Stirring Adventures and Mad Mods! Saving the world one questionable decision at a time.
Children’s Lab
Where steampunk children meet and play, and occasionally blow things up.
By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, April 14th, 2010
The Davenport Sisters by Bohemian Noir Visions
Morehead Planetarium & Science Center in Chapel Hill, North Carolina invites children and adults to explore the common ground of art and science at their Steampunk-themed Family Science Day this Saturday, April 17 from 11 to 3.
This looks fantastic! All activities are free, including musicians Jay Cartwright and The Extraordinary Contraptions, short films such as Edison’s Frankenstein, and loads of hands-on activities:
- Make steampunk jewelry
- Examine a pendulum clock to learn how gears work
- Race steam-powered boats
- Travel back in time in Morehead’s portable planetarium
- Collaborate to create an illustrated periodic table, inspired by the Periodic Table Printmaking Project
- Explore an exhibit featuring images of both science and art
I am devastated that the von Hedwig family will not be able to attend this outstanding event. Science, steampunk, and children are what we’re all about! The only possible upside is that our absence will delay the embarrassing fangirl squee I’m saving up for when I meet the Darling Davenport sisters, who will also be in attendance.
We have only recently discovered these Queens of the Steampunk Scene, and their excellent radio show/podcast has become the soundtrack of our lives. You may hear the Clockwork Cabaret playing in every cabin and laboratory on board the Schöneluft. (Except in the boiler room. The boiler crew only listen to Noh and German Opera.)
Perhaps the Davenports will grace us with their presence at the Steampunk Worlds Fair?
By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, March 10th, 2010
My sincerest apologies for failing to continue the story of our Voyage to Antafrica last Friday. Things were a bit hectic, as a large hole opened in the fabric of reality and our airship was boarded by the crew of Serenity. Lovely people, for the most part (although the fellow with the cunning knitted cap had to be kept away from Philomena), but returning them to their reality took up so much time! Our tale will continue this Friday. In the meantime, enjoy this rather clever clockwork rabbit of Adolphus’ design. He is so fascinated with animals! (Well, no doubt you remember what happened with those turkeys…)
By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, March 10th, 2010
I have a pouch on my adventure belt for a field observation notebook, but alas! none of my existing notebooks fit in my pouch. To remedy this I spent a snowy afternoon making myself a notebook to fit. I copied a wonderful technique from Meredith Scheff who blogged about it at Steampunk Workshop but did not include process photos. I took way too many process photos and have created a tutorial in the von_Hedwig Flickr photostream.
This is a great project to do with kids, even young kids, especially if you start with an existing notebook and cover it with this technique. I only had to buy one supply item, everything else came out of the recycling!
To cover a notebook you need:
clear gesso (art suppy shop, craft store – look in the painting aisle)
crumpled brown paper (paper grocery bags or shipping material)
watercolor paint
notebook
To make a notebook:
corrugated cardboard
paper
sturdy fabric scrap
stout needle
button thread
The tutorial shows the making of a notebook. If you want to cover an existing notebook, start here with h-glue paper to outside of notebook.
By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, January 30th, 2010
My, my, events are proving most awfully exciting in the tale of our family’s astonishing journey to Antafrica! To give us all a chance to calm down and recover our nerves, I would like to introduce you to the lovely and edifying tales of Propeller Girl. I have been poring over the lavish illustrations and enjoying the amusing rhyme again and again. Do enjoy it!
Mirabelle reports that her sister Annabelle disappeared into thin air last night. Moments later scratches appeared on their vanity mirror.
According to Mirabelle (since no one else can read the mirror message), Annabelle says:
“Apparently, I have dropped through some sort of time portal, and am currently serving as a powder monkey on the U.S.S. Constellation during the American troubles.
When I have done adventuring here, I shall request help from passing dolphins. I believe I can speak enough dolphin to ask for a lift back.*
Your most affectionate sister,
Annabelle**
* Dolphins can time travel. Obviously.
** At least, this is how Mirabelle translates the scratches.
By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, March 11th, 2009
For fear of little men!*
Before Yule, there was quite a bit of top secret crafting here on the airship. We promised to tell you about it, so here’s mine. Being a German family, the Nutcracker figures prominently on the mantle. (the objet d’art, not the ballet) We have acquired a small collection over the years, and in the last two holiday seasons I have added to it myself.
This year I made this one. I am nearly as delighted with the little fellow as I am with he who inspired him. It is, of course, a portrait of my beloved husband, the Fearless Fabricator. I got the hair just right, didn’t I? (Compare with the In the Lab photo)
And look at his wee belt. He’s sporting a telescope, and a disruption device (it’s like a grenade, but instead of shrapnel it produces a gentler distraction, such as loud music, or a plague of locusts), and lovely gears and deadly sharp clock hands.
Although I will need to get myself a lathe or develop a better source for some of my future nutcracker ideas, I was able to make this fellow from a paint-your-own kit, slightly kit-bashed about the head. For Herr vonHedwig it was relatively simple to even out the brim of the soldier nutcracker’s hat to make it a topper.
Last year’s kit-bash was considerably more difficult, as my dedicated lab assistant had to saw, file, and sand the crown off of the prince kit and round off his head into a semblance of normal head shape. I am delighted with the result though, especially Etaine’s woad and eye painting. If you don’t know who this is, you should acquaint yourself with him immediately!
* From “The Fairies” by William Allingham, Pre-Raphaelite poet, friend of D.G. Rosetti, and precursor to W.B. Yeats.**
** Yeats considered him so, as he was an Irish poet working in English.
This was Annabelle’s pronouncement Christmas morning, after the floor was cleared of wrapping and the air cleared of squeals of girlish delight. We had a steampunk holiday – both the lab and sewing room were busy over the last few months. To facilitate secrecy, Annabelle made a door hanger shaped like an elf hat.
From the sewing room, the girls received new cloaks, day dresses, pinafores, camisoles, and bloomers. From the marketplace came goggles (of course!), shiny new compasses for adventuring (personalized in the lab) and a ratty but sound antique trunk to store all the new jank.
From the lab of their father, the Fearless Fabricator, came clock-faced brooches to hold their cloaks closed…
… and decoding devices to send secret messages. The decoders will get their own post from the Fearless Fabricator in the future, but here is a peek. This is the design as etched onto Mirabelle’s.
The inner ring spins independently from the outer ring. As you see, the sender lines line up a symbol from the outer ring with one from the inner ring. That becomes the key for the message. This configuration can be called Q9 or K5 or Z+, for example. Can you decode the following message?
HU. 3NNE UN EN HU WNT0.D62
ATU HU. ADUUD0 UN EN HU UN3DUID0
Post your answer in the comments!
By Madame vonHedwig on Saturday, December 20th, 2008
This entry is part of a series, Bettinas Christmas Present» Bettina decided to make sure her letter got to Santa by casting it in the hottest, most important fire in the world (in her world, that is.) She would take it to the boiler room, and burn it in the fire that made the Schöneluft go.
As she made her way down the passage, she thought of other reasons the boiler room might hold the key to Father Christmas. The boiler crew were all small fellows, with odd habits and a strange language all their own, just as Santa’s elves might be. She wondered if elves looked like the boiler crew. She reached the door to the boiler room and knocked politely.
The boiler crew generally allowed the family into their domain only to work, cleaning and oiling and greasing things. Father had been known, when facing a particularly knotty problem with an invention, to come to the boiler room and talk about it, sometimes bringing diagrams or models or unfinished creations. Since Herr vonHedwig (and that is Bettina’s father’s name) did not speak the language of the crew, no one knew what he might learn from them, but he always came out in a better mood than when he went in.
The door opened slowly, and she entered. The boiler chief came, and patted her on the head. Though she did not know it (and therefore it never went to her head), Bettina was a great favorite in the boiler room. She showed him (or her – Bettina couldn’t tell) the letter, with the sketch of Father Christmas on it.
“Letter for Santa,” she said. Then, pointing to the boiler, “Send to Santa.”
There was a flurry of chattering, then the Chief nodded wisely.
“Ook,” he said. Or that’s what Bettina thought he said, having no understanding of his language.
He lead her in front of a great metal door with a smoked glass porthole, turned the massive wheel set in its center, and opened it. The heat from the furnace blasted out, and Bettina’s hair blew straight back. Her face got all red and hot, and she blinked in the hot air. Gently the Chief patted her shoulder, and took the letter from her, casting it into the white hot fire.
She thanked them all most gratefully, and made her way back to her room. Someone would come and make her take a nap soon. She found half a crayon under the bed, climbed into her playhouse, and drew pictures of the dolly she wanted. Not because felt she needed another illustration, but because it was fun. She had drawn six different versions when Annabelle and Mirabelle burst in.
“You little beast!” Annabelle said.
“You’ve destroyed the nib on our favorite pen,” scolded Mirabelle.
“And splattered every thing with our purple ink!” added Annabelle.
“Which was also our favorite!” said Mirabelle.
“And poor Mirabelle’s laboratory book was open and she can hardly read the results of her flying monkey experiments,” finished Annabelle.
Bettina tried to explain, but with the sinking feeling that she should have known better at the time, and had no way to make it up to them.
“Well what was so important that you had to ruin our things rather than use your own? Mirabelle asked.
Bettina showed them the drawing she’d made. “Santa letter,” she said. “Dolly go boom.”
Just then their Father came in to enforce Bettina’s naptime. Annabelle and Mirabelle were hustled out of the room and found themselves standing in the passageway, each holding one of Bettina’s drawings.
Dollie Go Boom!
“Oh,” said Mirabelle, studying hers, “I see. Hmm… I suppose you could do it with a spring.” She whipped a notebook and pencil out of her pinafore and made notes on Bettina’s sketch. “Ha ha! If I built them on strings, or thin wire, really, then she can wind them back in with a key on the back!”
“Nonsense,” retorted her sister. “It would be better done with magnets.”
“She’d lose the pieces.”
“It would still be more fun.”
They stopped arguing and met each other’s eyes. It was three days to Christmas.
“Race you to the lab!”
Christmas morning dawned with enchantment, and wonder, and noise, as it often does for a happy family. Everyone delighted one another with clever (and sometimes thoughtful) gifts, and Father Christmas had filled their stockings with sumptuous treats. But when the smoke cleared (Father and Ulrik made their own Christmas crackers, rather enthusiastically) Bettina was a bit sad.
“What’s wrong, my darling?” asked Mother, drawing her onto her lap. “Are you not happy with your toys?”
“Good toys,” said Bettina bravely, but still she sighed. Annabelle and Mirabelle exchanged a wink.
“Look there,” said Annabelle, “I can see a bit of wrapping under the tree.”
“Oh yes,” said Mirabelle, “I see it too. Bettina, you’re the smallest. Crawl under and see what it is.”
Bettina dutifully crawled under the enormous evergreen and emerged with a brightly colored bundle in each hand. Her eyes grew wide as she considered the labels.
“For me!” She tore one open, as Mirabelle giggled. In the package she found a dolly, beautifully dressed, with fine red hair. “Oh!”
“Go on,” urged her sister, “squeeze her middle!”
Bettina did so, and there was the click of a spring, and the doll’s head and limbs shot off in every direction. Bettina squealed with joy. “Dolly go boom!” she shouted. “Dolly go boom!”
“There’s a key on the back, so you can wind the bits back in and do it again.” Mirabelle explained.
Bettina did so, over and over, laughing maniacally.
“Now mine!” Annabelle insisted.
Annabelle’s gift was a handsome boy doll wearing a tweed suit and lab apron.
“Ulrik!” declared Bettina.
“Good Lord, I hope not,” Ulrik said.
Bettina squeezed the doll, and his head and limbs flew off around the room, accompanied by laughter and shrieks of “Dolly go boom!”
Who shall say what role Father Christmas played in making Bettina’s wishes come true? So long as this revered exemplar of giving inspires us to generosity, I say that every gift given this season bears his mark.
And so Bettina had a happy Christmas, and more so her sisters who made her wish come true. And may we all, dear readers, have a joyful season.
Merry Christmas!
By Madame vonHedwig on Wednesday, December 17th, 2008
This entry is part of a series, Bettinas Christmas Present» Bettina went to find the twins. She looked in their room first. They weren’t there, but the door was unlocked. (Most doors on the ship were unlocked. Because Father believed that lock picking was an important skill, vital to a child’s education, there was really no point in locking anything.) Bettina went in (which she shouldn’t have done) and looked around. There stood Annabelle’s and Mirabelle’s writing desk. Bettina climbed up on the chair and found rich, thick paper, elegant fountain pens, and exotic inks. She picked a particularly beautiful sheet of paper, a silver pen, and purple ink (which she shouldn’t have) and thought about her letter.
She could not yet write in words, but knew how to sign her name. Well, the B, anyway, and the two Ts together like trees. That would have to do, and the rest she could do in pictures. She started to draw. Bettina had never used an elegant fountain pen, being only allowed pencils and crayons. I don’t know if you have ever tried to draw a picture using an elegant fountain pen when you have only ever used pencils and crayons before, but it is not easy at all. She had a great many blobs and splatters before she was through. When she had drawn the toy she desired to her satisfaction, she folded the sheet in half (not at all remembering to let the ink dry) and drew another picture on the back. This one was the letter’s address: a picture of Father Christmas himself, Sinterklaas, Grandfather Frost, the Man with the Bag.
But how to get it to him?
Bettina thought about how letters were sent. Mother and Father sometimes used signal flags to send messages. They often used carrier pigeons, which Mother made, or propellered balloons, which Father made. She could not get at either of these things without help, and besides, the pigeons bite. Then she remembered another way.
Once, before Philomena had gone off to the Academy, Bettina had seen her writing a letter in the great room. It had been many pages, with many crossed out lines, and much staring at the fire and sighing. Bettina had observed this from her hide in the dumb waiter. Then Claire and Adolphus had burst into the room (arguing, as usual) and Philomena had hurled her letter into the fire. She must have been using the fire to send the letter, Bettina reasoned. (This is not, in fact why Philomena cast her letter into the fire. However, burning a message is a long-respected way to communicate with ancestors, gods, and other non-physical beings.)
Read part three now!
By Madame vonHedwig on Monday, December 15th, 2008
This entry is part of a series, Bettinas Christmas Present» Mother was in the Greenhouse. She so often was that Bettina always associated the smell of warm moist compost with Mother. Compost and tea and ginger cookies. The greenhouse was built on to the top of the airship’s envelope, so Bettina hopped up flight after flight of metal mesh stairs, watching where she had been get eaten by where she was going, carefully skirting the big silk balls that held the gas that kept the Schöneluft aloft. She knew never to touch those, for Mrs. Huang became very angry if you did. Actually, Mrs. Huang was particularly prejudiced against treacle and peanut butter, but Bettina could never be bothered to keep her hands clean unless cornered by an adult, so she simply never touched the gas balls, just in case. Mrs. Huang smelled of exotic spices, and garlic, and bugs.
Bettina was on a mission. All the other children were talking about Father Christmas, and, young as she was, Bettina knew that Father Christmas meant presents. She knew what she wanted, and soon Mother would know too.
Mother was wearing her leather apron and stout gloves nearly the length of her arm. She was pruning a vine that seemed to be trying to prune her back. The result was something between gardening and fencing.
“Aha! Nearly had me there!” Mother leapt back, shaking her pruners at the twining tendrils. “Oh, Bettina, my love, stay back from the Acrimonious Ampelopsis aconitifolia, it’s quite feisty this morning!”
“Mummy,” said Bettina, getting right to the point, “dolly go boom.”
“What dear? Did you break a dolly?”
“Want dolly. Dolly go boom.”
Madame vonHedwig (for that is Bettina’s mother’s name) was eyeing the writhing vine again. “If your dolly is broken, you could ask Adolphus to fix it, or your father, if he has time. Just don’t go into his laboratory without an invitation.” She lunged at the plant, grabbing and cutting in one swift movement. As she jumped back, the severed vine clutched at her gloved hand, squeezing tight before going limp. She shook it off. “Christmas is coming, you know,” Mother added, “you could ask Father Christmas for a new dolly. You could write him a letter. The twins will help.”
Bettina sighed and moved toward the stairs. As she left she heard a thud, then a flurry of snipping. “Cheeky devil!” Mother exclaimed.
Read part two now!
