Varanus varius

Varanus varius - Lace Monitor

I live in a house between a sub tropical eucalypt forest and a paddock. We have lived here for 26 years.

The local wildlife, much of which has been inside our house during the building process includes, wallabies (like kangaroos but smaller),
ringtail possums (they are very cute),
a variety of rat like creatures with strange names (antichinus, bandicoot),
echidna,
platypus,
koala,
fruit bats,
water dragons,
big monitor lizards (goanna),
scrub turkeys,
large carpet snakes
a variety of smaller snakes (some deadly),
an incredible range of birds (including kookaburras)
butterflies,
frogs
and hundreds of insects (spiders from tiny size to open hand size).

I’ve had some lovely moments with the wildlife - like accidentally stepping over a carpet snake, about 1.8 metres long, maybe 12 - 15 cms diameter. 

The snake was moving very slowly because it had recently had a meal and the big lump about a third of the way down his body was proof of that. It was an afternoon in June, and he had come out of long grass in the paddock and was making his way into bush land to spend winter in a log or hole in the ground. My dog and I stood and watched his slow process. The snake couldn’t move very fast because of his full belly. It was an interesting moment.

Over the years we have saved baby kingfishers birds from drowning, taken others to the vet for help, found 9 new baby anchinus pups inside the house, been startled by wallabies who just hop out of the forest without warning, finding a dead wallaby in the bush, watched baby bush turkeys emerge from their nest mound, seen small lizards dig their little cave to lay their eggs, had magpies bring a wounded baby to us for help, and lots of other brief encounters with animals in the wild.

And they are brief because life moves on quickly, like the time I stepped out the door and came toe to toe with a lace monitor - big lizard with 6 cm claws and a very ugly face. We call them all goannas. He seemed to leap at me but actually jumped onto the wall above my head and quickly skittled up into the roof where he often had a nap.

Many times I’ve sat on the veranda at night watching a possum, often mother and baby, eating fruit which I left there. They hold the fruit with delicate little pink hands and fingers.

Just this week I was walking with my dog (different dog) and heard birds making a fuss. It was a familiar call and I must say I was really thrilled that I knew what it meant. I listened for the expected ripping sounds of talons on a tree and followed that to where I saw the birds, Noisy minors, warning all other birds that a goanna (lace monitor again) was close by. 

And there he was, about 4 metres up a tree. He must have heard me coming and was getting out of the way as there was not much to the tree above him. 

The birds were in surrounding trees, giving him a hard time, flying close and above him to send him on his way. He was on the opposite side of the tree to where I was standing and I had to quietly circle to see him. 

Fortunately nesting season was over. Usually the goannas go up trees to eat the eggs and later the young birds and I’ve seen that happen too.

I was so excited about this encounter because I knew what the birds were saying, what they were warning about. Wow. That is sort of mind blowing.

The lady in the lift

I was recently asked if I'd ever met anyone for a very brief time and found myself thinking about them long afterwards.  I said yes, quite a few.

I met a lady in a lift (elevator) at the shopping centre in 2011.

I had recently had a fall at work, and cracked my elbow so I had my arm in a sling. She had braces on both her legs, on top of long trousers, and had two elbow crutches and a bag of shopping.

She looked at my arm. I looked at her legs. She smiled and I said, “You win!”

She laughed and said, “No, this was not an accident. I have (and she named a condition that I’ve forgotten but which causes muscle weakness).

I said,”I’m sorry to hear that. I know what it is as I recently met two children who have the same condition”.  She named the children and their mother - she knew them.

Then she looked at my arm and said, “Your mother should have taught you about using comfrey to treat that”.

I said, “I am using comfrey on it. That’s why I don’t have a plaster cast”.

She then told me how she made a quick and easy herb ointment by crushing the fresh herb and mixing the juice with plain skin lotion and rubbing it on.

“My neighbours call me a witch,” she said. “But when they are hurt they come over for some magic ointment”.

We got out of the lift. I asked her if I could help with her shopping bag. She said no, she would look after herself as long as she could. I watched from a distance as she walked to her car and went through a complicated process of putting the shopping in and then getting herself in with two crutches.

I knew her for five minutes. I wish I had said more.

I wish she was my friend. I liked her and I think she had a lot to share.

Ghekko

Is it all right to use alright?

Is it all right to use alright?

Or is it another English/American thing.

American English prefers – all right.  British English accepts both – all right or alright

1.

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language (3/e, Houghton Mifflin, 1996) has this in its usage notes:

All right, usually pronounced as if it were a single word, probably should have followed the same orthographic development as already and altogether. But despite its use by a number of reputable authors, the spelling alright has never been accepted as a standard variant, and the writer who chooses to risk that spelling had best be confident that readers will acknowledge it as a token of wilful unconventionality rather than as a mark of ignorance.

2.

Michael Swan, in Practical English Usage (2/e, Oxford University Press, 1995), says:

The standard spelling is all right. Alright is common, but many people consider it incorrect.

3.

Brian A. Garner, in The Oxford Dictionary of American Usage and Style (Oxford University Press, 2000), comments:

All right. So spelled. The one-word spelling (alright) has never been accepted as standard in American English.

4. The New York Times Manual of Style and Usage (Random House, 1999) states succinctly:

"all right (never alright)."

5. Ann Raimes, in Keys for Writers (Houghton Mifflin, 1996), says:

"Alright is nonstandard. All right is standard."

6. 

 The Collins COBUILD English Dictionary (HarperCollins, 1995):

Under “alright” - alright. See all right

Under “all right” - all right; also spelled alright

A new Word

Revisiting a new word

At around age 15, sitting on a train, I understood that if I died at that moment the train would not stop. Busses would still run and airplanes would still fly and the people in this transport would go about their daily lives as if nothing had happened.  In fact, almost nothing in the world would change.  My leaving would be noticed only by the people who knew me.

This understanding was intriguing. I don’t remember feeling grief but at age 14 you think you will live forever.

Sometimes I wondered about other things like;

What if I was the only real person on earth and everyone else was a prop for my life?  They were all fake.

What if the entire world was here and everyone who travelled overseas and came back told invented stories, about the rest-of-the-world, which didn’t exist?

What if I was not real?  I was a fake person, a prop in the lives of other people.

At other times I felt panic at the thought of all the lives being lived and all the stories that could be told and wondering who had been given the task of knowing them all.

But, I’ve always been a people watcher – wondering what was behind the 2 minutes I saw of someone’s life, so when I stumbled over the word sonder - I liked it.

sonder

n. the realization that each random passer-by is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

Definition shared from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows  - a website and YouTube channel, created by John Koenig, that defines neologisms for emotions that do not have a descriptive term. The dictionary includes verbal entries on the website with paragraph-length descriptions and videos on YouTube for individual entries). 

Definition Related: I heard about a book called 'Historia transversal de Floreal Menendez, which apparently means something life - Cross-sectional history of Floreal Menendez, by Leo Masliah - who is a musician.

I can only find the book in Spanish, but have been told it follows a chain of people who tough the lives of each other briefly.  I have a feeling that I've seen a short film on the same subject that was not in English but I can't find any reference to it ... seems like I'm the only person who's every seen it.

What I'm talking about is not like the movies 'Crash' (2003) or 'A Long Way Down' (2014), about several people who all meet up at the end.  No, this is a chain that follows the contact, not the person, and touches on the surface of several live - the camera follows me as I walk down the road and pass a boy, then the camera follows the boy, to his home, where he stops to talk to a neighbour and then the camera follows that man and what he is doing. He waves at a girl cycling by and the camera follows the girl.  That is a simplified person.

This animated movie called Sonder, is something different.

.

Stalking Hippeastrum

When I was a child we seemed to have lots of elderly female relatives - my grandmother’s sisters or cousins mostly born before 1900.  

These old ladies had things in common. They made pikelets and jam, had open fireplaces surrounded by dark green or grey tiles and ornate fire guards.  Their tablecloths were lace and they used teapots. They lived in old brick houses and liked to talk about their gardens and borders using big words like agapanthus and hydrangea.

Agapanthus and hydrangeas

 For most of my life I avoided these old lady symbols, though at an age under 12 my sister and I won a prize for fancy dress, as Cinderella’s ugly sisters wearing agapanthus on top of our heads. But now I have become the elderly female relative in my family, owning three tea pots and growing agapanthus in my garden - next to daylilies and hippeastrums.

Hippiastrums

I had never heard of, or noticed, a hippeastrum until we moved to Queensland. For two years we lived in an old house with the remains of an old world garden. I had a push mower for the grass and  didn’t cut the grass as often as I should have but was usually prompted to do the job by finding a snake in the laundry or under the washing line.  One day I noticed a tall green leaf – like a tongue – growing from the short grass in a shady corner. A few weeks later the one green tongue had turned into a four long leaves and a thick straight stem (or scape) held two pink trumpet shaped flowers. I called it the pretty lady. I was very busy during those years and something like a flower in the lawn faded from my mind as it faded from sight. 

But the following summer it was back ... and then we moved to another house.

Around that time, a part time job took me to a local hippeastrum farm once a month.  I couldn’t pronounce hippeastrum and never remembered it between visits. For the first seven months I didn’t even see the flowers because it was their dormant season. But, one day, at the end of spring, I stepped from the car to find I was surrounded by strange shaped flowers in every possible tone of pink, red or orange. They were stunning. 

Over the next 25 years I often drove past the farm, and at times I went in to visit. It never occurred to me to actually buy any plants. Friends were always offering to give me plants and cuttings but pawpaw trees and pots of parsley was all I could manage. 

My children, two jobs, extra activities like sewing, craft and writing took up my time until I retired.  Then I picked up a lifelong goal to learn about and grow herbs - especially those with healing properties.  There is no end to the list of plants that are good for us, to nourish and to heal. I was fascinated by the cycle of growth, fruit, seed, growth, but I never considered myself a gardener because I was not interested in flowers - until I realised how important they were to attract bees to the herbs.  I was successful at growing rocket and the bees love the little white flowers that precede the seed pods but that was not really enough.  

Rocket flowers - edible

When we had to remove a large gum tree at front of our house, it left a noticeable gap in the landscape we were used to.  My husband bought several foxtail palms to fill the area and I was to choose something to grow under the palms, at least as ground cover. Weeding is not fun.

My first attempts failed. A native flower garden would have been wonderful - desert pea, kangaroo paw, flannel flowers, boronia and more. But none of these liked my patch of dirt with the type of drainage and sunshine I had on offer. 

Day lily, bright as the sun

Then, a friend decided to become a grey nomad and moved from a house with a garden to a mobile home. One day she brought me a bucket of bare rooted bulbs, hippeastrums, and clumps of straggly things called agapanthus and daylilies.  She thought I’d like them for my garden.  I had no idea what to do with them, but felt I owed them a home.  I had heard of daylilies but did not know what they looked like. I had forgotten what agapanthus were.

The hippiastrum bulbs went into pots and I filled black bags for the agapanthus and daylilies, which is where they stayed, for two years before we had designed and built up that garden area and I was able to make a permanent place for them.  

I started to notice hippiastrums wherever I went in early summer. It seemed everyone had a few or more.  I had imagined a carpet of flowers around the foxtails - but not these divas. They all do their own thing, blooming unexpectedly, one at a time. 

Over three years later we have a population of Hippis that get three and four flowers on a stem – they thrive on neglect. They have reproduced beyond the pots now. My day lilies are an amazing bright yellow but only last two days at the most.  The aggies take their time forming flower balls that stay around for a week or two but they are busy, busy, busy producing new plants all year long.

I thought I might start a hippeastrum collection. I went back to the Hippeastrum Farm to actually buy some.  It just happened to be the last day of the year for their open season (when the flowers are in bloom) and it was the last day of the farm as it had been sold and they were moving out the next day.  I became the very last customer and drove away, sadly, with four lovely blooming hippeastrums in the car.

I could see this could become an expensive interest, so rather than collecting I might go for the lucky dips. Online I purchased a budget pack of hippi bulbs that will surprise me next summer, I hope,

When we find something special we like to share it and I did, buying a flowering hippi as a birthday gift for a friend. I turns out she loves them too. I’m now daydreaming about having my own hippeastrum farm ……….  la la la.

Agapanthus

I will however, continue to resist the hydrangea bush so I have not quite turned into Aunty Mabel or Aunty Flo yet but when I do it will be my version of an old lady gardener.

Hippiastrums in flower among agapanthus leaves

Hippeastrum

Origin: subtropical regions, from Brazil to Peru, Argentina, Mexico and the Caribbean.

Propagation: by seed or offset bulbils.

Climate: subtropical or can be grown in pots inside.

I love these delicate ladies - thank you Jennifer L

What is a hobby?

While filling out a form I came to a section asking about hobbies/interests/sport. I ticked the box. 
Then it wanted details.

Scrambling for the answer in my head was like looking for a handful of pins in the storage area at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark - my brain was overwhelmed by the task. Obviously the author of the form did not know me.

Interest? I have many of those - should I organise them into groups or rate them from highest interest down?   How do I tell what is an interest and what is a necessary part of my life and what is a hobby? There are some things that we do just because that is what we do.

I looked for definitions.

‘A hobby is an activity regularly carried out for pleasure in one's leisure time.   

The word hobby was also found in Middle English as a description of a small horse as in hobi or hobby horse - which could have come from the surname Hobin, Hobert or Robert, Hobbi and Robbie being nicknames for Robert.
And it was also a migratory Old World falcon with long narrow wings but that is another story.  So....’

I found a list of 50 most popular hobbies. 

More than half were what I would call sport or physical activities so I crossed them off as not hobbies. 

I don't count eating, cooking, walking or shopping because they are things we do to live ... how could they be hobbies?  

Travelling, listening to music, sleeping and computing were on the list too - I'm surprised that breathing wasn't there.

Reading and writing ... we do those everyday and sometimes we extend them to reading or writing whole books, but they are both daily activities.

Sewing, taking photos, watching TV and movies, computing and socialising - all part-of-my-normal-daily-life.

I like crossword puzzles,but not the cryptic ones, and I love solving the whole puzzle so prefer it to be easy. This activity is a really good for brain function - so not a hobby, more of a medicine.

Craft can be anything you make yourself from knitting to woodwork and most crafts have a practical or decorative use or give us a sense of achievement so they are necessary to our quality of life. But it's not a matter of thinking, hmmmm, I think I'll do some craft now – for me it's more of an extension of other things I'm involved in or thinking about.

Of course if the craft is sticking paddle pop sticks together or gluing pasta to paper then that is an exercise in fine motor skills to help with more necessary activities later on – so it’s training.

Gardening can be a hobby or an activity. Growing food or herbs or plants add value to the landscape, soil or wildlife, and that's not a hobby. If it's growing flowers then that's therapy and necessary to our wellbeing.

Finally at the bottom of the list was volunteer work. Is that a hobby? I think it's a necessary survival activity for our society and an act of caring that benefits the giver and the receiver. Good for mental health – so not a hobby.

It’s back to eating and sleeping – that’s what I do for pleasure during the time I have left over from my interests and activities and my daily life.

Lest We Forget

  

ANZAC DAY 2017:  So much upset this year, caused by the thoughtless use of the phrase ‘Lest we Forget’.   And I am not comfortable with the use of this now sacred phrase to promote a political point of view – and yet, when I asked around, in person and on-line, no one could tell me the origin or the deeper meaning apart from a ‘reminder to remember’.

I think it’s a warning, even a veiled threat – and with good reason. We need warnings and we need to understand consequences – that does not stop when you grow up.

I like to look at origins when I am interested in a subject, to help me understand the meaning even if it has changed from the original. I was not surprised to find that the phrase comes from the words of Moses, in the Old Testament.

Deuteronomy 6:12 (KJV)  Then beware lest thou forget the LORD, which brought thee forth out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage.

-        It is a reminder, a warning that when we come into a time of ease and plenty our attention can slip so that it focuses only on the good things we have and not on where they came from.

Inspired by this verse, Rudyard Kipling wrote his poem/hymn, ‘Recession’ in 1897.

A recessional is music or a hymn that is played at the end of a religious service. Kipling wrote this as a reminder of the fragility of wealth and power (of the British Empire) – a warning that if we forget how we achieved success, where it came from, we may find we are lacking when we need extra. It was not written as a memorial to those fallen in war.

God of our fathers, known of old,
  Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
  Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

etc….

As these words were heard again and again, at the end of five verses, and the close of the church service, it is easy to see that the words and meaning would be applied to other areas as a reminder of great loss.  

There are a number of modern ‘lest we forget’ quotes but the meaning is not always the same.  It seems that, if a passage begins with Lest we forget and then states what we should remember, or lest we forget pops up in the middle of a sentence, the meaning is not the same as the simple, lone warning at the end of the text.  Lest we Forget.

After WWI the phrase came into common usage through the British Commonwealth, appearing on war memorials, headstones and in epitaphs as a plea to not forget the sacrifice made by so many.

In Australia 'Lest we Forget' is a registered trademark, owned by the RSL on behalf of our returned service men and women.

The first Anzac commemorations were held on 25^th April 1916, a year after Australian and New Zealand soldiers set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula. By the 1920's it had been established as a National day and now, sadly, it goes beyond that single anniversary and we honour all who have died in war or conflict since.  We hear words such as honour, courage, mateship and sacrifice linked with national identity and Australian spirit. All this is good and true and an important part of our culture, but the phrase we have attached to the day is still a warning that we must heed and we must pass down the generations - because we do forget.  

A Magpie Story

A MAGPIE STORY

Australian Magpies are not the same as the European Magpie. We have several types in Australia, some mostly white, some mostly black.  Many people don't like Maggies. It could be their beady little eyes and hard pointed beaks, their protectiveness during nesting season and the aggressiveness that chases a boy on a bike, a goanna up a tree, or adults walking nearby. They dive at the head and shoulders and hit really hard. 

I have been attacked, and while being struck on the back with such force was frightening, I had to admire the bravery of little creature. When they think their nests are under threat the magpies are fearless.

I love their song. I love to listen to their choir practice though the demanding screeches of their young are not as melodic. They sing in harmony, all together or in groups. They sing rounds and duets and solos.

 I once lived in a house in the forest – not a forest like the three bears had, but a eucalyptus forest with an assortment of introduced trees that surrounded the house. The open veranda was a great introduction to the local wildlife. Magpies were frequent visitors and such friendly visitors, or is that pushy, that we had to keep the screen door closed to keep them out of the kitchen.

It was hard to resist throwing meat and fruit scraps out for them, especially when I saw how hardworking and patient they were with their demanding babies. The youngsters, who seem to be the same size as the group of adults who care for them, scream and squawk for food unless their beak is full. Sometimes it takes six adults - both parents, older siblings, aunties and uncles, to care for just one speckled baby.  No wonder the fast food outlet bowl of cat food, on our veranda was checked out daily.

I had a very touching experience with one magpie families. This group had been nesting near our house for several years and I’m sure I could recognise some of the individual birds. They always announced their arrival, loudly ordering food scraps and treats. Often one or two birds knocked with their beaks on the kitchen door to get my attention. This day their calling was different.

From the veranda I could see six birds standing in arc on the ground below, behind a crippled bird. It was small but all black like the adult birds. The right wing stuck out at an odd angle and the right leg was injured so the bird's body twisted to one side, trying to balance. The group ignored the toast crust I threw and one by one flew away, leaving the injured one behind, with me.

I didn't know what to do. I tried phoning the people who cared for wild birds in our area but there was no answer - this was in the early days of the local WILVOS.  I looked at the pathetic little bird. He looked back. When I went closer he moved away.  So, he was distressed - I kept my distance.

After an hour or so he decided to move. He walked away, limping. I watched and followed as he moved under the bracken and started up a steep slope, toward the nesting trees.  It was hard work for him. He pushed his way through ferns and long grass and it took him all afternoon to cover a very short distance. As it grew dark the little bird crawled into thick bladed grass and I had to leave him there. I thought about him all night.

I knew from TV documentaries that it's best not to interfere with the natural order of things. A vet once told me that touching an injured wild animal can kill it by causing extreme stress.  When I was young, and we had cracker night, people put their guinea pigs inside the house under blankets so they didn't die of fright.  I also knew the local goannas and carpet snakes saw injured birds and animals as easy prey.  It seems there is no compassion amongst animals.

The next morning I expected to find him dead or gone but the brave little fella was still there. He refused the scraps of minced meat I offered.  As the sun warmed the ground he started off again, heading up the hill to the line of trees that magpies favoured.

Again I followed at a distance.

Like a brave wounded soldier he struggled on, ignoring me unless I got too close. Finally he reached the top of the hill, and stopped, exhausted. I left water close to him and checked on him every half hour or so. He lay panting, in a bird way, occasionally lifting his head. I didn't want a goanna or the snake to find him. There was no way he get into the trees and no sign of other magpies. I got a large cardboard box and made a fence around him. I kept watch and talked to him about the trees and all the birds. At sunset he died and we buried him beside the track, under his tree.

I’ve never forgotten him.

--------------

This Magpie rhyme comes from England.  Apparently seeing two Magpies together is lucky. I must have a lot of luck.

One for sorrow, Two for joy,

Three for a girl, Four for a boy,

Five for silver, Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight for a wish, Nine for a kiss

Ten for a bird that you won't want to miss.

The herb one third of us hate

CORIANDER

I love my herb garden and even have a herb salad with breakfast. I usually only grow what I know we will eat and enjoy but now and then I add something new, and I thought coriander might be interesting.

I had never tasted coriander/cilantro, but it was often referred to as Asian parsley and it looks a little like flat parsley. So, thinking it was similar to the parsley I eat daily, I bought coriander seeds.

Three months later nothing had come up so, I bought a punnet of coriander seedlings. I was persistent.

The plants thrived, to my delight, and I looked forward to having them in a salad.

I usually grow lots of parsley but recently we've had trouble with Root Knot Nematode and my parsley turned yellow, as did my few tomatoes and our ginger crop, and failed to thrive. Pulling up the affected plants revealed nasty nodes/lumps on the roots, which do not come off if you rub them. There is an invisible worm eating the root.

Nematodes, or Eel Worms, are colourless, microscopic worm like animals. Most are harmless to plants, some are even beneficial, but the Root Knot Nematode is a plant parasite. Apparently you can fumigate the soil by growing black mustard seed, and digging it in, but it's best to not grow the same crop there again.

But that's enough about miserable nematodes and back to the smelly coriander.

While browsing at our local nursery, for garden plants and lettuce, I noticed they had a special on Asian/Thai coriander, so I bought one. Thai coriander looks nothing like the parsley like common coriander. You would think it was a completely different plant, except for the smell.

The long flat leaves of Thai coriander have spikes along the sides and the nursery staff told me how to trim those off with scissors and to slice it into stews, soups,stir fries and meat dishes. They said it had a stronger flavour than the common coriander. I took my new spikey plant home and it is growing so well moved it into a bigger pot twice. I was aware that the smell from it was a little different, peppery I thought, but things don't always taste the way they smell. Today, after walking around the garden with a visitor, I decided to try some so .... and I added thin slices of half a leaf from the Thai coriander plant to our stir fry for dinner.

Well - talk about a ruined meal! 
My husband said, "This is very tasty". 
I wanted to spit it out.

Hours later the inside of my lips were still burning and I could smell it in the skin of my hands. Horrible.

So, I looked it up.....

.... and it seems that people have a love or hate reaction to coriander - similar to licorice, Brussels sprouts, vegemite, celery or gin .... you either love it or you don't. I am okay with all the above, except licorice, and now coriander. I hate it.

A scientific survey of 30,000 people identified two genetic variants linked to the taste and smell of coriander. Different people may perceive the taste of coriander leaves differently. Some say it has a refreshing, lemony or lime-like flavor, and others have a strong aversion to its taste and smell, characterizing it as soapy or rotten. I think it's just too strong, not bitter but heavy .... in the way licorice is too strong a flavour.

Apparently over 30% of people have the coriander-hating, OR6A3, gene, and it is thought to be inherited - so blame your parents.

Wikki says: 'OR6A2, lies within a cluster of olfactory-receptor genes, and encodes a receptor that is highly sensitive to aldehyde chemicals. Flavor chemists have found that the coriander aroma is created by a half-dozen or so substances, and most of these are aldehydes. Those who dislike the taste are sensitive to the offending unsaturated aldehydes, while simultaneously may also be unable to detect the aromatic chemicals that others find pleasant. Association between its taste and several other genes, including a bitter-taste receptor, have also been found'.

People can react differently to certain smells. Nice to now it's not just me. I will stick to celery, vegemite and gin.

A little where, what, why about the herb. Coriander is native to regions spanning from southern Europe and northern Africa to southwestern Asia. All parts of the plant are edible, but the fresh leaves and the dried seeds are the parts most traditionally used in cooking. Coriander is common in South Asian, Southeast Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Caucasian, Central Asian, Mediterranean, Tex-Mex, Latin American, Brazilian, Portuguese, Chinese and African cuisines.

Thai coriander

Common coriander

Choose Real Food

How to set a fire

HOW TO SET A FIRE  

I know setting the fire is not something everyone does these days, many people never set one during their whole lifetime. But when my grandmother, Eva, was born in 1888 everyone cooked over a wood fire, baked their bread, boiled water, heated their house, bathed children, dried hair and clothes before an open fire.  During her lifetime (until 1966) she used wood and coal fire stoves, oil, gas and eventually electricity.  She actually preferred a gas stove but mastered them all.

My Dad taught me how to set a fire when I was very young. Later on that knowledge was refreshed by instructions in a cowboy movie and though I survived over 40 years not having to set a fire, when the time came again it was like falling off a bike – sadly I’ve never been very good a riding bikes, I'm much better at fire setting.

The science of setting a fire is to get the flames under the wood. If you throw in a log with a few bits of newspaper on top you won’t get a good fire.

The instructions below explain how I set a fire in a steel firebox but would work in almost any fireplace.

You will need;

TINDER – dry fire starting material like newspaper, old phone books, dry grass/hay, dead leaves, dry tree bark, and twigs.

KINDLING – sticks, smaller than your thumb and some cardboard or heavy paper.

WOOD – sticks bigger than your thumb or larger pieces split open.

LOGS – dry wood from bigger than you thumb up to the any size you can fit into your fire space.

TOOLS – a small shovel, brush and tin bucket to clean out ash, a poker to move burning wood if necessary, heavy gloves for handling splintery or burning wood, a fire lighter or matches.

SAFETY – make sure the chimney is cleaned at the beginning of winter.  

Check your firebox for cracks, rust and crumbling fire bricks.  

Make sure other wood and extra paper is in a container at least a metre from the fire site, you don’t need two fires.  

Keep clothing or damp washing and towels ‘a metre from the heater' – as recommended by our fire service officers.

1 – Open the flue.

2 – Clean the glass door, if you are using a firebox.  Clean out the old ash. A new fire will burn onthe fire in a pan.  If lighting a fire outside you could dig a shallow hole, as a pan, and surround it with rocks, in an open fireplace a single line of bricks across the front holds the fire and in a steel fire box, like we have in our house, there is usually a shallow pan shape formed by fireproof bricks inside.
top of old ash, and a shallow layer is good, but I like to have

3 – Lay a base of cardboard or thick paper (not glossy) or thin bark.   Save cardboard boxes from cereal, crackers etc. A cereal box flattened makes a good base as do cardboard egg cartons, non-glossy magazines, old bank statements, bills, advertising brochures and other junk mail.  Paper will do if nothing else but cardboard, or heavy paper, burns slower.  Junk mail and envelopes inside a large used envelope or paper bag makes a good base for a fire, but not too thick.

4 – Put kindling on top of the base - scrunched up newspaper and parcels of dry leaves, very small sticks and twigs wrapped in newspaper.  Use twisted newspaper to make a ‘wick’ from front to back of the fire box, so that when you light it later it will burn into the middle of the space.

5 – Lay small sticks across the top of the kindling in a criss-cross pattern to allow air movement between the pieces.  Air is fuel for the fire.  The fire box should be about half full.

6 – Now we are up to the real wood. Select some sticks bigger than your thumb but not as big around as your arm.  Lay two or three of these bigger sticks across the top of the pile of the smaller sticks and stand about 8 or 10 more in front of the fire, leaning back on top of the kindling pile i making sure your newspaper ‘wicks’ poke through to the front. Ir this was a camp fire the standing sticks would be in tepee form around the kindling.

So now the fire is ‘set’ and ready to go. 

Light the fire by touching your lighter to the four wicks and stand back, or close the door if you have a glass door firebox.  You should see the fire burning through the paper underneath the bigger wood.

As the kindling burns the pile will collapse and you can add more of the larger sticks and finally the logs. From here on you need some intuition as every fire is different.

If you get a lot of black smoke try opening the door a little.  A little cool air going into the fire box helps to draw the smoke up the chimney.

Close the flue half way when the fire is burning well.

When the large sticks are glowing you can add bigger and bigger logs. The fire will eventually become glowing logs with a few flames and you will feel the heat radiating from the firebox.

Close the flue all the way and add logs as needed.