPG is The Girl Who Has Night Terrors. That trumps.

But then we went to a wedding, and some helpful little sod twit 13 year old told the twins that Dumbledore died in Half Blood Prince, and that Harry and Ginny got married in the end. "Oh, he's just having you on," I said, "he's kidding around." It was time, I knew. Either that or have every kid we run into spill what remaining beans there were.

So I hauled out Goblet of Fire. We read it. This book tested my ability for accents: there was McGonagall, Hagrid, Mad Eye Moody, AND Fleur Delacour to remember, to say nothing of keeping Hermione, Harry, and Ron straight. I have to confess that I used the accents of the actors in the movies: they were easy to remember and they made the movie viewing all the more piquant. A ripe Scots accent heralding the appearance of McGonagall in a scene made everyone grin madly, while Fleur's "Ooo, 'Arry, zat was so sweet of you!" had the singular ability to make Max (now 12) blush and scowl at the same time ("She doesn't really sound like that, does she?"). And when it came time to see the movie I simply sat next to FDPG and covered her eyes when the scary bits came. She was more than okay with it, too - she'd read the book - she knew what she was missing: she plugged her ears and I plugged her eyes. "Books are always more scary than the movie, Mum" she said one time. "I don't need to see Voldemort, I can imagine him and that's scary enough."

And thus we moved along, through Order of the Phoenix, The Half Blood Prince, and finally, through The Deathly Hallows. There were times along the way when I found the words too sad to read, and Max had to take over, and times when FDPG decided that she read better than Max and that SHE would take over when I got all emotional. I said earlier that I thought I knew the story, having read it already, but as each book opened up I found all sorts of things I'd forgotten or not noticed on the first reading. I also noticed things I hadn't before: plot lines that, if one reads the stories back to back, make it quite clear who's good, who's bad, and who's in between. I'd been in such a hurry before that I'd raced along at my own breakneck speed, desperate to see who lived and who died at the end, and sometimes I was left wondering. And here I was reading it again. It was more fun this time. It was fun hearing FDPG shout "And then we apparated out of there!" from her bedroom, while she and Dominic played Harry and Hermione at Hogwarts. It was also fun pretending to be McGonagall during math: I'd wear a red satin cape, smack the white board hard with a stick and let it rip with the Scots accent. I sometimes added or deducted points from the houses, just for the heck of it (Maxendor, Katenclaw, and Dufflepuff). We pretended to drink pumpkin juice at lunch and the boys dreamed of multiple desserts after each meal. And it was fun reading the little notes FDPG left for Dominic in his room, promising an entrance to Hogwarts if he behaved himself ("Dear Dominic, Now that you are 11 you can come to Hogwarts, here is your book list").

Finally, I wish I could have made a sneak video of FDPG's face while I read the books, because every grimace, grin, scowl, and look of anguish every character manifested, not to mention each flick of a wand hand, was tested out on her face (and hands) each and every morning, over her cup of tea. You don't get that in the theatre, and you certainly don't get that when you read by yourself.

Flower in the Garden Revisited

I know I use this title a lot (if you've never noticed let's just pretend I never said that). I blame it on a cloth book FDPG had when she was 3 months old. She'd sit in her bouncy chair and glare at the book, willing the pictures to turn into words, I'm sure. And yes, we do have photographs of her doing that. How could we not take pictures of a 3 month old glaring rigidly at a cloth book? Especially one entitled Flower in the Garden?

Today was a day for the heralding of spring. It was t-shirt weather. It was dig in the garden weather. It was bask in the sun on the deck weather. It was even Watch Richard Read Academic Literature On The Deck Weather (not nearly as gripping as it sounds). It got so warm I even had to turn off the heat mat in the cold frame. If my neighbours hadn't been in their yard wondering where the stench of chicken manure was coming from I might even have frolicked a little, doing my Julie Andrews Hills Are Alive impersonation, tra-laaing with my new garden fork. But my neighbours aren't big on irony so I restrained myself. Plus, the stench of chicken manure was coming from my garden and I didn't really want to draw attention to the fact.
The weather is supposed to turn tomorrow (oh gosh, quel surprise) so I made the most of today: I paid asked the twins to help me push all the vegetable garden soil through a sieve so we can get the carrots and beets and root vegetables started soon. Last year I skipped this step and our carrots grew into rude manly shapes that no one could eat without bursting into hysterical laughter and the beets didn't do much of anything. Even the peas struggled for a while. So this year I am trying a new tact: I am doing what the garden books recommend. Novel of me, I know.
Look at that soil!







I also dug some trenches and planted a lot of potatoes (Russian Fingerlings, Desiree, and Yukon Gold). Emptied the compost into the tomato patch. Took all the sod from the front yard and lad it upside down onto the sloping lawn in the back yard so I can use it for garden at some point soon (see photo to the left). This part of the yard doesn't look very sloping here but it is quite steep. I nearly ripped my leg muscles trying to slide down the hill with my wheelbarrow full of sod. You'd never know that there are about 20 newspapers and two bales of straw there, under that sod and chicken manure.








It's still hard to tell what might have bit the dust over the unpredictable winter we had, but if I look really close, I can see the peonies, lilies, and hardy fuchsias coming up. This is a Star Gazer lily. When my grandmother died I dug it up from her garden. Some people like to have jewelry or books from relatives who have died, I like to have plants.





A primula. Primulas are like a People magazine for me: I always regret buying them (they never come back the same way twice and slugs live for them) and but they are fun for the moment.

The only kind I've ever had any luck with is the pure yellow variety. But this one? I think this is the first and last time I'll see this two-tone colour...










This violet is poking up everywhere. It's even in the lawn. Nodding purple heads attracting all the early bees.









And finally, the miniature daffs and the pulmonaria. More fodder for the solitary bees. Not to mention my camera.

Something Along Those Lines

The kids have a science fair this month, and we were going to do something pretty hilarious in the Greek line, but after the Multicultural Lunch we attended we all felt a bit Greeked out. My fault, I think, because I've been dragging this unit out for far too long, always seeing a new White Rabbit to dash after: "Ack, we forgot about Pythagorus!" or "We really should read this laboriously long 698 page Roger Lancelyn Green book" not to mention the old "But we haven't finished every bloody single story in Famous Men of Greece!" trail.

So when we sat down to reconsider our contribution to the science fair, I asked the kids if they were okay with our Greek plan, or did they want to explore something else. Max immediately blurted out "Something else!" That was that. While I have been known to flog a dead horse beyond belief when it comes to heated Jeopardy arguments discussions (especially when I am right and Richard is oh-so-wrong), I know enough not to mess with the interest levels of those of us in this house who are hovering on puberty the kids.

"So, what shall we do?" I asked.

"Gardening!" shouted FDPG (who has discovered that shouting trumps almost any voice).

"Butterfly gardening!" said Max.

"Pollinators!" shouted FDPG.

"Clone wars!" said Dominic, hopefully.

"Good ideas," I said.

So we went to the museum.

I like our museum: it's full of cool stuff, helps us clear our heads when there are too many things going on, and I've found a place where we can park for free for 4 hours that is right beside the museum. Free parking! What's not to like about that?

We wandered around a bit, saw some weird exhibits (believe it or not, Mr Museum Curator, but there IS such a thing as too many argilite carvings), rode up and down the very tall escalators a few times (dare I confess that this ranks up there with some of the Marine Biology exhibits for my kids?) and presented our Membership Cards several times just for the heck of it (FDPG finds it incredible that she now has real picture ID - I eventually had to confiscate it from her).

Then we hit the gift shop. Or, rather, I hit the gift shop. Max sat outside at the free movie centre with the twins. The twins hate gift shops. I'm not sure why. It might be because I love museum gift shops. And I like to have a whirl round after each visit in case something new (and educational) has appeared in our absence. Max loves gift shops, although he has taken to hovering so closely over me during these whirl rounds that once or twice I've fallen into him after turning around. (some people are close talkers; Max is a close walker) So I went in but about 3 seconds later all three kids followed me. Apparently someone near them at the free movie centre was sniffing too loud. Or something equally banal. Personally, I think they were worried about missing something.


After escaping the friendly but overly voluble docent, I rifled through the kids book section. And found this. It looked kind of fun. Nice cover. Combined bugs and experiments in a way I figured would work with both Max and the twins (not an easy feat some days). Looked fun as a science fair idea stimulant. So we bought it. And came home to a renewed enthusiasm for the Science Fair. Bugs, bees, butterflies and gardening. We had most of the makings already: homemade plant tags, lots of little, dearly beloved, tenderly nurtured seedlings, bee houses in varying stages of occupation, cold frames, heat mats, a worship of butterflies that borders on the near insane, and a passionate interest in growing and eating things that reside in our back yard. Or something along those lines.

Oh, by the way, remember me mentioning how I can flog a dead horse when it comes to Jeopardy discussions? Last night we were all watching Jeopardy, and when the Final Jeopardy question popped up ("Who wrote 'You're nothing but a pack of cards!'" or something along those lines) FDPG shouted "LEWIS CARROLL WROTE THAT!" (as I said, she has discovered the power of shouting).

And what do you know, but she was right.