Byddi Lee's Blog, page 7

Launch of ‘The Bramley Volume 2’

Does anyone else feel like a lab rat? So much of what we’re going through during this pandemic feels like a ‘try it and see’ situation. Governments can’t make decisions, or often are making the wrong ones. (Why can’t we all copy yer woman in New Zealand? She’s amazing!)

So there was great comfort and joy in compiling The Bramley Volume 2 Because the stories have been tried and tested before a live audience at Flash Fiction Armagh events, so we are sure of the quality going into our beautiful publication.

The launch, however, did pose a problem…

For the first Bramley launch in March 2019, we had a wonderful day in the Palace hosted by the then Lord Mayor Of Armagh, the lovely Julie Flaherty. It wasn’t the first launch I’d had in the Palace either. Back in March 2015, the Lord Mayor at the time, the amazing Cathy Rafferty hosted a launch for March to November in the Palace, and if I’m honest, I feel she launched my career as a writer, though she’s too modest to admit that. Nowadays, I have the great pleasure to work alongside Cathy on Armagh’s COVID 19 Response team. (In fairness, she does much more than me – I only volunteer for a couple of hours a week while she is instrumental in the operation.)

Which brings me back to the launch of The Bramley Volume 2…

Castrum Press released Rejuvenation just as we plunged into lockdown, (March 25 2020) so the official launch was cancelled, but with two more books to release, I’m sure we will have that party some other time.

It was Sue Divin, friend, fellow writer and contributor to both Bramley’s who suggested we have a Zoom launch.

“Just get everyone on to Zoom to raise a glass, take a screenshot, and you’re done,” said herself.

So that’s what we did.

Kinda…

It was a little chaotic.

And very, very funny…

I sent an email to everyone with the jpeg of the book cover attached and instructions to download it to their device for use as the background. The plan being we’d have all these lovely rectangles with a picture of the book behind us and an array of happy faces with raised glasses.

There were certain technical challenges to this and many innovative ways around it… and after much chaos, this was the best we could do!

Getting to this was quite the task – I was a bit flustered ‘admitting’ everyone to the chat, and though I tried to welcome each person, I can’t help feeling I missed someone – if I did, I’m sorry. The craic started when we tried to set our backgrounds. A few had devices which didn’t support it, but we decided there were enough of us with the background to make it work…

…Except that at least three of us got eaten by our apples.

Brendan Magee went ‘old school’ and printed out his picture and stuck it up behind him.

Malachi Kelly was taking no chances of catching the virus from the rest of us and has to be coaxed out of his PPE.

Chris Wright and Rosemary Tumilty won the prize for ‘getting it right’ with their perfectly positioned book covers. In my head, this is what we’d all have looked like.

As we raised our glasses, (for the umpteenth time!) Kieran Mc Gurk introduced us to his vintage bottle of …Lucozade! From 1997 – a great year he assures us.

By the end of the session, things had deteriorated somewhat. Sue Divin invaded the Robinson Library in Armagh, to Rachel Toner’s consternation since that’s where she works.

Then we attempted a serious conversation about the book cover design…

Then zoomed off on a completely different a tangent, several times…

But the important thing was the feel-good factor as we finished off with raised glasses, smiles and laughter!

And I was so glad we tried this new form of book launch, proving that some experiments can be fun and that together we can get through this.

If you’d like to buy a copy of The Bramley Volume 2 click here.

And if you’ve read it, we’d love you to leave a review.

AND NEWS JUST IN… just I was about to publish this post one of the contributors, Gerry Mc Culluogh drew my attention to this

We’re at number 1! I may have to open another bottle of bubbly! Well done Team – seems the Flash Fiction Armagh fairy dust is still working despite the lockdown!

Many thanks to all involved,

Byddi Lee

Together, We Can Do So Much

This time two years ago Flash Fiction Armagh was a germinating seed. We began with no cash behind us at all, but we made up for that in goodwill and community spirit. We started charging £5 at the door, our goal to someday be able to pay our writers. A year later, when we had a bit of cash built up, we looked at the best way to divvy out the proceeds and decided to publish The Bramley – An Anthology of Flash Fiction Armagh. We paid for each piece of writing read at our events and which now appeared in the journal. It wasn’t a large sum, but it was better than nothing, a token.

At the start of this year, we realized that we had enough stories in stock to publish The Bramley – Volume 2. We dusted off the shoebox* from under the bed and realized we were able to pay twice what we’d paid the last time – still not a huge amount but enough for a main course lunch in Mulberry Bistro.

And we had money left over.

Going forward, we had planned to realize our dream of paying writers to read at the events. Perhaps we’d at least be able to cover travel expenses…

Then the coronavirus hit. We’d an event lined up for May – it was cancelled… no… postponed…

Same thing with our slot at the John Hewitt Society Summer School in July. The Flash Fiction in the Orchard is now uncertain because the Armagh Food and Cider Festival is under review depending upon what happens with the lockdown.

So there we were, with a stash of cash, £800.00 to be exact, and no events to spend it on.

At a time when many people have had their income cut, it felt like that money was burning a hole in the shoe box.

We thought of dividing it equally between all the writers who had ever read at our events, but that chopped the lump sum up into tiny meaningless amounts of money – about £5 per reading. It wasn’t worth the effort, to be honest.

And then we noticed a call for donations from the Hospice. Many of their regular fundraisers, like walks and marathons, have had to be cancelled due to the current crisis.

We considered it the perfect solution. We’ve always said that Flash Fiction Armagh is about building community among writers and between writers and readers (our audience.)

By donating this money to the Hospice, we are supporting our community in its time of need.

Many writers and audience have had someone connected to them need the hospice services. Many of us, have sat by those beds, and held hands with loved ones during the last goodbye, knowing that the Hospice gave them the care and dignity they needed when they needed it most. It seems fitting that now, in this strange era, when we might not be able to sit by the beds of our ill relatives, that we can donate to the Hospice.

When this COVID-19 crisis is over, Flash Fiction Armagh can start afresh to build up our coffers. We did it once, and we’ll do it again. Perhaps we’ll get a run of sales on The Bramley, and there’s volume 2 coming soon. We’ll be selling through Amazon, so we won’t even need the money upfront to buy copies to sell at events. Yes – we can do this!

Today, Flash Fiction Armagh is proud to announce that we have donated £800.00 to the Southern Area Hospice in Newry.

£800.00 donated by Flash Fiction Armagh to the Southern Area Hospice 22 April 2020

I want to be very clear about this. We – not I – we at Flash Fiction Armagh, as a community, have made this donation – the writers, the audience, the people who bought The Bramley. You should all be very proud of yourselves because today we sprinkled a little bit of Flash Fiction Armagh magic where it is needed most. In the words of Helen Keller:

“Alone, we can do so little; together, we can do so much.”

Thank you.

Byddi Lee

*By “shoebox” we mean “bank” – we’re not really keeping all that money in a shoebox under the bed… our bed is a divan. There’s no room for a shoebox under it!

Announcing Rejuvenation Book One

When I was daydreaming months (or even years) ago about the release of  Book One in the Rejuvenation Trilogy, I could not have predicted the global crisis we’d be in today. But then again, who could have? That said, Rejuvenation begins with a strange disease that affects the elderly…

This book is a little different from my last, but if you loved March to November, please be assured that Rejuvenation is just as character-driven, with plenty of plot twists and emotional rollercoasters. To get you started, you can read the first few chapters for free on Amazon.

You can click here to buy a copy of Rejuvenation Book One.

I hope reading gives you a chance to relax and escape the crazy times we’re living through.

Happy reading and stay safe,

Byddi

Guest Post by Martha Engber

I’m thrilled to introduce my writing buddy Marth Engber. She organises the Monday Night Writers in San Jose, California and was one of the first serious writing groups I ever joined. She taught me everything I know about “show don’t tell” and her book Growing Great Characters From the Ground Up: A Thorough Primer for the Writers of Fiction and Nonfiction was a veritable bible for me as I learned to write. I asked her to let us know what COVID-19 Crisis life is like for her on the other side of the planet from me and here’s what she has to say…

I live in Silicon Valley here in
California, where Byddi used to live. That’s how we know one another. She
joined our critique group back in the day, adding her cheery face to our
discussions about the very book she just launched, Rejuvenation. (So exciting!)

Normally I work as a fitness
instructor and personal trainer Mon. – Thurs. On Fridays, I put on my sweats
and become a writer until Sunday. And the cycle repeats. Then Covid-19 arrived.
Now I’m a sweats-wearing writer sevens days a week. As a lifelong freelancer, I
know how to keep myself busy. And because our weather is temperate, I’ve been
able to participate in “activities of necessity,” including walking, biking,
hiking and surfing.

But there’s no denying life in
lockdown is weird, which as a writer I find fascinating on a 1 – 10 Scale of
Horror, with 1 being “not very horrified” to 10 being “beside myself.”

Here are some observations from my
corner of the world and how they rate on that scale:

1 – 2

I see entire families out walking
during the middle of the day. I don’t think families have had so much together
time, nor dogs so many walks or play time.



Since people are not commuting to work
or traveling as much, our air quality has never been so good.



I’ve had more time to read, and write
book reviews, which is fantastic.

2 – 5

My local convenience store now has a
clear plastic window to protect the clerk from customers. Since the self-serve
drink station is closed, he dons gloves to pour my coffee.



Many of the beach parking lots have
closed to deter large crowds. While the small parking lot where I park to go surfing
hasn’t closed, the public bathrooms have.



My fellow fitness industry friends and
I have segued fast from in-person trainings and classes to online. Many are
doing so out of a deep responsibility to help people stay physically and
mentally healthy during this time of isolation. But others have had to move
fast to deal with an immediate drop-off in income. I feel queasy on a daily
basis from the thought of so many hourly and gig economy workers who are now in
desperate straits. My husband and I have been ordering take-out food once a
week to keep the restaurants open and at least some of the employees employed.

6. – 10.

Our incompetent national leadership
daily increases the likelihood this crisis will worsen.

To leave on a good note, spring has arrived
in our valley. Virtual happy hours with friends and family are now a weekly
occurrence. I’m the most rested I’ve been in years and get outdoors every day
to soak up the natural beauty of our area along with a hefty dose of Vitamin D.

I hope you’re well wherever you are!

Bio

Martha Engber’s next literary novel, Winter Light, will be published Oct. 6 2020. She’s also the author of The Wind Thief, a novel, and Growing Great Characters From the Ground Up: A Thorough Primer for the Writers of Fiction and Nonfiction. If you love to read, friend her on GoodReads. If you’re in need of exercise, she’s been posting a Workout of the Day on her fitness blog, giraffeegs.com.

I Am Grateful

When “Thank
you” doesn’t cover it and you’ve run out synonyms, how do you express your
feelings of gratitude for, oh so many things?

I’m running
out of words. You’d think a writer would have some in the bank, but the layers
of things I have to say, “Thank you” for have bunched up into a thick wad of
wonderfulness.

First, there was the doorstep applause for the NHS last Thursday night. I pulled open the front door feeling a little sheepish. What if no-one else was going to be out here? We live in a relatively quiet street, in a typically quiet ‘suburb’ (if you could call it that) on the edge of a decidedly quiet (but charming) city. I had already decided that if my neighbours, a lot of whom are elderly, hadn’t gotten the memo about the thank you to the NHS, I was going to get into the car and toot the horn!

But there
was no need for that. The sound of clapping pattered between the houses like water
slapping onto slabs of rock – a waterfall of thanks. As I stood out on the
porch step, a neighbour (and friend) from across the street spotted me, called
my name and whooped. Emotion rose in my throat, forcing me to answer with an
involuntary, “Wooo hoo!” and before you knew it, we were cheering and blinking
back the tears.

Later that night, I received an email I’d been waiting on all week. It was from my publisher, Castrum Press, to tell me that my book Rejuvenation Book One was live on Kindle. We were launched… The official launch at the amazing No Alibis bookstore in Belfast had had to be cancelled because of the coronavirus. I decided not to be sad about that. I am safe, my loved ones are safe, and for that, I am grateful. I am trying to learn not to complain about the little things. There’ll be plenty of time to hang out with readers and sign books – when this is all over.

I wanted to
take this opportunity to expand on the acknowledgements in my trilogy.

When I started Rejuvenation, the amount of research it needed was almost overwhelming. People who were already over-stretched in their busy lives and hectic jobs willingly gave up their precious time to coach me through medical conditions and jargon. Their ability to tune into the human condition, be objective yet still compassionate, really helped me frame the character of Dr Bobbie Chan.

To the
nurses in my life, your enthusiasm for your work and willingness to share your
expertise left me humbled and full of gratitude. When I put out a call for guidance
on medical issues, they jumped to offer me help. Do you ever switch off?

For fielding my stream of medical questions, thank you to Mickey Moen (for advice on fixing broken wrists and fractured skulls); Tracey McGuigan (for advice on hair regrowth); Paula Toner (you’re an inspiration); Prudence Vincent (I miss our chats and your take on life); Deidre McCory (I will follow you always); Frances Moen (my friend, confidant, and life guru); my (fairy) Godmother -Teresa Kelly (my shining light); and my Mum – Bernadette Grimley (to whom Rejuvenation Book One is dedicated – and no Granny is not based on you…honest – but Bobbie does take after you a lot).

Thank you
also to Dr Orna Hananel-McCusker – for
that phone consultation when you didn’t know me, had never met me, but as a
friend of a friend, you still made time. Dr Dana McManus for your advice, encouragement and friendship – thank you.

If the writing
world is a parody of the real world, it is no surprise that this medical team breathed
life into my imaginary world and gave it substance.

Since the book has gone live, I’ve been staggering beneath the gratitude I feel for every message from friends and every comment on social media. I’ve had such support and love from my writing communities in both the USA and Europe. I’m sorry to bundle you all into one sentence because there is so many to thank and for so much! I’ve struggled to keep up with what folk have been saying across three (four if you count WhatsApp) different platforms. Thank you for the words of encouragement, the well-wishes, and the joy you’ve allowed me to experience. Already, I’ve had people contact me to say they’re enjoying the book. At the end of a long writing project, I realize that is why I write, why I kept writing in the dreary days, sitting by myself, slogging through the re-writes and the editing – the hard stuff. Perhaps writing is a parody of life right now. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Now that I’ve reached it, I’m standing blinking and a little bit blinded by it.

Writing feels to me like a smaller echo of what we are all going through with this crisis. Now, we all have to hunker down by ourselves, dig in, drag ourselves through the hard part, to eventually grab the reward – except for everyone now this time the reward is life itself.

Amid my gratitude, I’m mindful of the extreme suffering going on right now. I’m grieving for the loss of life from coronavirus, and from other diseases, not just biological but social ones too – world poverty, injustice, war. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if after we come together to fight and beat coronavirus, we tackle those other diseases with the same united force?

And there’s guilt too – how can I do more to help? I’m staying home, doing my best not to spread this virus. It doesn’t feel heroic, but people need to know it that it is – it really is. And we are a collective hero – together- but six-feet apart. It’s all I, personally can do right now. To those of you who can’t stay home, who have to risk catching the virus to keep the world functioning and to help the afflicted, these words are not enough, but they’re all we have…

Thank you.

Byddi Lee

Malachi’s Monday Musings

I’m excited to share another guest blog post from Malachi Kelly.

Masks

The use of masks and disguises by humans
goes back millennia. 

Originally used for rituals and to
distinguish hierarchy or power, masks have been on the go from 7000BC.

Made from leather or wood, not many of
these have survived the ravages of time. A false face was never meant to last.

Moving to Georgian times, we see a
preponderance of paper masks used at balls and galas to
cover the upper part of the face in a grotesque, frightening way or to mystify
a lady’s identity. 

This type of mask proved cumbersome, being
held on a stick. A lady was forced to be a one-armed bandit for the evening if
she didn’t want her ‘face to slip’.

So powders and paints replaced the mask. Edwardian beauties had pale complexions and rosy cheeks. To
whiten their faces, enamel paint was
used with white lead (which we now know is toxic). Rice powder or pearl powder
was applied as a finishing touch, and in some cases, it was the ‘finishing
touch’. 

As open fires were the main source of heat ladies gathered around
the hearth to chat and gossip (all the rage years ago). It was soon evident
that too long at the fire gave you a sagging face as the paint
melted; not the look desired. The fire was now masked with a
guard which stopped the heat getting to the ladies picturesque faces – and also
the room – a minor sacrifice to Vanity.

Gentlemen were left in the cold physically so
quickly organised “The Club” as their favoured escape.
In time a new industry was born to service the insatiable  desire to mask one’s natural looks with,
well shall we say “Muck!”

I remember my own mother chastising her daughters with, “You’re not going out with your face painted with that muck on!”

But I digress.

The fashion in the 1900s was still a pale complexion. A tan look was working-class or inferior as a lady did not go out in the sun. 

The look had to be youthful and vibrant,
yet the make-up itself unseen. 

And so the art of deception, the dark skills of deceit were practised daily sometimes to the point were husbands asked to be introduced to their own wife, the change being so dramatic.

On we go to the present day. Multi-billion dollar empires have influenced and encouraged people of the necessity to alter, to conform to ‘The Look’, ‘The Shape’ and ‘The Fashion’ of our time.

The mask has morphed to a MONSTER.

The thought that strikes real fear into a
modern populous is not a lack of toilet rolls or beans, not losing your job, or
pubs and hotels closed. Not the grounding of airlines and road transport. Not
even death! 

It is the realisation that this social distancing means beauty salons are shut. Nail bars and hairdressers cut off. Massage parlours rubbed out. Designer fashion and shoe shops get the boot… and nature’s cruel truth reappears.

Roots shoot. Fifty shades of grey make a
comeback. Crow’s feet and turkey-necks; Blackheads and double chins; Hairy
eyebrows and haggard nails reappear overnight.

Husbands stare in shock across the
breakfast bar. Children call you “Granny?”

But don’t be disheartened. Our present crisis
is working somewhat in your favour. The mask is making a return to our lives ­–
the perfect reason to be up with today’s
latest world fashion and still hide the real you!

Malachi Kelly, poet, playwright and opinionist.

Make Every Day Mother’s Day

I want to hug My Mum. I want to crawl onto her knee, inhale her perfume and listen to her heartbeat the way I used to as a child. I want to drowse on her knee as she chats with my Godmother at the kitchen table, their voices a treacled burble, punctuated by the clink of spoons on crockery and knives thwinking of plates as they cut through scones. I want to hear the rumble deep in my mother’s chest as she laughs at something they say. I want that rich orchestra of comfort.

My Mum was a nurse. I used to feel sorry for other kids whose mummies weren’t nurses because My Mum knew how to make me feel better. As an adult, that makes me smile because I now see that every child feels that their mother is the only one that can make them feel better. (I also know that there are extremely tragic exceptions to this but my heart can’t cope with that right now.)

This Mother’s Day, this Covid-19 Mother’s Day, I won’t hug My Mum, in the hopes that she’ll be around for me to hug for many more Mother’s Days to come. Besides, it’s not the first Mother’s Day I’ve missed hugging her. We can still chat every day like we did when I lived abroad.

Besides, I’ve never held much truck with Mother’s Day, believing it to be a marketing gimmick. Every day should be “Mother’s Day.” On another level, it’s a really hard day for some people for many reasons. There’s those who have lost their mother and those who lost the hope of being a mother…

One year, after I had been spat out the other side of failed fertility treatments and was grappling with an unimagined future, we decided to go with friends for a hike on Mother’s Day. Our friends understood what we’d been through. They’d literally been there a few years before us. So the hike was a nice escape, and before we parted ways we decided to nip into a diner to grab a bite to eat. We four sat chatting in a booth as a cheery twenty-something bounced up to the table and stopped us in our tracks by saying, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

I didn’t hear her tell us her name in her perky upbeat voice that Californian servers do so well. I didn’t hear the specials or register if the coke came with free refills because I was too busy fighting the urge to grab the salad fork and stick it in one of her shiny bright eyes. I was nowhere near happy about it being Mother’s Day, light-years from it in fact and I thought I’d never come to terms with it.

Sure, my rage has faded in the years (and I mean, it took years) since then. Back then I couldn’t face my failure, couldn’t look at pregnant women, cried with grief at each new birth announcement (I know I’m not looking good here), secretly hated (okay, well, maybe not that secretly, but God knows I tried) mother’s going on and on about their children, and eventually couldn’t even be bothered with children (except my nephews). I was never going back to teaching – not because we’d moved to California, and I’d have to retrain as a teacher (like, what was that even about?), as I told everyone who asked, but because I could not bear children… in every sense of the word.

And Mother’s Day was torture.

At the moment, I’m dodging kids for totally different reasons. Yesterday I went for a short walk and there were four kids (from about 7 to 13 years old) playing on my street. They were on a fleet of bikes and scooters. As they came careening towards me, I prepared to cross the road to avoid them, but a car was coming, so I had to wait while they got closer and closer. It reminded me of scuba diving with jellyfish in the water. I didn’t want to get too close but they being oblivious to my movements wafted closer in random patterns (both kids and jellyfish). The oldest one looked up, gave a shy, ‘Hi” and waved a hand (I’m talking about kids only now!) and I felt so sorry for her. What a crappy time to be young and under house arrest.

I’ve come to terms, for the most part, with my childfree status. It certainly has its perks even though the grief can still kick my butt at times (Christmas being one) but the best thing that happened this week was getting the news that one of my best friends became a Grandma again. I was overjoyed at being overjoyed at the arrival of the new baby.

Everything passes… even grief and even pandemics.

And if this Mother’s Day you need to close your eyes and take your mind back to your earliest memory of comfort, and that memory involves your mother, then you are celebrating Mother’s Day with her.

Byddi Lee

Let There Be Peas

They’ve germinated! They’ve germinated! Oh, the joy!

Yep, I get this way when anything I plant germinates, but especially when it’s sugar snap peas because they are so yummy come harvest time. I’ll be eating these sweeties all summer, grazing my way around the garden.

I’ve had an earworm since I spotted this shoot. It’s a little song I learned in primary school and it goes ♫ Let there be peace Earth, and let it begin with me♫

Okay, I can hear the groans from here…

However, it got me thinking…

With the kids off school now perhaps you can do some science at home with seeds. Pea or bean seeds are good because they’re big and easy to see. The added bonus is you can eat the produce in a couple of months… Imagine, when we’re all emerging out from under our coronavirus rocks and having that joyous reunion bbq, you could serve up a bowl of peas you grew yourself. I recommend growing Sugar Snaps or Mange Touts so you don’t need to do all that pesky podding. You’ll be far too busy socializing to sit at home and shell peas!

Another good one to use is sunflower seeds, not least for the gorgeous flowers at the end.

Turn it into a homeschooling science project. Kids could take a photo record of it. Older kids would gain a lot of skills by keeping measurements. Kids from here on in I’m talking to you too…

Source seeds. The supermarket might be out of toilet paper but next time you are in, and not buying more than you need, take a look at their seeds section. Seeds are relatively cheap. I got 50 for €2.00 from an online garden centre I use – Quickcrop.ie. Dried peas from the dry goods section might work. and tinned peas and frozen peas definitely won’t BUT it makes for a great comparative experiment with younger kids.

Soak seeds. I find soaking the peas or beans seeds for 24 hours gets them off to a great start. I don’t usually soak sunflower seeds but you can experiment. (Let me know how it goes.) Speaking of experiments you can set a couple of different soaking scenarios and compare to a seed that has not been soaked. Perhaps soak seeds in vinegar (acid) and some in a soapy solution (weak alkali). Or vary the length of time you soak the seeds to see if there’s a difference.

‘Plant’ seed. Set your seed up so it is easy to view and measure. I would use a glass or a jar with scrunched up paper in it – something that is absorbent, like kitchen roll – toilet roll is no good as it will not hold its structure – and it’s not to be wasted at times like this. In school, we used blotting paper but it seems like a real relic of the past now.

Notice that I have positioned the seed against the glass, for ease of viewing and halfway up the glass so that you can add water at the bottom without drowning the seed. Keep a couple of centimeters of water in the bottom of the glass so the environment is damp. (This pea has not been soaked and that’s why it’s wrinkly. A soaked one is smooth.)

Keep records. Note the date you start. How long you soaked, if you soaked, the seed. Measure everything you can think of – the width of the seed, the weight of the seed. When the seed germinates you’ll have a front-row seat. Note the date the seed germinates. Describe what it looks like. Take a picture of it from the same angle at the same time every day/or x hours. Measure the length of the shoot or the plumule (the bit that grows up). What colour is it? What else is noteworthy about it? Measure the length of the root or the radicle (the bit that grows down). What colour is it? What else is noteworthy about it? Does the shoot/plumule grow in any particular direction?

Plant outside. When the seeding has at least two or three branches with sets of leaves on them (approx 15-20 cm tall) plant it out in soil the garden or in a big pot. Be really gentle with the roots. Many pea plants are climbers and will do best if supported against a fence.

Harvest: By July you might see white flowers on your pea plant – they’re pretty, but don’t pick them.

Let the bees visit them. In time you’ll see the flowers die and wither and a green pod forming – those are your peas. When the pods get a little fat you can eat them, pod and all if you grew Sugar Snaps or Mange Touts.

Experiments – choose one thing to change, one or two things to measure and keep everything else the same. Draw up tables to record the data.

You can compare using seed, frozen peas, tinned peas, dry good peas (or beans).You can measure the width and weight of each seed (do a minimum of 6) and see if the length of shoot and root is related to the size of the seed.You can put seeds in different soaking mediums – water, coke, vinegar – use your imagination but try to have a good reason behind trying it.You can keep your seeds at different temperatures – sunny window sill inside. same window but outside.You can compare seeds in the light with ones in the dark. Of you have a range of different seed you could investigate which ones germinate fastest.Try as many different ideas as you can think of. Have fun with it. Sure what else would you be doing right now?

Easy peasy, right? Bottom line folks – let’s give peas a chance!

Sorry – couldn’t resist… for more posts on peas with a little spot of quirky humour from this blog check out The Peas Treaty.

And some links about similar experiment setups

https://bbsrc.ukri.org/documents/easypeasy-teachers-pack-and-student-sheets/https://nurturestore.co.uk/growing-seeds-experimenthttps://scholarworks.arcadia.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1038&context=undergrad_workshttps://littlebinsforlittlehands.com/seed-jar-science-experiment-kids/

Keep safe folks – stay at home…and garden.

Byddi Lee

Guest Post By Malachi Kelly

It’s great to welcome Malachi Kelly to guest blog and cheer us all up in these strange times. Malachi is a playwright, poet, Flash Fiction writer, Open Mic host and Amdram actor. His work is widely published and loved by all. Over to you, Malachi…

Thanks to an invite from big-hearted Byddi to share her blog page, (as there are none left in Lidl) I can air this ode to rubbish any suggestions that men are poor sufferers or patients.

The Man That Never Complains

By Malachi Kelly

My ears are really throbbing

And my chest is very tight

My head is splitting apart

And I’m really off me bite

I fear I am smitten by this Covid19 flu

That would floor the very best of us

But I’m not complaining to you

I won’t take potions and pills

Nor sympathy as I suffer

For a man that suffers in silence

Cannot be called a bluffer

No, I’m not complaining
Of the pains and aches I feel
Or the dry, sore throat
That would make any woman reel

I’m keeping it to myself

The obvious symptoms that pertain

Like my loss of manly strength

While in this bed I remain

And I’ll not be bothering my GP
Nor receptionists at the Clinic
Though I’m suffering, there’s worse off than me
I’m dammed if I’ll be called a cynic

And as the world ‘casts a cold eye’
While my temperature soars and wanes
Will that ‘Horseman pass by’
This man that never complains.

The Grinch Who Stole St Patrick’s Day

Isn’t it weird how Covid 19 hit China just before the Lunar New Year, and now it’s managed to cancel St Patrick’s Day in Ireland? Nothing says ‘The End of The World’ louder than the pubs closing in Ireland! As we watch what’s happening in Italy and Spain, it’s hard not to feel fearful.

This sense of impending doom reminds me of a time I took a ride on a rollercoaster in Disney with my 8-year-old Godson. We were going up the first rise, a long drawn out drag that seemed to go up up up forever. I hadn’t been on such a high roller coaster in years (mind you, I suppose it wasn’t that high as it allowed 8-year-old kids.) Still, I knew that when we crested the top and dropped, I’d get that horrible ouf feeling in my stomach that you get in freefall…

…right now,
I feel like we are climbing that rise again.

…and I’m
dreading the freefall, which I fear is sure to hit.

So what can
we do?

Well, let’s
focus on the here and now. Think good thoughts, share sweet stories…stop and
smell the flowers.

The garden
is an excellent source of distraction for me. A few days ago, I planted some
seeds. I wanted to start some pea plants indoors. I’ve read that these seedling
don’t transplant well. When their roots are disturbed, it damages the root
nodules symbiotic relationship with bacteria that helps it fix nitrogen for the
air, so I’m experimenting.

“Ah-ha,” I
hear you say, “that solves the mystery of the mass toilet roll shortage!”

The idea is that when the seedlings are big enough to transplant outside, I’ll put cardboard and all into the soil so that the roots don’t get disturbed. The cardboard will disintegrate in the dampness, and the wee roots will push out into the soil outside. I’ve planted some pea seeds the ‘normal’ way in small pots and will compare the two – gardening is part scientific experiment, part art! I’ll let you know how it goes.

I also planted some wildflower seeds. We have an area of lawn that I’ve not mown since an unfortunate incident between a frog and a lawnmower. We call the area Frog Meadow to honor those who lost their lives. Anyway, you can’t just throw wildflower seeds on top of long grass – well, you can, but they won’t grow! So I put a layer of soil on some cardboard using the disintegrating cardboard principle and plan to just set it out on top of the grass allowing the flowers to grow in their own space before they need to compete with grass – a kind of social distancing for plants, I guess.

I can’t even
explain the ridiculous surge of joy I felt seeing these seeds germinate today.
There is something so heartening, so life-affirming about watching a tiny seed
burst into life. It is the witnessing of a miracle. Knowing that these miracles
occur always and often, lifts my spirits.

And suddenly
the drag towards the top of the rollercoaster hill doesn’t feel so bad. I know that
this too shall pass, and someday I’ll be enjoying those flowers, and the fear
will have been faced down …one way or another.

And then I
remembered something about that day on the rollercoaster that I had forgotten.
As my Godson and I had traveled up the first gradient, the safety bar digging
into my shoulders, the wheels squealing, metal groaning, I said to the
8-year-old beside me, “I’m scared! Are you?”

He nodded
but grinned. His eyes were bright with the excitement children get when they’re
enjoying their fear, the kind of emotion we were there to enjoy.

He slipped his little hand into mine and held on firmly, his skin soft and silky, fingers tightening the higher we got. It took me back to the last time I’d held my father’s hand. That might seem like a morbid turn of mind, but it wasn’t. It was comforting. I’d held Dad’s hand as he had faced the unknown, telling him I knew he was scared and letting him know I was there. And here in a more dilute form was my Godson doing this for me… and possibly in the far-off distant future (hopefully), he’d do it again. And I knew I was not alone, nor would I be. Being scared was okay. And someone was there to understand.

As the rollercoaster crested the height and plunged us straight down, we yelled with delight, whopping and roaring with the adrenalin rush. It whipped us up and down a few more times till we slowed and stopped at the end of the ride, flush-faced, hoarse, and laughing at each other.

“Can we do
that again?” my Godson asked.

“Maybe,” I
said. “But let’s see what other rides they have here.”

The next day we screamed our way through a different adventure – and survived – because that’s how life is.

Byddi Lee