View from the North 40: Like crocheting for a better future

I don’t mean to make light of a literally deadly topic, but latest evidence on the mosquito-borne Zika virus shows that my grandmother was psychic in her prediction of this disease invasion. Apparently, even a squat, stern farm grandma can channel the future through a crochet needle.

No kidding.

The Zika virus, which can cause illness in children and adults and, more significantly, the birth defect microcephaly, has been in Brazil and French Polynesia for years. The virus is spread by mosquitoes and several reports from international medical organizations say it looks like the virus is extending its area of operations — possibly into the U.S.

USAToday reported Thursday that researchers led by Purdue University have identified the structure of the virus and provided a photo of one of my grandma’s crocheted doilies.

No kidding.

Their cross-section of the Zika virus has a tight-laced blue octagon shape in the center with a kind of teal edging that fades to green and then yellow, while also transforming into a circular shape. As an eye-catching finishing touch, little, regularly spaced red nibs rim the outside yellow layer.

I know I saw that exact pattern in a handmade doily laid out under a blue lamp at my grandma’s house.

I have very few memories of my childhood, but I remember my grandma’s handcrafts. She sewed her own aprons that were like workman vests that covered everything from her shoulders to her knees, with handy pockets at the waist. Those aprons were cotton calico armor in the battle against food spills.

She had a wealth of traditional-pattern quilts made by her, her mother, her own grandmother and her aunts. Most quilts had intricate patterns or ornate floral appliqué.

The farmhouse was a hoarder's dream of craft materials from fabrics and felts to old newspapers and plastic bottles — all stacked, restacked or heaped in a corner waiting for the right creative project.

I also clearly remember staring in awe at a collection of crocheted hats she had made from a fusion of yarn and beer-can panels. Years later I came to understand that someone had dreamed up this style statement in the ’60s — my grandma was content to continue crocheting them well into the ’70s. I had never seen, nor even envisioned, such a thing my life.

Nor can I imagine where she got the beer cans from.

Having seen the results of mixing adults and alcohol, I could not imagine her actually drinking the beer and softening her stern countenance.

Aside from the unrestrained hug to greet us, even when my grandma was handing out homemade cookies, it was clear that she was the one who taught my mother to maintain a household with an iron will and a wooden spoon.

Theirs were households in which order was maintained by Martial Law.

So it occurred to me while staring at Purdue’s Zika virus image and flashing back to my grandma’s doily that, if scientists are going to combat a virus clever enough to breach both the blood-brain and the placental barriers, they might need to channel my grandma’s spirit.

They will beat Zika only when they have created an antivirus which is mysteriously both creative and an unbending enforcer. And when they do, they should name it Grandma Inez.

(Just saying at [email protected].)