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headspace-hotel · 3 months

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okay. so.

i'm reading this book The Origins of the Modern World by Robert Marks

and even from the beginning i was getting this weird feeling from it. I'm always really wary of books that are broad overviews of history that claim to explore big theory-of-everything explanations for very broad phenomena, because history is unbelievably complex and there is so much disagreement between historians about everything.

But anyway I come to this section (in the first chapter)

This writer's opinion is that the Americas seemed so abundant when English settlers first arrived because the Native Americans had been mostly killed, and as a result, the wildlife increased greatly in numbers and forests overtook the farms, creating what appeared to be a natural paradise.

I'm immediately suspicious of this paragraph because arguing that the mass death of Native Americans was good for nature seems really contradictory to the research I've explored, on top of being just...disgusting.

But it doesn't sound right in regards to how ecosystems work either. If populations of animals had recently exploded after millennia of being limited by a major predator, it would cause the plants to be overwhelmed by the herbivore populations. The land would be stripped barren and eroded, and soon the animals would be weak and starving.

So I thought to myself, huh, a citation. I will look at the citation and see what it says.

It's a book called Changes in the Land by William Cronon, who seems to be one of the most important and respected guys in his field. I thought, I have to find this book. So I did, I found the book, and spent like an hour reading through it.

And what I discovered, is that Cronon's book directly contradicts what Marks says in the paragraph that cites Cronon?!

So basically this entire book, Changes in the Land, is a detailed exploration of how the arrival of English settlers, the decline of Native American populations, and the slow transition to European farming and land use practices caused increasing degradation to the ecosystem, beginning very early on in colonization.

Changes in the Land quotes a great array of documents from the colonial period where settlers observed the soil becoming depleted, animals disappearing, and the climate itself becoming more hostile even in the 1600's. It's actually a really fascinating book.

Cronon tells us that Native Americans created lush and abundant conditions for wild animals by causing a "mosaic" of habitats, with different areas representing various stages of ecological succession. With this great diversity in habitats, and lots of transitional "edges" between them, the prosperity of the animal life was maximized. This was intentional, and really a type of farming.

The book essentially explains how European settlers couldn't recognize Native American life ways as "agriculture," they thought the land was just supernaturally abundant all by itself because of its inherent nature, and yet almost immediately after settlers came, the abundance of the land degraded and vanished. The settlers cut down vast amounts of trees, which caused erosion, which destroyed the river and stream ecosystems and starved the soil of nutrients. Destruction of forest caused less rain, and more extreme temperatures. It became a vicious cycle where the settlers had to abuse the land more and more just to survive.

The spiral pulled in Native American communities too, forcing them to turn to more exploitative means of survival like the fur trade, (which depleted the beaver population, which caused the decline of beaver ponds, which harmed the whole forest). It describes how the changing ecosystems left Native Americans with no choice but to turn to European practices for survival, which in turn depleted the land even further.

Even I was surprised to learn just how early on environmental disaster set in, and the incredible extent of it. English farming practices literally reshaped the map of New Haven between the 17th and 18th centuries:

To return to Marks, though...Marks' statement in the excerpt, where he says the "abundance" of animals continued throughout the 19th century, is blatantly false according to the source HE CITES.

Deer were becoming scarce in New England by the 1690's. It was so bad by 1718 that deer hunting was forbidden for 3 years at that time, and by 1800, deer were almost extirpated from New England. The book explains on another page that wild turkeys became so rare that a farmer's manual from the time said their domesticated turkeys were from Turkey—settlers had no opportunity to see a wild turkey and no idea they existed.

Marks is supporting his statement using a source entirely dedicated to contradicting the exact thing he's saying! It's unbelievable.

How does this happen? Did Marks just have his own opinion and insert a famous book that seemed to be on the subject as support, without reading it?

I'm thinking now of all the times I've read a book and seen a citation on a statement and unconsciously thought "oh, well it seems there is evidence, so it must be reliable" when actually, something like this was happening. The array of ways misinformation can be propagated and never be found out is terrifying.

#ecosystems #ecology #animals #history #fact check #?#research

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whats-in-a-sentence · 1 year

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When diffusion is too slow to maintain high nutrient concentrations near the root, a nutrient depletion zone forms adjacent to the root surface (Figure 5.10).

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

#book quotes #plant physiology and development #nonfiction #textbook #plant nutrition #soil science #roots #plant health #nutrients #depletion #diffusion

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minkdelovely · 1 month

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love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter two

“i come loaded with the

safety switch on.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: blood, sensory overload, vomit, implied cannibalism, descriptions of graphic violence, power dynamics, non-consensual touching, valentino sighting, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: i just wanted to give a huge shoutout to @hazelfoureyes for being so gracious to let me tag her here as inspo! if you haven’t already, please go check out her work - she’s seriously sooo talented and awoke my need for more interaction between alastor and valentino lol

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor had insisted that you walk back to the hotel, your arm linked under his as he paraded you through the remainder of the city like a proud parent.

You tried to fight feeling grateful for the support since he could have easily teleported you back to the hotel, but you gripped his arm all the same. The adrenaline dump had left you feeling so depleted and all you wanted was to be back in your bed. Snippets of what happened in the alley raced through your mind’s eye, and you shook your head, trying to keep them at bay. Did you really have the capacity to be that enraged? That violent? Apparently you did…

The blood was drying tight on your face, contrasting with the slick, heavy feeling of fabric latching to the skin of your chest. You could feel yourself winding up, overwhelmed and uncomfortable by the mess you were covered in. There wasn’t a part of you that felt clean and you were desperate with the need to remove your dress. Tears blurred the edge of your vision when you fixated on the taste in your mouth, barely managing to pull away from Alastor before you fell to your knees and vomited.

Bile, blood, and… It was the tipping point.

No longer able to hold it back, the sob you released was closer to a scream. What had you done? You couldn’t fight the images flashing in your mind; the sound of screams and flesh tearing, an airway so saturated with blood it bubbled. How it felt when your teeth punctured flesh, no easier than biting into a piece of fruit. Your mouth filling with blood… and swallowing. And that wasn’t all you had swallowed, was it?

It wasn’t until you started frantically tearing at the collar of your dress that Alastor approached from behind you, grabbing your wrists easily in his large hands.

“Now, now, that simply won’t do,” he chided cooly in your ear, radio static gone, his presence large and stable behind you. “I thought a walk might help you to calm down, but at least you managed to save this episode from prying eyes. Be a big girl now and stop crying, we’re nearly home.”

You couldn’t see through the tears as he pulled you up to your feet, his hands releasing you as soon as you were standing. A throb of pain rocked your head and you choked out a final sob, trying to steady your breath as you rubbed your burning, swollen eyes.

Why was he being so patient with you? He had been in a good mood ever since he found you in the alley, not even bothered by the fact that the clothes you had been sent to pick up were soiled and needed to be returned to the cleaners. And how had he even found you in the first place? Was he following you?

“Oh, my dear, you look like the stuff of nightmares!” Alastor said in his usual static, not sounding at all sorry for you. Hell, he probably meant it as a compliment. “Remind me to ask what that poor creature did to earn your wrath.”

With that, he hooked your arm again and led you up the hill.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Angel shouted from the bar when you entered the lobby. Husk nearly dropped the glass in his hand, but managed to recover, his face pale.

Thankfully, your audience was just the two of them. You wouldn’t have known what to do if everyone had been there to see you in this state. Dread came over you then, thinking of what it will be like to finally stand in front of a mirror. Your empty stomach churned.

“Not to worry, Angel, the blood isn’t hers. Poor thing ran into a bit of trouble running errands, but that’s all been taken care of, hasn’t it?” Alastor cooed, resting his hand on your shoulder as he peered down at you.

“Well don’t just stand there, let her get cleaned up before anyone else sees! Niffty’s gonna have a fucking fit when she finds the mess on that carpet,” Husk said to Alastor, shaking his head in exasperation.

Alastor’s fingers dug into you at being rebuked, but you were more focused on the muted plop sounds of blood falling to the carpet from the laundry bag. Had it really just been an hour since you had picked it up? You were so tired it was hard to believe that it was still only morning.

“Yeah, don’t worry, toots. We won’t tell no one about your, uh… day out,” Angel said delicately, raising his hand with a suave smile. “Scout’s honor. Though I gotta say, I think you look fuckin’ badass. Whoever it was got what was coming to ’em.”

You huffed out a small laugh, managing to give him a weak smile before Alastor enveloped you both in shadow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Angel and Husk watched as you and Alastor disappeared, giving themselves a moment until they felt like it was safe enough for them to talk again.

“So… what the actual fuck, am I right?” Angel half-laughed, taking a swig from his glass. “I think she fuckin’ ate somebody.”

Husk hummed, nodding his head slightly in agreement. “Definitely not impossible. I just hope he didn’t put her up to it.”

“You really think he’d do somethin’ like that, Husk? I mean, sure, he’s been bossin’ her around but… forcin’ her to eat someone? Seems extreme.”

Husk sighed, giving him a defeated look. Angel shook his head, eyebrow peaked in disbelief. Ignoring the phone buzzing in his pocket, he finished his drink.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Despite how much you had been looking forward to it, it felt strange to be back in your room. Everything was the same as how you’d left it, but it almost felt like nothing here belonged to you anymore. The room was so still, quiet except for the sounds of Alastor rooting around in your ensuite bathroom. What he could possibly be looking for, you didn’t know, nor did you really care. You were so tempted to just collapse on the bed…

The shower turned on and you sighed, closing your eyes to enjoy the soothing sound it made. It was a peace short-lived, your eyes flying open when you felt fingers at the back of your neck undo the button of your collar, followed quickly by cool air against your spine as Alastor unzipped you. You stiffened and moved away, turning to face him, bringing your arms up to keep the dress from slipping off your shoulders to the floor.

The rebuttal died in your throat when he laughed, stepping towards you in your retreat.

“Testy, aren’t we? I was merely trying to help, and this is the thanks I get?”

His eyes narrowed when you moved farther away in response. Would he ever stop toying with you?

“Alastor, please, I’m too tired for this,” you pleaded, glancing at the bathroom behind you as you fought back a fresh wave of tears. You knew he wouldn’t like it if you started crying again.

“Which is exactly why I’m trying to help! Surely, you aren’t insinuating that my intentions were anything but courteous?” He said it casually enough but you could feel the threat veiled underneath as he continued his way to you. “Seeing how my clothes need laundering again, I figured you’d want me to take the dress as well. It was a gift, after all.”

“I’ll take it myself,” you tried to say evenly, looking away from him. He was hovering over you now, effectively making you feel small. “And I didn’t think you were—”

He tipped your chin to look up at him and licked the pad of his thumb on his free hand. You stood frozen stiff as he used it to wipe your cheek, not daring to upset him more by pulling away. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the truth of how completely in control he was over you sunk in, killing whatever was left of the hope you had of staying under his radar. Silently, you watched as he brought his thumb back to his mouth, but your breath hitched as he sucked off the residue. The look in his eyes made you want to disappear, and you hoped the tear-streaked mess on your face was able to hide the blush now burning your cheeks.

“Sylvie… shouldn’t you be getting in the shower? Or is wasting water another bad habit of yours?” he said, voice low and face smug.

Without thinking, you jerked your face out of his hand and quickly pulled the dress off, shoving it at his chest. Before he could say another word you were in the bathroom, using all the restraint you had left not to slam the door in his face. Leaning against the door, you could hear him laughing as he made his way out of your room. Finally there was silence, and you slid to the floor with your face in your hands, swallowing against the feeling of your heart in your throat. And worse, you weren’t sure if the tightness in your chest was shame… or something else.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Niffty was already hard at work removing the blood stains in the lobby, mumbling to herself as Alastor passed through to make his way back to Cannibal Town. Making sure to give Husk a knowing, pompous grin, and receiving a scowl in return, he walked out the hotel. Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he had enjoyed himself so much before noon. Whatever else the day had in store he couldn’t know, though it would be tough to beat.

The taste that lingered in his mouth was bordering on cruel, a gamble he wasn’t sure he had properly hedged the bet of. Regret wasn’t something Alastor felt often, if at all, and he would vehemently deny it even if he did. Was it regret he felt at tasting the blood that dried on your face? No. While the blood itself was subpar — it had come from some vile creature, after all — it had been transformed by your skin chemistry and tears, creating a flavor that was robust and surprising. Had it not been for decades of tempering his self-control, Alastor worried briefly in the back of his mind that he might have done something drastic; hence allowing himself just the one taste. And apparently doomed to savor it until opportunity presented itself.

He couldn’t help passing by the alley as he made his way through the city, unsurprised to see that your victim was still lying there, stripped of clothes and whatever possible valuables he had possessed. It would be at least a week before he recovered from the attack. A thought passed through Alastor’s mind and his antler’s grew in response to the idea, mouth curling up in a fanged, sinister grin. Passersby ran away in horror.

It wasn’t until Alastor walked into the dry cleaners that the armor of his good mood chipped. Of all the fiends in Hell, Valentino was the least of whom he ever expected to run into here. Cannibal Town wasn’t a sanctuary in the true sense, but its culture did manage to deter most of the demons Alastor deemed undesirable. A peace he was not willing to part with. Though clearly someone had tipped Valentino off about how to blend in here, as he was without his gaudy trademark robe, instead donning a shockingly respectable black suit.

Alastor had no grudge with Valentino, he simply just didn’t respect him. Getting sinners to sign themselves over to you in promise of fame was so trite. How Valentino could be proud to call himself an Overlord was a mystery, unless he was truly that shameless. Or more likely, from what Alastor had overheard Angel saying to others in passing, oblivious. Both seemed correct. While Alastor could suffer a fool, anyone who would bend under Vox’s will really wasn’t worthy of his concern or energy.

Valentino turned at the ringing of the bell over the door, with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin as he took in the sight of The Radio Demon.

“Well fuck me, if it isn’t the big, brave hero! I thought Adam sent you to Super Hell, but I guess you would be too stubborn to die,” Valentino said haughtily, taking a drag off his cigarette. “How’s the wound, flaco?”

Internally Alastor bristled, but he maintained his facade of nonchalance. It wasn’t surprising that the Vees had found out about what happened between him and Adam. Of course it irritated him all the same, considering that the battle between the two of them wasn’t quite public knowledge. For now, all Alastor could do was keep the fact that the Vees knew in his back pocket and work on a plan of action to counteract it, should need arise.

“Wound is a bit strong, Valentino, but as they say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! You’re too kind, inquiring after my health,” Alastor responded jovially, though the smile on his face was cold and menacing. “I must say, I never thought I’d see you here. I didn’t think Cannibal Town would be an ideal place for you to… scout.”

Valentino scoffed through a strained smile. “No shit. There are a lot of kinks out there, but ‘ragtime cannibal freaks’ isn’t one of them.” He paused to take another drag, continuing as he exhaled red smoke, “But this is the only place that can actually get all the stains out of my shit. Looks like I’m not alone in that department. Busy morning?” He gave a pointed look at the bloody laundry bag hanging off Alastor’s arm.

“You could say that,” Alastor teased, finally making his way up to the counter. The employee took the bag with a smile and removed the suit from its paper covering. Your dress was hanging in an armoire back in Alastor’s suite. He never intended to get it laundered. “Send my regards to Velvette. I haven’t had the chance to tell her how much I enjoyed her input at the last meeting you were apparently too busy to attend.”

Before the moth demon could say anything his cell phone rang, and Valentino answered as he gave Alastor the finger in response, opening the door to leave. “What do you mean, Donny hasn’t fucking showed up yet?!”

And then he was gone, yelling at his phone in the middle of Cannibal Town. Bold.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you woke up your room was dark, save for the light of a sconce near your door, the throbbing in your forehead making itself immediately known. The headache wasn’t surprising considering how much you had cried, nor was the pang of hunger you felt. You didn’t feel ready to eat anything yet though, but you definitely needed to get some water in your system.

Slowly, you got yourself out of bed, pausing for a moment to breathe through the stiffness in your body. Even when you had fled from Alastor earlier, your bathroom had never seemed as far away as it did now. It wasn’t until you were practically in front of it that you noticed the red dress hanging from your bathroom door, a note peaking out from the left pocket of the white, ruffled apron attached to its waist. It was a brief message, but impactful all the same.

I believe red suits you best. - Alastor

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tag list: @fairyv-ice

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #slow burn #song fic #if i can’t have love i want power #love and power #x reader #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel slow burn

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practicalsolarpunk · 1 month

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I thought green onions/Alliums were nitrogen fixers, but google is telling me no, is this true?

Unfortunately, Google is right in this case - onions/Alliums aren’t nitrogen fixers. In fact, planting them near nitrogen fixers can actually keep the nitrogen fixers from putting nitrogen back into the soil. That’s because the nitrogen-fixing process relies on a bacteria that can pull nitrogen out of a plant’s roots and into the soil, and Alliums’ mild antibacterial/antimicrobial properties kill off those bacteria. They also require a lot of nutrients in general to grow (although the root/bulb-based Alliums more so than green onions), so they’re actually likely to deplete nitrogen in the soil.

If you’re interested in learning more about nitrogen fixers, this article has a big list of nitrogen-fixing plants, and this article talks more about the science behind nitrogen fixing in general. I hope this helps!

- Mod J

#gardening #asked and answered

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thegnomelord · 5 months

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OMG CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!!!!!! how about prompt 30 with trans!ghost? there'd be such a nice mix of battle scars & surgery scars too <3

Thanks! and Anon you have no idea on what kind of a Hyper-fixation fender you put me on with this prompt, like it's 2 in the morning and I've never written something this fast before lol. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Kissing scars

CW: NSFW, Trans Ghost, Male reader but can be read as GN, afab language, kinda non sexual nudity, body worship, scar kissing, fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff, I'm a dirty tease.

You never know what you'll get when Ghost returns after a mission— Sometimes he'll return so hoped up on adrenaline he'll push you down on the nearest flat surface and ride you until he's satisfied, using you as a living dildo with a firm hand on your throat to keep you hard and quiet; Other times — even the barest brush of skin on skin will have him flinching away with a glare able to put you 6 feet deep.

So when you find him in your room, still fitted out in combat gear and staring off seemingly into space, you approach him slow and loud, making your footsteps echo as you draw close. You doubt he can even feel you brush your pinkies together through his thick gloves, but he jolts as if you're electric. . .but doesn't jerk away.

Creeping slowly until you're face to face with him you hold his hand loosely in your own, giving a gentle squeeze. It takes a few more squeezes before his eyes focus on you, the raging storm inside him turning them from honey brown to dark like blood soaked soil. You can tell his face is tense even with the mask on, the thin fabric helping to keep him together as his resolve slowly depletes like a fraying rope.

Something makes you move and before your mind properly registers it you're slowly taking off his glove, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb before you bring it closer to your face. His sharp eyes follow every movement of your lips as you kiss an old cigarette burn on the pad of his thumb and trail soft pecks across the silvery lines dotting his finger down to the meat of his palm, then back up to the pad of his pointer finger, kissing each knuckle as you go from finger to finger.

This doesn't stop or lessen the maelstrom in his mind, but each new kiss is like a new board to patch up the leaking holes in his boat. His other hand finds your shoulder by the time you're kissing the stab scar on the back of his hand.

His voice is so rough your name is hardly understandable, but gains your attention all the same. "Going soft on me now?" He growls, amused or irritated, you can't say.

Tempting luck you reach out to grab the zipper of his jacket, "Do you want me to stop?" You murmur against his skin.

His eyes narrow until you're staring into a dark void, a small and gruff sound leaving his throat. It's not a 'yes', but it's definitely not a 'no'. So like a miner without a canary, you slowly undress him, dropping to your knees to take off his boots and unclipping all his gear, stopping only when he's down to boxers and a long sleeve shirt when you feel him tense.

"Forgetting somethin' Sargent?" He asks, voice rough like he's ready to bark orders across the battlefield.

You look at him like a worshiper looks at a god, "Please, can I take these off Ghost?" You beg, sticking out your bottom lip for extra measure.

"Only because you look pathetic when you beg." There's no heat in his words, but you feel and see his muscles tense as you take away the last remaining articles of clothing. Only his mask remains, and you don't dare touch that.

He's dry as a bone and you can't blame him, this situation so far from normal for both of you. He lets you maneuver him until he's sitting on the bed, his knees spread just enough for you to comfortably kneel between them.

"That's bettah," He hums as you take his other hand and start kissing the rough patches of skin there, though you're a little surprised when he catches your tongue in his fingers. "You're like a damn dog." But he only brushes the his thumb against the flat of your tongue before letting go.

"Just for you, right?" You hum and start trailing bulletwounds and stab scars across his forearm.

"If yea know what's good for yea." He growls, though you can see him starting to relax, the cold edges melting slowly like the first thaw after a 1000 year old winter.

"Where do you ache, love?" You ask, reaching over to kiss a prominent scar on his bicep while you look at his abdomen. His front looks like a roadmap; full of long jagged scars from knives, dotted with small crates from old bullets, mottled with burns, and other unknown scars caused by god knows what. The only 'clean' scars he has are the two silvery lines beneath the curve of his pecs — the ones he never lets you touch.

"Will you kiss it better?" He mocks, like he doesn't believe you and looks at you like you're insane, but decides to humor you and briefly taps the fresh pink line on his abdomen. He watches you like a hawk as you lean down to lay soft kisses along the entire length of the jagged scar, a groan leaving his lips as your tongue tickles the frazzled beneath healing scar tissue, something like pleasure-not-pleasure sizzling wonderfully up his spine.

"Where else?" You ask, letting him place a heavy hand on your head and guide you where he wants you. His body aches in some way every waking moment, but for this night he can let you chase away the gnawing pain with your lips. He doesn't notice when he ends up splayed out on the bed and tugging you on top of him— another usually hard no with him —his mind growing strangely quiet as every lick and kiss on his damaged skin leaves behind shreds of warmth that build in his chest until he's boneless. It's almost like he melts into the bed, into your lips, his muscles more relaxed than they've ever been.

Then your lips brush against his top scars and a bucket of water gets splashed on his head. He barks out your name, raising his head as he scruffs you by the back of the neck before you can even react.

You don't resist his hold, "Yes, my handsome man?" You ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, your lips brushing against his top scars when he visibly shivers at your words.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asks the question that's been plaguing both of your minds, but he doesn't sound angry and doesn't try to throw you off him, so you continue to gently worship his top scars.

"What's it look like?" You ask and feel his hold on your neck loosen as you trail from one scar to it's twin on the other side. His hand remains where it is, but his blunt nails lightly scratch your skin as reward for adoring scars like you're doing right now.

"Like you're doing something stupid." He huffs and you can finally see the dark clouds in his eyes parting, his chest rising and falling as he lets out a breath that's been weighing on his shoulders for a while. "But-" He takes your hand and moves it down between his legs, both of you groaning when you find his folds wet and pliant to your fingers, clit hard and pulsing against your hand. "-I can think of a few more places where I 'ache'." He gives a smug smirk that's obvious through his balaclava, his other hand lightly tugging on your hair, "Kiss it better for me, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

#Gnome's prompt game #cod mw2 #x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #male reader #top male reader #trinkets from the hoard #gnome correspondence #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #x male reader #fluff #also i'm a tease 😈

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 months

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As 1932 drew to a close, the small crop field nestled amongst Strangerville’s orange hills flourished until almost every plant was ready to harvest. After years of effort, they burst to life with something even more precious to Giorgio than the riches he thought this land would bring him, because it meant everything he had believed and invested in hadn’t failed. He hadn’t failed, and for now that was worth more than the money he had hoped this harvest would bring them.

Because even with the bounty they had managed to coax from the sandy soil, attempting to sell it was near pointless, as crop prices had all but bottomed out while food costs skyrocketed. Everything they picked was more valuable on their own shelves, so for weeks on end Josephine and Zelda stood in the kitchen drying and canning anything they possibly could.

Zelda wracked her brain for every trick her mother had taught her or poured through every book Mabel had loaned her. All the while Josephine attempted to get a handle on even the basics of preserving food, trying to follow what Zelda did without feeling like she was falling into the trap of uselessness that had nearly broken her the first time. There was so much to do that Jo thought Zelda never noticed, and she was immensely thankful as she struggled to keep up.

Only it was impossible not to notice Josephine’s heavy sighs, no matter how well she thought she was hiding them. Especially when the only distractions from their work were idle chatter and the occasional appearance of Giorgio as he sought shelter from the heat during the long hours of uprooting the spent stalks in the field.

Zelda was always glad to hear his footsteps on the porch, even if they did momentarily fool her into thinking that Antoine had returned home early. Gio’s presence seemed to immediately alleviate Josephine’s frustrations, and in turn Zelda’s guilt that she continued to struggle with this life.

But gradually, seeing them together became harder for Zelda as she grew more aware that they were the couple who had eachother at all hours of the day and night. Meanwhile she spent her days working alongside Gio as her own husband and daughter increasingly found themselves away from home, and she more frequently alone.

Until finally, when the last of the beans had been shelled and the final ear of corn ground into flour, Zelda’s resilience ran out. Her hands were sore and her mind just beginning to process that what they had all worked toward for years was now complete. It meant they would have to start all over again; the soil would have to be mended and tilled once again, the crops replanted, the water regathered, and then she would have to keep trying and trying and trying…

Josephine noticed the look on her face, and knew that her friend was lost in her own thoughts. So much so that she didn’t even notice Jo looking at her intently, watching her eyes as they fixated on the jars in front of her. She was staring at them like she had poured her very soul directly into their contents, only to realize that they were nothing but jars after all. She looked so depleted, that Josephine understood she had been wrong all along. Life here wasn’t as effortless for Zelda as her envious eyes had led her to believe; and that maybe, in giving so much to this life, she had lost part of herself too.

Jo slipped out the door without Zelda even noticing, only to return minutes later with a repurposed bottle full of clear liquor in her hand. She shut the door behind her loudly enough to ensure that Zelda would hear, and then unscrewed the cap and set the bottle on the table, hoping the smell alone was enough to bring her out of her melancholy reverie.

Zelda looked up at Jo before jumping to her feet, “Is that-is that what I think it is?”

A mischievous grin spread across Jo’s face before she shrugged her shoulders, “Gio has his sources.”

It had been a long time since either of them had drank like that, much less something so strong. At the first sip of moonshine out of a kitchen mug, both of them had wrinkled their noses and held their breath. Zelda had coughed profusely. But like most things at over 100 proof alcohol, each sip burned less and less, so that by the time Antoine and Violette returned home, they stayed outside with Giorgio playing around the fire and assembling corn husks into dolls, leaving the increasingly intoxicated women inside the house to laugh and talk to their heart’s content.

Only the more they drank the more Zelda couldn’t hold back the question that had been on her mind for months, filling it with guilt every time she saw Josephine struggle. But slurred and emboldened by the liquor she couldn’t even taste anymore, she felt it come to her lips before her mind even registered it, “You’re happy here, right?”

Fuck. Maybe she could blame it on the moonshine once Antoine found out. Once Gio knew. She had asked her mid sip, and Jo seemed to keep the cup raised to her lips for a moment longer than necessary before she lowered it back down and looked away, “I..I think — I’m happier, at least. I’m trying…”

Zelda sloshed what little liquid was left at the bottom of her cup, the alarm bells in her head numbed by the buzzing sound that had settled there since her fifth sip, “You know that, that if it’s ever — if you’re ever unhappy here, I’ll support you no matter what you do, right, Jo?”

Josephine returned her looked curiously and Zelda’s heart sank. Did her eyes look sober? Angry? Had she said too much and ruined all of their lives? Over and over again she and Antoine had talked about it, how to let Jo know that they were there with her, for her, without her finding out they were keeping Giorgio’s secret; because Zelda knew just as well as Antoine did that she was likely to view all three of them as her betrayers, and so it was even more likely that she would run now than if they had just told her from the beginning.

Then if she ran, there was no way to guarantee that Gio wouldn’t blame them, or that Antoine wouldn't insist on leaving with his sister. Then where did that leave any of them, especially her daughter who had only just learned to call this place home?

But the moonshine seemed to work in Zelda’s favor, and Jo’s curious expression broke into a smile and a small disarming laugh, “Of course, silly. As I would for you. You’re my sister, after all.”

Jo reached her hand across the couch, swaying slightly amidst the flowery patterns beginning to spin before taking yet another sip of moonshine. Zelda reached forward to take her extended hand in her own, the warm touch doing little to allay her own guilt, “My sister.”

#1932 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda darlington #Josephine Duplanchier #Giorgio Mistretta #Antoine Duplanchier #Violette darlington

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turtlesandfrogs · 1 year

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One of the things I think about a lot is productivity comparisons between conventional and unconventional agriculture. Mostly because that's the first question you get asked when you talk about anything that's outside the norm*, but, on what metric are we measuring? Per acre? Per hour worked? Per cost of input? Are we measuring yields of product or dollars earned?

This question also, to me, rings of fear. Fear of food shortages, which are really a problem of greed & distribution, not the world's capacity to grow food. If we were really worried about calories though, I think we'd at least switch to pastured animals instead of sending so much corn and soy to livestock (for any non-farmers out there, you do not get nearly the calories out of a chicken or pig that you put in- you get much less**). Or we would put more effort into making cities great places to live so we stopped turning farmland into suburbia. Or we would be much more concerned with how to prevent erosion & loss of arable land. But we don't, and we're not.

I also think of the complexity of non- conventional farming, and how instead of it being a return to the past, it actually relies on new information and methods***.

Take the plot of land that I'm working to make into a market garden. It's soil is, from a farmer's perspective, crap. It's gravely, sandy, very little organic matter. If I were to farm it conventionally, I'd basically have till to open the soil and kill weeds, and then provide all of the plant nutrients through fertilizers, which would cause the plants to kick out their symbiotic fungi, leaving them vulnerable to pathogenic fungi, and more dependant on me for water. There would also be bare soil everywhere, increasing evaporation & providing plenty of opportunities for new weeds. My costs would be very high, paying for fertilizers, pesticides, & herbicides, and I would have to water, a lot. It probably wouldn't be at all economically feasible to grow food on this plot using conventional methods.

Now, I look at it and say, I'm going to do no-till. I look at the hard, weedy, depleted soil and there's no way a seed is going to be able to come up through that. But, I'm not just doing no-till, because I'm not looking at it from a conventional mindset and just trading out one practice. I'm doing basically everything different from above.

Instead of tilling, I'm laying down a thick layer of mulch, to shade out the weeds, increase soil organic matter (increasing the amount of water and nutrients the soil can absorb & good on to), and feed the soil ecosystem. By the time spring rolls around, the soil underneath will be much better, but I'll still add more compost in most cases.

Instead of fertilizers I've had to pay for, I'm using mulches that I got for free from my gardening work & composts made for free from restaurant kitchen wastes****. I'm going to use over crops, plants that fix nitrogen and also serve as perennial hosts to beneficial soil fungi, which will also form symbiosis with most of my crops, increasing their resistance to pathogenic fungi while also providing them with increased access to water and soil minerals.

Instead of bare soil, there will be mulches and cover crops every where. Instead of monocrops & pesticides, I'll be intercropping which will help by hosting beneficial native insects that will chow down on aphids and other crop pests.

From this framework, there's an upfront investment of effort and planning, but farming this land now seems feasible.

And the thing is, each of those choices is backed up by research. We know so much more now about soil and nutrient cycling and how it actually works than when conventional ag really got started. We know so much more, and so many practices are new, so growing non-conventionally isn't a step back into the past of how things were grown.

But at the same time, it's not exactly completely information either- other cultures have different ways of growing food crops, and if you broaden your concept of what cultivating plants looks like, there's examples everywhere. We're just studying it now and providing it scientifically.

*and I honestly think that it's a result of the extractive mindframe that comes from being the decendants of colonizers. Just look at the different perspectives between many western foragers ideas and Indigenous peoples' relationship with the land.

** chickens are one of the most efficient, with a feed conversion ratio of 1.6, which means for every 1.6 pounds of food you give them, you can expect the chicken to gain 1 pound (cows are over 4 pounds of feed to pound of live weight, and pigs are 3 to 4ish). That's the whole bird though, counting all the parts we don't eat- guts, feathers, bones, etc. Even so, a pound of chicken food has over 1300 calories, and is about 20% protein for starter/grower, where as a pound of chicken has about 500 calories and about 30% protein (for dark meat, you get fewer calories from white meat). I'm not saying everyone should give up meat, but I am saying that the amount of meat in mainstream diets has increased dramatically, much of it comes from cafos where animals are fed on grains & legumes, and if we're measuring productivity and yield per acre because we're worried about feeding the world, this is a huge factor. Look up how much of the corn & soy crop goes to actually directly feeding people.

*** from a western, colonizing prospective

**** is this a particular boon from my particular circumstances? Yes. But everyone has their own challenges and resources, there is no cookie-cutter solution to all agriculture, everywhere. You have to find the solutions that work for you.

#thoughts #permaculture #gardening

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cartermagazine · 2 months

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Today In History

Dr. George Washington Carver, scientist and discoverer of over 300 products from the peanut, was successful in getting a Branch Agricultural Experiment Station and Agricultural School at Tuskegee Normal School on this date February 15, 1897.

Born a slave on a Missouri farm in 1865, Carver became the first black student and the first black faculty member at what is now Iowa State University. The well-respected botanist led the bacterial laboratory work in the Systematic Botany Department. But at the urging of Booker T. Washington, Carver moved to Tuskegee Institute in Alabama to serve as the school’s director of agriculture. He used his agricultural research to help black farmers become more self-sufficient and less reliant on cotton, the major cash crop of the South.

Carver developed numerous products and processes that expanded the range of Southern agriculture. At Tuskegee, Carver developed his crop rotation method, which alternated nitrate-producing legumes such as peanuts and corn with cotton, which depletes the soil of its nutrients. His innovations have been credited with the South’s economic survival in the early part of the 20th century.

CARTER™️ Magazine

#george washington carver #carter magazine #carter #historyandhiphop365 #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #history #cartermagazine #today in history #staywoke #blackhistory #blackhistorymonth

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tenth-sentence · 5 months

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We overfish and deplete our oceans.

"Soil: The incredible story of what keeps the earth, and us, healthy" - Matthew Evans

#book quote #soil #matthew evans #nonfiction #fishing #gone fishing #overfishing #oceans #depletion

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avesque · 1 year

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Hi can I request a Neteyam with his female mate where she goes off to explore the forest alone for ages and forgets to tell him and he can’t find her for a long time and when he does he pulls her to him in a tight hug not wanting to let go and she asks him what’s wrong, he is reluctant to tell her that he was worried about her so she comforts him by rubbing his back and cheeks and pressing her forehead against his. When they go back to their home together he doesn’t let go of her and his protective nature comes out and just wants comforting touches and soft kisses? Thanks 😊

in these arms — neteyam

INCLUDES fem!reader, omatikaya!reader. established relationship, fluff. 1.5k words.

NOTE my first request omg 🥺 i added a lil detail to emphasize neteyam’s worry for reader, i hope you don’t mind! i may have gone a lil overboard haha this was so fun to write. thank you for requesting! <3

sunlight dawns upon the tent you share with neteyam, carving shadows into corners. your eyes flutter open as light settles on your eyelids, immediately reaching over for your mate’s warmth. to your disappointment, you’re met with only his blanket.

the day has barely started yet your lover is already out and about. he probably joined the hunters for their early morning hunts. groaning, you get up and ready yourself for the day, getting giddy at the thought of greeting neteyam the moment he comes back.

you’re in the middle of weaving another bracelet for neteyam when the party arrives. you hear them first before you see them — a group of direhorses galloping, stomping across the forest floor. your beads rattle lightly in its container.

“that’s them,” neytiri says, not taking her eyes off her beadwork. a smile graces your face as you eagerly stuff your unfinished accessory in a pouch to greet neteyam.

you smother him in a hug the moment his feet hit the ground. neteyam huffs out a startled breath before wrapping an arm around your waist.

“you weren’t there when i woke up,” you complain lightly against his skin. his hold on you tightens.

neteyam pulls back slightly to look at you. soiled hands brush away stray braids on the side of your face but you let him do it anyway.

“i’m sorry, my love,” he whispers. his gaze is so soft you might melt right on the spot. “duty called.”

you let out a laugh. “i know.” then you pout, thumbing away the dirt smeared over his cheekbones. “would have liked it better if you woke me up and bid me goodbye.”

he hums. “you’d like that?”

“i’d love that.”

“okay,” he says, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “i will from now on.”

your smile is nearly blinding and neteyam thinks you have never been more beautiful. his chest floods with warmth at the light in your eyes, the bounce in your movements. he did mean to wake you up earlier but decided against it. you had looked so peaceful he did not have the heart to disrupt your much needed rest.

it has been a week of recovery for you, after all. he aches just thinking about how you’ve been bedridden the week before that due to the virus you miraculously caught. it was so severe that his father had to call his friends at the lab to help you.

neteyam had never been so helpless as he watched you moan and cry, your appetite gone and energy so depleted you cannot even sit up without support.

he opens his mouth to say something but gets interrupted by another hunter. he squeezes your waist once before letting go though still keeping you close.

“did we catch enough?” ray’ui, an omatikaya boy the same age as him, asks.

neteyam looks around. they didn’t have the usual men come for hunting this morning; some preferred to hunt in the afternoon for supper. “i think so. until for lunch, at least.”

“will you join this afternoon?”

“yes,” he nods thoughtfully. he plans to make some good dinner especially just for you to gain back the health and weight you’ve lost the past two weeks.

neteyam is called again by another na’vi before getting caught in a conversation with an elder. it’s nearing midday when kiri comes up to him with scrunched eyebrows, her hands irritatingly placed on her hips.

“have you seen y/n?”

the question makes neteyam stagger a little. he’s seen you, yes, but that was hours before. the sun is so high up in the sky now, the weather bordering on sweltering hot.

“i did… earlier, after we got back.” his eyebrows furrow. “why?”

“mother is looking for her.” kiri looks around. “you sure you haven’t seen her?”

neteyam shakes his head. an irrational fear stabs at his chest but he tries to shut it down, convincing himself you’re around here somewhere. he makes an excuse of looking for you since it’s nearing lunch. when afternoon comes and he has not seen even your shadow, he goes running to his father.

“what is it?” jake asks, eyes trained on the branch he’s buffing.

“i haven’t seen y/n since this morning.” the worry and fear bleeds into his every word, enough so that jake puts away his things. neteyam can only wonder how distressed he looks.

“i’m sure she’s—”

“neteyam!”

neteyam looks over to see ra’yui. he greets the olo’eykran before turning to him. “i’ve been looking for you. we are preparing for the hunt.”

he runs an aggravated palm over his face before sighing. “i’m sorry, i won’t be able to join you today.”

though his friend senses his frustration, he doesn’t press any further. once he’s gone, neteyam once again face his father.

“i’ve searched everywhere and i have not seen her. not even a trace. dad, please.”

he watches as his father’s resolve crumbles. he doesn’t even care how despe he looks right now as long as he can find you and make sure you’re alright.

his father has already arranged a search party for you, including the sully boys and other men. neteyam’s heartbeat seems to bleed through his eardrums the deeper they reach in the forest and still not getting a sight of you.

it’s nearing eclipse when they reach the old shack, a place his father always warned them to stay away from. his hold on his bow tightens at the realization: you aren’t here, which means you’re somewhere farther and more dangerous.

“how certain are you that she could have gone this far along?” lo’ak asks.

neteyam has no idea. his brother’s question was so stupid it made him want to lay a punch on his face.

something snaps and ruffles. the party stills. the chief raises a hand before readying his bow, aiming in the direction of the noise. the sound of leaves crunching grows closer until the bushes spit out… you.

the party simultaneously releases a big, heaving sigh of relief. neteyam almost drops down to his knees. instead, he drops his bow, surging forward and immediately cupping your face in his hands. the group slowly walks back to give you both some privacy.

“where have you been?” his question comes out much harsher than he intended. your ears fall back in your hair and it’s then he notices you’re dripping wet. your braids are drenched and rivulets of water are still caught in your skin. one slides down your temple and into his thumbs.

“what—?”

“i’m sorry, ‘teyam, i fell asleep.” your admission has him further confused.

“fell asleep?”

you nod, unable to meet his eyes. he feels you grip his arms, fingers cold against his skin.

“in the pond…”

he has so much questions but decides it can wait at home. he needs to get you warmed up fast. your company makes it back to the village just as the people are setting up the bonfire. neteyam excuses you both, heading to your shared shut.

he is quiet as he gingerly gestures for you to undress, fetching you a new top and loincloth. he helps you put them on, warm fingers leaving behind goosebumps on their wake. he then takes both of your blankets and drapes it over your shoulders.

“are you mad?” you ask meekly. it almost breaks his heart.

“i am not mad, tìyawn.” he cups your face again and your eyes flutter closed, melting into his touch. “could never be mad at you.”

“why aren’t you saying anything then?”

neteyam tries to say it, tries to articulate his thoughts. his worry, his fear. he thought of the worst things that could have happened to you. what if they weren’t able to find you? the idea alone makes his stomach curdle.

two weeks ago, you were nearly unconscious in the laboratory. and now, this?

sensing his distress, you make your way over and climb in his lap. it’s a little awkward with the blankets weighing you down but you manage to settle just right, sighing happily at the warmth emanating from neteyam’s body.

you hook your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck. his body relaxes under your touch.

your palm takes its time feeling every ridge of muscle on his back. you absentmindedly rub circles on his skin while the other caresses the back of his head.

“i am sorry for making you worry.”

lately, it seems all you do is make neteyam worry. aside from his duty to the clan, he has to deal with you on the side. the guilt makes your stomach turn.

“some kids were running,” you start explaining. “i followed them to the forest. there were these helicoradian plants and i got distracted… and then i walked some more until i got to the pond.”

“where you fell asleep?”

you nod against his shoulder. neteyam sighs.

“you were gone all day.”

“i know, my love. i must have worried you to death,” you laugh lightly. when neteyam doesn’t say anything, you try to pull him closer; to etch your apology on your skin to his. your love has never been good at expressing himself but you know him like that back of your hand.

when his arms around you tightens in answer and a delicate kiss is placed on the side of your neck, you know you’re forgiven.

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adastra-sf · 4 months

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The Maoi of Rapa Nui

Moai chieftain statues are the famous massive megaliths of Rapa Nui (aka Easter Island) in eastern Polynesia, carved about 1250-1650 CE by the original Polynesian colonizers of the island.

Many know them as "Easter Island heads," a misconception from having seen photos of statues in the volcano Rano Raraku partitially covered with soil. They all have full bodies with over-large heads - a 3:5 ratio between head and trunk, a sculptural trait consistent with the Polynesian belief in the sanctity of the chiefly head.

The island holds nearly 1000 statues, each weighing as much as 90 tons and standing up to 10 meters tall, though they average around half that. One unfinished sculpture would have stood 21 meters (69 feet!) tall and weighed 180 tons. More statues are still being discovered.

Almost all (95%) of the moais were carved from the volcano's stone tuff - compressed volcanic ash that's relatively easy to carve using only stone tools (toki).

Probably the biggest mystery is how tribes using Stone-Age tech could succeed in transporting 50-ton moai statues across kilometers of hilly terrain. Because the island was largely treeless by the time Europeans first arrived (by which time local culture and history had largely collapsed), the movement of the statues was a mystery for a long time.

Some transportation theories are more accepted than others:

The earliest accounts say a king named Tuu Ku Ihu moved them with the help of the god Makemake, while later stories tell of a woman who lived alone on the mountain ordering them about at her will.

The longest-held European hypothesis was that the moai statues were dragged from the volcano to their destinations along log rollers, which also explained how the island became deforested. Pollen analysis has established that the island was almost totally forested until 1200 CE, and tree pollen disappears from the record by 1650.

However, Iceland demonstrates how simply using wood for construction and fire can quickly deforest an island.

According to oral tradition, the moai statues walked to their destination. A literal interpretation is that the statues were rocked from side to side while pulling them forward to "walk" them to their final sites, as demonstrated in this recent experiment. This theory holds the most scholarly support today.

A not-uncommon but highly unlikely (and, y'know, disrespectful) claim is that aliens placed the moai statues for the locals. Occam's razor suggests this probably isn't the answer. But everyone loves aliens. The debate continues.

The ancient period ended when the Rapa Nui people were devastated by Peruvian slave-raiding expeditions that reached the island in 1862. Within a year, the individuals who remained on the island were sick, injured, and lacking leadership. Survivors of the slave raids had to deal with Christian missionaries. By the time Europeans arrived in 1722, the island's population was estimated at less than 3,000. Foreign diseases and emigration to other islands such as Tahiti further depleted the population, reducing it to a low of 111 native inhabitants in 1877.

Chile annexed the island in 1888, but it wasn't until 1966 that the Rapa Nui were granted Chilean citizenship. The 2017 census registered 7750 people on the island, of whom 3512 (45%) consider themselves Rapa Nui.

The original inhabitants live on among their famous megaliths.

#rapa nui #moai #archaeology #easter island #history

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