Sigyn does not want to be rescued

More Field Day

That’s a relief. The human female has managed to haul her carcass down off the mountain.  I was thinking I was going to have to bring out my most powerful magic to shift her.  I made sure to keep Sigyn well behind her on the way down, so that if there was a tumble, my beloved wouldn’t be crushed beneath far too many pounds of bouncing botanist.

We have repaired to the lovely farmhouse belonging to a local naturalist.  And look!  Lunch!  While the human female talks edible plants with an anthropologist, Sigyn and I shall check out the dessert table.  What are those little cakes?  Ah!  So that’s what a madeleine looks like!  I have read about those!


Sigyn, you found your way inside the fly screen.  Can you find your way out on your own, or do you need help?

What the—?  The hostess is handing out thank-you gifts to this morning’s presenters and to the leader of the upcoming afternoon plant walk, and the human female was just given a gift and hailed as an expert!  Really?  Do you mean all her botanistic drabble has actually been heeded by anyone is actually being lauded?  Surely not.

But here we go!  As I may have mentioned before, the latter half if this year has been abysmally dry, so what plants there are are mostly looking unenthusiastic, if not actually crispy.  Sand shuffles underfoot and is rising with every step.  (The human female is sure to have brown nose boogers tonight.  Eew.)  It’s warm, and the posey procession is moving at a gastropod’s gait.

For all the human female’s vaunted prowess in the field, it is my beloved who has found the first interesting plant.  This is one of the sumacs, known for reliably producing fall color in this otherwise drab part of Midgard.


Augh!  I believe the Norns have decreed that each time Sigyn stops to take a photo, the sun will be in my eyes.

Despite there not being much in flower, the human female is finding plenty to blather about as we walk very, very slowly down the path.  Oak, oak, oak, elm, croton, poison ivy (careful, Sigyn!), grass, grass, grass, cactus (ehehehehehehe–the human female now has a pant cuff full of little barb-y hairs!), yellow daisy thing, yellow daisy thing, smaller yellow daisy thing.

Tall purplish-pinky daisy thing!


Nerd fact:  what looks like a single blossom is actually a whole bouquet of tiny florets.  Sigyn, I know they are pretty, but look!  There is a bee there!  Stick close to me and do NOT climb up there!

The human female and her hostess are having a fine time putting names on every single plant, but some of the other walkers are starting to flag from the heat, the sand, and the uninterruptible stream of botanese issuing from the know-it-all leading this meander.  Someone has just mentioned heading back.  Yes, please!  I hear lemonade calling!

I thought we’d be going home now, but argh!  I forgot:  After every every expedition, botanists feel the need to sit down and rehash everything they saw, write out a list of slanty Latin names, and make plans for future trips.  Please, can’t we be done now?

Oh, no.  Nerd alert!  The books have come out.  In particular this big black one.


There are hundreds and hundreds of pages of dense, inscrutable angiospermic verbiage.  Blocks and blocks of text and hardly any pictures.  What’s this?  The human female wrote this behemoth?  Somehow this doesn’t entirely surprise me–she’s as un-shutuppable on paper as she is in person.  Be careful handling the pages, Sigyn, in case the nerdiness rubs off.

After a quick trip around the acres and acres of this ranch on a spiffy electric cart , plotting out paths for future surveying, the human female has finally accepted a gift of a dozen farm fresh eggs, promised to return, said her goodbyes, and loaded everything back into the car for the drive home.

Did you have a fun day, Sigyn?  Between tales of gold and golden daisy thingies, I’m actually sort of glad I came.

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