Yeast Is Yeast, and Homemade Is Best!

Our ongoing study of the monochromatic kingdom of non-flowering plants allows us to chalk up baking as science. I'm talking yeast here, peeps. (I love homeschooling!)

To get us primed we read through the lower book, Molds and Fungi, in one sitting (a very UN-Charlotte Mason thing to do. whoops.) Lots of facts in an easy-to-read format. I learned plenty myself.
The other book, Molds, Mushrooms, and Other Fungi, is more Dorling-Kindersley style with lots of pics and stuff. Darling daughter Mei freaked at both of them at times. Therefore, boys will love them.

Our science curriculum, Considering God's Creation, is neatly lining up with the monthly Outdoor Hour Challenges at Handbook of Nature Study where they're currently focusing on Lichens, Mushrooms, and Moss. (You can see our other entries on lichens here and fungus here.)Yeast, being a type of fungus like mushrooms, I figure it fits right in.

Fungi, we learned, grow by sending out hyphae, which are like little tentacles looking for food, usually in the form of something dead. Get enough hyphae, and you've got yourself a registered, incorporated mycelium. When these hyphae want to start a new colony, they shoot some spores into the atmosphere (e.g. your breathing space) and hope to colonize in the great beyond. But the work is done in the dark, mostly underground. It's happening everywhere and we should be glad of it cuz' if it weren't, well, in a nutshell, we wouldn't be here to tell about it.

Want to see a mycelium at work? You won't have to go far. Got a rotting woodpile? Matted dead leaves you forgot to rake? How about well-seasoned shredded mulch? That's where we found this:

My-oh-mycelium

The white stuff is not some sort of messed-up spider web. It's the mycelium full of hyphae. And it's eating away at that mulch. Which is why we have to keep replacing it every year.

Another place we were able to observe fungi was on the bread that we purposely let go for the sake of science. After over a week in a Baggie with a piece of old brie, we got this:

Calling Alexander Fleming

 Not like you've never seen that before (deliberately). But it makes for cool microscope study. We're also comparing the french bread with a piece of cinnamon bread (not shown) to see if cinnamon indeed retards spoilage. It seems it does!

Notebook page from Considering God's Creation

So back to that yeast. It does not do the hyphae thing. But is IS a fungus. I'm so glad we know how to use it. It makes some of my favorite things possible. Like bread. I recently got my second bread machine and have gotten back into this fun, healthy, delicious hobby. And the timing was PERFECT because we were going into this yeast study.

Yeast makes the bread rise simply by---well---burping. You feed it, it eats, it digests, and it burps. And the burps make the bubbles that make the bread rise. Doesn't sound so appetizing when I put it that way, but...

Now to coalesce science with baking even more, we had to grow some starter. A starter is a happy little town of live yeast that live in a jar, and that you feed and take care of.  (You can name yours. Ours is Fi-dough.) If you do a good job, the yeast will reward you by rising your next batch of dough. But this will be a different flavor because THIS yeast is SOURDOUGH! And it happens when those spores that a yeast fungus releases are caught and given a nice home of flour and water.

Baker's yeast. britannica.com

Want to try it? There are many, MANY places on the web that will teach you how to grow a starter. We ordered a fresh one for our purposes to ensure success. You can get some here. Did you know that they will taste different depending on where they are from? Because each region has a different yeast floating around in it! That's why a San Francisco Sourdough Bread can only call itself  S.F if the starter was actually grown IN San Fran!

Here, Mei is doing another experiment with some yeast to show how much it "burps." 
Mix a 1/2 cup lukewarm water with 2 teaspoons of sugar and 1 tablespoon of dry yeast (doesn't matter what kind.) Set it aside for 15-30 minutes.
If you do it in the ziploc bag, like we did, keep a close eye on it or you will get to experiment with cleaning starter off the walls.

Left: Mixing up the ingredients to grow yeast. Right, the proof! Ka-BOOM!

Before: cold from the frig

Here's another example of just how fast yeast can grow. We took some of our sourdough starter out of the frig and warmed it for just 30 seconds in the microwave. It increased in volume by at least 2 tablespoons just from being warmed up!

After 30 seconds in MW: frothy yeast.

 But here's the best experiment of all: a piping hot loaf of homemade sourdough bread. If only we had some taste-testers! Any volunteers?

Got yeast? Got comments? Tell Mother All About It!

There's a Fungus Amongus!

In the natural kingdoms of the world, the non-flowering types are the Rodney Dangerfields. They don't get much respect. We're talking molds, fungi, mushrooms, that sort of stuff. But they don't deserve the "dis" they get. They decompose stuff, make nutrients available, draw or retain moisture, and on and on.Without them, as Dupont would say, life itself would be impossible. In the last couple of weeks, our attitudes toward these un-green things have been altered. We might still go "Eww," but at least it's an educated "Ewww."

With encouragement from the Outdoor Hour Challenge, this month we have spent a number of our daily walks looking for members of this kingdom. 

We realized our woods are rife with the evidence of decay. As I said in my last OHC post, We Like Lichens, these woods have suffered a lot of attacks by nature the last few years, being in a straight line with prevailing westerly winds. The historic D.C. derecho storm of 2011 brought down many trees along with Hurricanes Irene and Sandy. So, sadly, finding trunks and branches covered in bracket fungi wasn't all that surprising anymore. 

Anna Botsford Comstock in The Handbook of Nature Study puts it:

"...those of us who have come to feel the grandeur of tree life can but look with sorrow on these fungus outgrowths, for they mean that the doom of the tree is sealed."

On our hunts, the bracket fungus was the most abundant as it was not dependent on warmer conditions like mushrooms would have been. It's really just there year-round, so we were able to spot many examples during this unrelenting winter. It was interesting to learn that, unlike your basic toadstool-type mushroom with its "gills" under the cap for spore production, that the brackets release their spores through tubes found on the underside.

Various bracket fungi. Oh, and BLUE SKY for a change!

Below you can see a bracket that I harvested. Starting at the top left you can see the firm top side of the bracket, next the soft spore-producing underside, then (bottom left) a close-up of the tubes from which the spores are released. The last picture shows what you can DO with these fun-guys!

The undersides of these are now hard and brown from the cold and dry winter. It was surprising to find a fungus for drawing on in January 2007.

We have an annual tradition at our vacation cottage of finding a bracket fungus specimen and creating a scrapbook of sorts by etching little glyphs and captions into them as keepsakes of the season. Some years the woods are bursting with them, other years we can go all summer before finding even one. We have a basketful. I used to display them on a windowsill until I noticed black "dust" spilling out of their undersides. I wrongly concluded it was the result of little drilling bugs. Now, thanks to our study, I know it was the spores being released. I find spores less disturbing than little bugs. That's just me. 

If you want to make one, our advice is to look after heavy rains. They are fresh and moist then. Carefully, without touching the soft white side, break one off from the trunk.( The big ones can be very stubborn. ) Carry a basket or sack to help you tote it out unharmed, or you will be hiking with a fungus in your hand until you get home. 

Don't wait, but get right to work while the fungus is still fresh. Using any sharp instrument--pen cap, golf tee---draw and write on the soft white side. Plan your design because you can't erase! :-) Again avoid holding that side because your fingertips will also be preserved! 

When finished, stand it somewhere and it will dry and harden within a short time--a day or two usually. Then it is almost indestructible. The buyers of another old cottage nearby found a treasure trove of "artist's fungi" from the previous owners that were headed to the dump. They rescued them and found some to be dated from fifty years ago!

So who needs Creative Memories?  Have FUN-gus!


Got Fungus? Got Questions? Tell Mother All About It!

Check, Please!

This is probably going to be the most politically-incorrect, begging-for-nasty-comments post I'll ever write. Unless my readers can forgive it because the prompt that I was told to write about was...

SOMETHING I ATE.

We were in China adopting our 15-month-old daughter. These trips are very, very organized with a new activity, tour, and dining opp every day. Or several times IN a day.  This would be okay IF you hadn't just added a new little person to your family. But by Day 10 (of 14 plus trans-world travel) you have lost interest in another Temple of The Divine Priesthood of Holy Sunshine.  Especially when you are sharing this experience with ten other families who are also losing interest because their babies, like yours, are keeping them up at night in hotels where nobody understands you need stain remover for the diarrhea on your white pants.

At long last, there was a night where we didn't have to experience tasting another animal body part we didn't know could be eaten (speaking of What I Ate,...). And WE were the fortunate ones who happened to have brought along a babysitter in the form of our 14-year-old, now-no-longer-only daughter. At long last, my husband and I could eat out ALONE.

Now the China Center for Adoption Affairs wants to make the best impression on you of your child's birth country, so one thing you can always count on is a top-rate hotel. We were in a 5-star Ramada while in Guangzhou. It was adorned with boutiques devoted to one Parisian designer after another. There were several top-notch restaurants. If Trip Advisor had existed a decade ago, we would have racked up tons of rating points without even stepping outside.

One of these dine-ins offered sushi of the highest caliber. (My WWII-vet dad was astounded that the Chinese would welcome a Japanese establishment on their shores. :-)  ) My hubbie, being a huge fan, lined us up for reservations there, having anticipated the chance the moment we checked in as much (or more?) than receiving his long-awaited daughter.

So to say we were ready to kick back, relax, and let down our hair was like saying Hitler was ready to stroll the borders of Germany. We entered the golden-lit room and were escorted to the sushi bar, noting the large tank of beautifully-colored fish. We chose to dine at the bar in order to be entertained by the chef preparing his consumable artistry before our eyes. Overwhelmed by the menu, as usual I let my expert order. Among the various sushis and sashimis, he chose some red snapper, ordered wine for me and a sake for himself.

The wine tasted so good. We weren't usually ordering drinks at these communal "new family" dinners. The rolls started arriving and we dove in with both chopsticks. We had another round of drinks. Then the red snapper was served.

It was presented on a skewer standing up like a single blooming rose. We watched fascinated as the chef sliced off nearly transparent pieces of its side with a knife whose sharpness would make a samurai proud.
My husband, the epicurean, made moaning noises of approval at the freshness. The chef was very pleased. He sliced more. We ate more. We drank more.

We became very attached to our snapper. We were the only English-speaking people in the room and could say whatever we wanted. We decided to name our fish. We named him Sam the Snapper. We smiled at our cleverness.

Then a strange thing occurred. I thought at first it was all the drinks. The fish moved. A gill or fin did a little flap. Alcohol clouding a normal reaction of shock, we stared in wonder. The chef proffered a new slice. My husband, knowing Sushi Chef Protocol, pronounced it "Very fresh!" Yeah, no duh.
 
Then another glance. This time it was the mouth and it was gulping! (Vegans and card-carrying members of PETA are now excused from reading.) But did I shriek in horror? NO! I was so plastered. I even thought I should decorate Sam the Snapper. Deftly with my chopsticks, I inserted a marigold garnish into its mouth. I laughed so hard I almost fell off my barstool.

We ate a lot of new stuff in our daughter's country of origin--fried chicken feet, Peking duck served with the head on, and everywhere greens that smelled like sweaty socks--all selected by the tour guides. But none of those could hold a chopstick to dining with Sam the Snapper. He sacrificed himself that we might have a few good, uninhibited, crass, adult, American laughs before we went back to our room where the "babysitter" was coming down with tourista and room service was rocking our inconsolable little one.

Thanks, Sam. Play it again.

OHC: We Like Lichens and Most Mosses!

Dead?...or alive?

It's so nice to see that there really is something alive in the woods during this endlessly gray time of year. I can't remember the last time I posted any pics on this blog that had a blue sky in it. In a Mid-Atlantic winter, we get mid-tones and almost nothing else.

So you can understand our delight to be directed by the Outdoor Hour Challenge to go find the little guys that are doing their work no matter the weather: lichens and mosses.

The March Challenge newsletter informed us that there are three groups of lichens: foliose, fruticose, and crustose. It's really pretty easy to remember what they mean. Foliose looks like foliage, specifically funky lettuce.Crustose are found encrusting rocks  Fruticose looks like fine threads, which doesn't look like the word fruit, but whatever.

Cool lichen facts:

Lichens can delay global warming by consuming significant amounts of CO2, can prevent soil from drying out, help release important nutrients into the soil, and even provide food and, in some cases nesting material, for animals.

I gave an incentive.  For every example  found there would be a prize (Hershey Kisses always work). There would be a bonus if all three types were identified.

Lacking in natural formations in our area, for crustose we needed to expand our definition of rock. The neighbor's cement gatepost had some discoloration. Before, I would have assumed that to be some mold or dirt. But with our new knowledge, we could see that in fact it was the early stage of some crustose  lichen growth. Yeah! One down!

Trusting in the handy, dandy Magi-scope to confirm a lichen sighting

 
Into the woods, we went for more!

Beautiful array of lichens on gneiss

A lone rock peeking from under the dense layer of decomposing leaves revealed  crustose lichen on a more natural host.

Foliose was easy. Our mixed hardwood forest has taken a lot of hits in recent years from severe winds and storms, so there were stacks of fallen timber succumbing to decay. Even up and down dying trunks, we saw ample samples. :-)

(left) Foliose, like lettuce leaves, on branch; (right) fruticose found growing from leaf matter

Only one more to go, fruticose.  The day before I had scouted the area for quarry and nearly stepped on a tiny patch of this, the only one I saw in the entire walk. Maybe ever. I hoped Mei might be eagle-eyed enough to find it herself, but--my bad--I didn't make enough mental note to narrow the search. I did bring home a bit of my personal find so at least she could see it.

On the way back we opened our eyes to the only green in the monochromatic landscape: moss.

Cool Moss info:

Mosses play their part by holding back moisture and preventing erosion, and by being a "pioneer" species, breaking down acidic soil at the base of trees and paving the way for other plants to take root. But I bet you didn't know this:

"The value of Sphagnum [moss] for covering wounds has been known for centuries.  But it was not until the early 20th century that there was widespread commercial production, reaching its peak in the First World War, when some one million Sphagnum dressings per month [emphasis mine] were used by the British forces.  Sphagnum was harvested, cleaned and dried and sent off in bales to factories where it was sewn up in fine muslin and sterilised. " Uses of Mosses and Liverworts

(left) Moss with sporophytes, red spore-baring spikes;  (right top): moss and lichens together; (middle) spores on my finger; (bottom) a bit of sphagnum

 
Paying closer attention than usual, we realized how many different types surrounded us. I gave Mei the camera and she shot these. We took some bits home to draw in our nature journals, but the one with the fascinating spores wasn't happy in the baggie with its mates, and died before we could get around to the illustrations. At least, Mei could see the black spot on my finger where I had brushed against the moss capsules that held the spores.

In all it was a new way for us to enjoy a well-trod path, especially in what we once thought was a dead landscape. 
And yes, she earned her Kisses. 

Got Moss? Got Anything Green? Tell Mother All About It!

Then hop over to The Handbook of Nature Study Blog Carnival to see what other nature nerdies found! 

Black Limo

Limos.

For most, the word conjures happy times. Times to celebrate, to party, to top off  great memories of weddings and proms. Isn't one of the most exciting things that a senior high-schooler looks forward to on the Big Night is The Limo? ("Yeah, we crammed, like, 20 of us into the Limo! And Shawn snuck some whiskey from his 'rents bar, and it was , like, Freakin' AWESOME!")

My first limo ride was a little more sober. It was 1964 or so. The limo was headed to a funeral.

I was about four or five, no more than six. I don't have many vivid memories of my childhood despite the fact that my parents still live in the suburban WWII starter home I was born in. So I only know I was very young. My paternal grandfather, a "colorful character" as his son would say,  had died before I was born, the tragic and expected early end to a life of hard drinking and fast living. I've seen three pictures of him in my entire life. In each one, he had booze in one hand and a cigar in the other.

His wife, my grandmother, had been a delightful hostess at their sizable summer "cottage" in the mountains of Pennsylvania. There was always a stream of weekend friends, as the decaying guest book attests. She was slim and rather frail from the few pictures I've seen, but always looked very happy, surrounded by her family and friends. Then, her storybook world of parties and summer homes and socialites and household names fell apart when the government seized all their assets.Her husband died sometime after that from the stress of it all.

My father was the oldest of the three and the closest geographically and so the responsibility of her care fell on him. He and my mom moved her into a one-bedroom apartment in a fine neighborhood on the edge of the city, a handful of minutes from our home.We would visit her frequently. I remember my amazement at the large formal, above-ground, brick goldfish pond that reigned over the private grounds. Inside, I was fixated on a pair of purple glass salt and pepper shakers that looked like clusters of grapes lying life-like on their sides. If I ever find them in the family estate, I'm putting in a claim. And she always had these mysteriously- created lollipops with mille-fiori flowers embedded in them. She is handing one to me now as I write this.

Soon she developed ALS, or as it was called back then, Lou Gehrig's Disease. This was always mentioned to well-meaning inquirers as if it was a badge of honor to be thus diagnosed, to be related in some way to someone famous, even if it was through terminal illness. Eventually she became too weak to care for herself and moved in with us. It was strange and comforting at the same time to have this frail, failing old woman who was also our grandmother stepping falteringly around in our growing house of tumbling, crying, Boomer Babies.

Then one day, I was in a limo. It was going to a big, big yard full of rows and rows of white crosses. It was sunny. My mother, dressed all in black with a big skirt like I Love Lucy, faced me in the back seat. She was distracted and unhappy and I knew something must be wrong because she was smoking a cigarette. She had told me she only smoked when she was upset about something, so I knew this must be one of those times. And though there would be plenty of reasons after that, I never saw her smoke again.

And that was my first ride in a limo.


Hooking up with Mama's Losin' It.