About 500 years after the Norman conquest of England, the county of Cheshire became an independent political unit with its own tax collectors, courts, and parliament, and very little law enforcement. Because of this lack of punishment, the great Delamere Forest became notorious as a hideout for highwaymen and every other type of gangster.
During the reign of Richard Ⅲ, a Mr. Caterling was appointed to the position of Forest Warden of that criminal district. Caterling took his job so seriously that he quickly cleaned out all of the criminals and is said to have had more than 100 lawbreakers hanged.
A dedicated man, Caterling took great pride in his record and appeared at public functions with a wide grin. His grin was in fact so wide that it was almost comical, and it is said that people flocked to these public gatherings just to look at Caterling’s grin. Soon an expression started making the rounds that was not entirely kind to Caterline: anyone who grinned a very wide grin was said to “grin like a Cheshire Caterling.”
Later the expression was simplified to “grin like a Cheshire cat”.
from Stories of 98 English idioms by Rudolph F. & Marney H. Wagner
we're literally on fire, and our volunteers need money to survive so they can fight these fucking forest fires
uhmmmm we "can't" ... pay volunteers anymore lol ... because uh... we just said so lmao
... then we can't afford the time to fight these fires? we have families and bills
hmmmmm how about instead of employing people who have been fighting forest fires for years and years who know what they're doing ... we force prisoners who have never fought forest fires into doing it.
yeah I'm definitely more okay with paying to force prison inmates to fight these fires than seasoned firefighters who actually know what they're doing.
Enviro rant//Hoof disease in Sitka elk is a result of disgusting industrial cow farm practices, fyi
It’s so fucking awesome how our shitty large farming practices that developed with cow farmers in europe and the usa started the bacteria that now causes hoof disease in Sitka elk in the PNW. Washington’s elk herds especially are suffering so much, and wildlife officials are doing nothing to treat them or develop a vaccine, of course. And, in spite of herds being sick and needing help, hunting permits for them are being sold like cheap candy. We barely develop any vaccines for humans, why would we make any for species that actually contribute to this earth and its valuable ecosystems?
Fuck lazy corporate farms and farmers, and fuck -all- government environment regulatory programs. The Forest Service and other government wildlife sectors have small bands of individuals who care and do good, but don’t be fooled overall. The upper management uses the name “Forest Service” as a guise for continued environmental destruction for corporate capitalist interests that is hurting every species. They can get away with this because few people truly understand ecology and the impacts of the Forest Service’s/EPA’s/DOFW’s less than desirable methods and lax standards overall. I’m sure the lack of science education in public schools (and the almost unidirectional focus on computer/mechanical engineering jobs for merchandise production in our society as opposed to earth sciences and medicine)is entirely intentional by the the government – understanding the truth about how the earth works and can thrive if we changed makes everything our government does seem nonsensical and careless. If people don’t understand the science, corrupt leaders can do what they want, and use rhetoric exclusive to the scientific community to confuse the public. These government regulators are still the arms of logging lobbyists and politicians who give no shits about the environment other than draining it dry to benefit them short term.
((I know this personally as well – not only did I study conservation biology, ecology, climate science, and botany while working in a lab with one of the best botanical ecologists in the country for five years – we did several studies for free for the Forest Service regarding invasive species managment. It was our job to show them the best ways to kill invasive species and the best ways to recover native assemblages post destruction. The Forest Service’s methods always involved deadly sprays, some were glyphosate which has been strongly linked to cancer in livestock and humans, while my methods involved hand picked weeding and planting of strong native plants/primary succession species post destruction. Guess which method allows the forest to grow back!!! Mine. The forest grew back with healthy native assemblages and no invasives, as long as all invasive material was removed from the site and humans were not allowed to trample the site. Destruction by humans simply walking around with invasive seeds and spores on their shoes, or dogs, is the number one cause of invasive plants overtaking native ones. My results were the same regardless of the forest area or original plant assemblage, or regardless of the invasive. The Forest Service’s lazy spray method had NOTHING other than weeds growing back on the site. Gross. Also, their standard practice in my state is to leave invasive material on site in huge piles even when they did hand pick some specimen along with spraying various chemicals. This is really dumb, because many of the worst invasives are clonal/can spread by rhizomes and can reproduce from a tiny slice of living material leftover. In the forests my lab and I studied, they had to employ our methods and three Oregon forests are now safely recovering from Brachypodium sylvaticum, Himalayan blackberry, and English ivy, as far as I know. They could have reverted back to old methods with Trump in charge, though.))
They will take and destroy in the name of capitalism until we get to a point where certain ecosystem types, and thus huge arrays of species, will disappear completely without recovering. It’s already happening. If enough remaining forest is destroyed, especially the Amazon, our climate systems will lose their drive (most importantly a huge part of the water cycle will effectively be stopped due to deforestation) and the jet stream will shut down, triggering another ice age. But it’s no big deal, don’t worry about the trees or the animals who live among them~
KARKAT: NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO.
KARKAT: I RETREAT TO MY SAFE PLACE, AND YET THE WORDS. THE STUPID FUCKING PRATTLE JOCKEYING LIKE ROWDY BARNBEASTS UP AGAINST THE PARTITIONS OF GOOD FUCKING SENSE AND THE MOST BASIC OF PERSONAL BOUNDARIES.
KARKAT: THE GOD DAMNED BLITHER OF TACTLESS NINCOMPOOPS, HOW IT CONTINUES TO HAUNT MY WRETCHED EARS. THE WORDS SPILL OVER THE SIDE OF THIS ENCHANTED METAL FROG DISCUS, LIKE A BABBLING SPRING IN A MYTHICAL FOREST GOVERNED BY A GUILD OF GOSSIP-HUNGRY LOBOTOMY HOBBITS. THIS DELUGE OF WORDS, LEAKED FROM THE INCONTINENT CREVICES OF TWO BRAINLESS GUSHING YAMMERTWATS, IT OVERFLOWETH, OH HOW IT OVERFLOWETH, SOGGING MY GRAY, PRACTICAL PAIR OF PANTS, THE LEGGINGS OF A SIMPLE MAN. A HUMBLE MAN. IT THEN CONTINUES ITS DOWNWARD TRICKLE, DOUSING MY UNREMARKABLE SHIRT, THE SERVICEABLE GARMENT OF YOUR AVERAGE ALTERNIAN “JOE”, CHILLING THE FRAIL TORSO BENEATH, A PATHETIC DUFFEL OF MEAT WRACKED WITH HEAVY SOBS, SOBS CAUSED BY WORDS, WORDS WHICH CONTINUE TO DRIP. AND SLEUCE. AND SPILL. THREATENING TO DROWN ME. PLEDGING TO. PROMISING! AND YET I WILL NOT DROWN. WHY WON’T I DROWN? PLEASE LET ME DROWN. LET ME DROWN SO THE WORDS WILL BE NO MORE!
What's up with the UFO that crashes into the Ohtori observation tower at the beginning of every shadow girls segment during the Apocalypse arc?
It belongs to the Shadow Girls! They’re aliens and A-ko and B-ko take the UFO out for a vacation during the Black Rose Arc, but they return for the Apocalypse arc and show off just how bad they are at driving it.
Really, though, what’s happening is that the Shadow Girls, our Greek Chorus and closest link to the inner workings of Ohtori, are showing us what we probably already suspect - that the plan has been derailed, that the ship has been thrown off course. Importantly, this threatens everything - Utena hits Ohtori, hits the Chairman’s Tower in particular, like an out-of-control UFO, and thus is a threat to both the structural and ideological integrity of the institution and herself.
Further, I like to see this as a bit of a desperate bid by the Shadow Girls, who seem for a while to be somewhat neutral players in this game but come to demonstrate an investment in saving Utena from the harm she’s headed toward. They’re flustered. They never thought she’d get this far - no one did. It’s no longer enough to dance and sing about the brave hero who doesn’t know what waits for her in the forest, what rules govern the game she’s about to start playing. It’s not been enough to address her directly from the shadows - lord knows, C-ko has tried. They’ve perhaps risked a lot by exposing themselves, by engaging her directly, by inviting her to their play, by showing not only her but Akio and Anthy that they know the fairy tale, that they want to save Utena from the fate of the Rose Prince, especially as they know they can’t save her from the fate of girls who cannot, will not, become Princesses. The UFO crashes because Utena has derailed their plans as well as everyone else’s.
Country roads, fast moving roads that run through the countryside. They tend to have lots of roadkill but still be safe enough to walk on.
Beaches. I go at low tide after heavy shore-winds and storms. I have best luck in the colder months. Lots of dead shorebirds wash up but you can find pretty much anything on beaches.
Abandoned buildings, Specifically ones that are surrounded by woods or fields. Like old barns. Dying animals tend to seek shelter in those places. I find lots of mummified things there.
Forests near civilization. They arent great for scenic nature walks, but if you can find a forest that is near a busy road or residential area you will have more luck than a secluded nature forest. Idk why, you will just have to trust me on this one lol.
Forests on government owned hunting land. You might get lucky and find bones discarded by hunters. Lots of doe skulls and buck skulls with their antler caps sawed off.
I’m a biologist and frequently am by myself in remote locations. This
occurred when I was 26 and somewhere between green and seasoned. I was
surveying wetlands in a remote area of the Appalachians in an area
dominated by thick pine forests.
“My father was in charge of land and forest management for the government of our area. Many men in similar positions grew quite rich, because it was an easy position to abuse. But my father never accepted any bribes. He lived a very simple life and wore the same three suits until the day he died. I still keep those suits to remember him.”
Guardians of life: The indigenous women fighting oil exploration in the Amazon November 8, 2014
On Oct. 12, 2013, a group of nearly 300 women from seven indigenous nationalitiesmarched to Quito, Ecuador, arriving in the capital four days later with their children in their arms, the sharp angles of their faces — young and old — decorated with vegetable ink designs, covered in the same strength and determination with which they began their journey. They were marching to Quito to ask the central government to respect their ancestral lands, to refrain from exploiting the oil that lies beneath his Kawsak Sacha, aliving jungle. In November of that same year, a smaller delegation of women peacefully protested during the 11th Oil Licensing Round, an auction of 6 million acres of ancestral indigenous land for oil exploitation. The protests, however, turned sour when oil executive and politicians scolded protesters, and Ecuadoran President Rafael Correa subsequently demanded the closing of the NGO Fundación Pachamama and indicted 10 indigenous leaders on charges of terrorism.
While women have always played an active role in historic marches that marked the struggle for the rights of indigenous peoples in Ecuador, this was the first walk organized and led by women.
Felipe Jacome’s set of photos Amazon: Guardians of Life documents the struggles of indigenous women defending the Ecuadoran Amazon through portraits combined with the powerful written testimonies. The words across each photograph are a self-reflectionof the lives of women, their culture, history and traditions, and especially about the reasons for fighting oil drilling on their ancestral lands. The color designs framing eachportrait use the same natural dyes found in face paint to expand on the symbols and designs that reflect their personalities, courage and struggle.
“My name is Alicia Mosco. If oil enters our territory, my kids and I — we’re going to die. We get sick, and there is no cure for us.”
“My name is Nancy. We want to defend our lands, forests, rivers, mountains and trees where spirits live. We do not want to get hurt, so women have to go to defend the forest. The president does not value and does not know the forest and wants to destroy it. Our children know the life of our ancestors through conversations with elders, so they learn to love the jungle.”
“My name is Jimena. As a Shiwiar woman, I love my country. To my nature, I love my animals, my monkey, my fish, my rivers, air that gives us life. For this reason, we do not want to exploit the oil in our territory.”
“My name is Simona. This is our land. These drawings symbolize wealth that exists in the forest. This government has no conscience. Why do they mistreat us? Our community is not going to stop fighting, though we are the last to continue the fight standing strong.”
headcanon time: Shira Mori is also a kitsune and was actually assigned to be Mystery’s guardian. which is also why she is the one to hunt him down after he escapes. :v (i got the kitsune thing from the lotus she holds in her hand, actually. I like to imagine it’s her hoshi no tama when she’s in that human-like form we see her in, and that the nine petals represent her nine tails. could be way off on this, but it’s just a headcanon)
she governs a forest that is sort of an in-between realms type of place (like the Wood Between the Worlds in Narnia); a central point giving access to all realms, and a place for lost souls to go when they die, where they are then directed to their respective afterlives.
there is a lot more to this headcanon oh god. i will spare you the details here, but i guess if you want to know the rest you could just message me or something
It was 5am as we set off from Chandpai forest station, heading south into the Sundarbans. A thick dark fog hung sullenly about us. A few kilometers on, visibility beyond the prow fell to near zero, forcing us to dock mid-river.
As we waited, voices rang out from somewhere in the thick blur: fishermen singing to semaphore their presence. Occasionally a low dinghy would row quietly by, unseen until it was almost upon us.
In the distance, a ship boomed its approach. Our boat master shook his head in concern. In such poor visibility, we’d stand no chance if we stood in its path. He revved up the engine and guided us into a khal (a channel).
5am on December 9, 2014 must have been just such a scene. The Oil Tanker Southern Star -7 was docked four kilometers from the confluence of the rivers Sela and Passur, near Mrigamari in dense fog. It carried 350,000 liters of heavy black viscous furnace oil.
The fog must have been at its darkest and alertness at its dullest when a cargo ship, also plying the same channel, loomed unexpectedly upon the tanker. The Southern Star-7 stood no chance.
When the cargo ship rammed into it, it nose-dived its cargo into the Sela River.
The Sela is part of the Sundarbans, the largest unbroken stand of mangrove forests in the world. A UNESCO World Heritage Site. A fragile ecosystem that has adapted itself to life on the brink of brine, for these mangroves form the margin between the salt water of the Bay of Bengal and the freshwaters of three mighty South Asian rivers: The Ganges, the Brahmaputra, and the Meghna.
Sundarbans, which literally translates as “beautiful forest”, straddles the border between India and Bangladesh along the eastern Indian state of West Bengal. India has 40% and Bangladesh has 60% of the mangroves. Both areas are designated wildlife sanctuaries and reserve forests.
This mangrove margin is home to some of the world’s most endangered creatures: the masked finfoot; the Irrawaddy, Gangetic, and four other kinds of dolphins; the Bengal tiger and the beautiful, endangered sundri tree (Heritiera fomes). Almost a million forest people depend upon this ecosystem for their livelihood.
By definition and by law, heavy shipping traffic carrying hazardous cargo has no place in the Sundarbans. Yet in Bangladesh, tankers carrying “modified cargo” — oil, pesticides, fertilisers, insecticides, fly ash, cement, sand, and salt — cleave the channels of this fragile ecosystem every day; each traverse a disaster waiting to happen.
On December 9th, the Fates were tempted once too often. Two ships collided; 230,000 liters of oil poisoned this fragile, protected environment.
Our boat, the Gol-Patta, reached the Sundarbans on December 14, four days after the spill. Men, women, and children were knee deep in the mudflats and elbow deep in heavy fuel oil. They were scraping black, viscous goo from sedges, reeds, leaves, trunks, roots. Each painstaking handful of black pulp collected was smeared off along the rim of a cooking pot. Then they turned back to the plants for more.
Children were covered in black from toe to waist.
Khals — channels filled with sweet and brine, that snake through the mangroves — now flowed dark, dirty, and viscous. The forest stood ankle deep in low tide, in 3m high black tar socks. The high-tide line had become the oil-line.
The river below danced with oil too: graded by thickness from black to brown and then all colors of the rainbow.
Dark acrid stinging fumes spiraled from fires heating oil in the sleepy fishing village of Joymoni on the Sela river.
Save for the blackened fishermen and children, we saw no one else cleaning the spill. The slick sloshed forward in the ebbing tide. We followed it: 4 km past the spill site, 8 km past the spill site, 12 km past the spill site, then fifteen … twenty … thirty … forty … the slick sloshed ahead of us, beside us, behind us. Films of oil of varying thicknesses floated in the main channel and pooled in the smaller khals.
The tide went out by nightfall and came back in at dawn. The oil, ditto.
With the dawn tide came fishermen who had seen the slick almost 80 km down the river.
Oil was everywhere – thick, doom-black, hugging the sides of the mangroves for almost 30km, and a playful, almost beautiful swish of colors afloat along the 80 km stretch of river.
The plants and trees of mangrove forests are uniquely adapted to the salt-and-sweet water inter-tidal zone. They deal with submergence during high tide by sprouting aerial roots, snorkels that stay above the water to breathe. Those snorkels (called pneumatophores) were now smothered in black oil; the forest seemed like it was choking, gasping for breath.
Consequences of the spill were all around us, yet so much more remained unseen, unquantified.
In Dhaka, capital of Bangladesh, newspapers screamed of dying animals. Activists on social media posted doctored images of oil-dripping dolphins and oil-swimming tigers. To counter the anger, the government spokespersons shot back officialese for ‘no harm came from the oil-spill and it is all under control.’
The dark truth lurked somewhere in-between.
Animals caught in the water during the first few days of the spill were coated with oil, and may have died. We had seen a blackened crocodile slip tentatively into a brown slick 10 km from the spill site, but we had no way of knowing its fate. We had also seen flocks of egrets there, flying white and free of any smears.
The worry was not so much of animals dying in the immediate aftermath, but of the oil staying in the water, on the mudflats, and smearing the trees.
The effects of the coated and residual oil will be seen over months in the forests of this ecosystem. It could manifest in hormonal changes and reproductive changes, over time, in animals exposed to the substance. How exactly this spill will affect the ecosystem can only be determined by a scientific longitudinal study which, at this point, no one has signed up to do.
A spill of this magnitude in an area this ecologically sensitive is a qualifiable, quantifiable disaster mandating emergency measures. Yet, clean-up operations have been slow and unscientific, and are focused only on recovering the oil from the banks in a buy-back scheme by the company, Padma Oil, that owned the barrels in the Southern Star-7.
Here is where the hazard lies: fishermen from the village (Joymoni) most affected by the spill are collecting the oil. Children, women, men, all scrape the goo by hand and collect floating smeared plant matter that they dump into their boats. The boats are towed back to the village “depot” by the Forest Department, which is coordinating the effort (with local NGOs). Here, the plant matter is boiled and heated to loosen the oil. This is collected in barrels, and trucked back to Padma Oil.
The fishermen are doing all the collection and boiling sans any protective gear. They are smeared in oil by day on the river, and engulfed in its fumes when they get home. These oils contain chemicals that are toxic. It can have dire digestive, pulmonary, and dermatological effects and, if the exposure extends over time, also neurotoxic effects.
Eleven days after the spill, the children of Joymoni have begun to fall sick. They have been throwing up. But no one cares, no one spares a thought – it is all about recovering and selling back the oil.
No lessons appear to have been learnt. The Bangladesh shipping ministry has already begun to push for resumption of shipping traffic through the Sundarbans. Area rumor says the matter has been taken out of the jurisdiction of the Ministry for Transportation and transferred to the Ministry of Environment and Forests.
The Bangladeshi government, after dragging its feet in the aftermath of the spill and then organizing the cleanup in haphazard manner, has its eye firmly fixed on the lost revenue from the stalled shipping lane, and is now desperately downplaying the extent of the disaster.
How things unfold in the aftermath of this disaster remains to be seen. I will continue to report on this incident, and analyze how we got here. The reportage will also focus on a larger problem looming over the Sundarbans.
How about this combo for a #mypubliclandsroadtrip adventure: Western novels; remote Oregon wilderness; and the epic Rogue River!
All of this and more is available at the Zane Grey cabin on the Rogue River in Oregon. That is, available to anyone who can trek there.
Visitors to the cabin either have to raft the Mighty Rogue or hike about five miles from the nearest road to get there, perhaps exactly how one of America’s most famous and earliest masters of the Western novel wanted it.
Just a friendly reminder that Prime Minister, Stephen Harper hasn’t publicly acknowledged the Wildfires in Western Canada
On his twitter he has talked about: Meeting with Joe Biden, Watching the women’s FIFA game, attending the Calgary Stampede, even wishing a happy birthday to a long serving Senator, but he couldn’t find the time to even mention the wildfires. He’s the PM of this country, he should act like it.
Contrast that to the other party leaders:
Even Green Party leader, Elizabeth May retweeted articles about these fires.
what she means:
NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. I RETREAT TO MY SAFE PLACE, AND YET THE WORDS. THE STUPID FUCKING PRATTLE JOCKEYING LIKE ROWDY BARNBEASTS UP AGAINST THE PARTITIONS OF GOOD FUCKING SENSE AND THE MOST BASIC OF PERSONAL BOUNDARIES. THE GOD DAMNED BLITHER OF TACTLESS NINCOMPOOPS, HOW IT CONTINUES TO HAUNT MY WRETCHED EARS. THE WORDS SPILL OVER THE SIDE OF THIS ENCHANTED METAL FROG DISCUS, LIKE A BABBLING SPRING IN A MYTHICAL FOREST GOVERNED BY A GUILD OF GOSSIP-HUNGRY LOBOTOMY HOBBITS. THIS DELUGE OF WORDS, LEAKED FROM THE INCONTINENT CREVICES OF TWO BRAINLESS GUSHING YAMMERTWATS, IT OVERFLOWETH, OH HOW IT OVERFLOWETH, SOGGING MY GRAY, PRACTICAL PAIR OF PANTS, THE LEGGINGS OF A SIMPLE MAN. A HUMBLE MAN. IT THEN CONTINUES ITS DOWNWARD TRICKLE, DOUSING MY UNREMARKABLE SHIRT, THE SERVICEABLE GARMENT OF YOUR AVERAGE ALTERNIAN "JOE", CHILLING THE FRAIL TORSO BENEATH, A PATHETIC DUFFEL OF MEAT WRACKED WITH HEAVY SOBS, SOBS CAUSED BY WORDS, WORDS WHICH CONTINUE TO DRIP. AND SLEUCE. AND SPILL. THREATENING TO DROWN ME. PLEDGING TO. PROMISING! AND YET I WILL NOT DROWN. WHY WON'T I DROWN? PLEASE LET ME DROWN. LET ME DROWN SO THE WORDS WILL BE NO MORE!
What she means:
I RETREAT TO MY SAFE PLACE, AND YET THE WORDS. THE STUPID FUCKING PRATTLE JOCKEYING LIKE ROWDY BARNBEASTS UP AGAINST THE PARTITIONS OF GOOD FUCKING SENSE AND THE MOST BASIC OF PERSONAL BOUNDARIES. THE GOD DAMNED BLITHER OF TACTLESS NINCOMPOOPS, HOW IT CONTINUES TO HAUNT MY WRETCHED EARS. THE WORDS SPILL OVER THE SIDE OF THIS ENCHANTED METAL FROG DISCUS, LIKE A BABBLING SPRING IN A MYTHICAL FOREST GOVERNED BY A GUILD OF GOSSIP-HUNGRY LOBOTOMY HOBBITS. THIS DELUGE OF WORDS, LEAKED FROM THE INCONTINENT CREVICES OF TWO BRAINLESS GUSHING YAMMERTWATS, IT OVERFLOWETH, OH HOW IT OVERFLOWETH, SOGGING MY GRAY, PRACTICAL PAIR OF PANTS, THE LEGGINGS OF A SIMPLE MAN. A HUMBLE MAN. IT THEN CONTINUES ITS DOWNWARD TRICKLE, DOUSING MY UNREMARKABLE SHIRT, THE SERVICEABLE GARMENT OF YOUR AVERAGE ALTERNIAN "JOE", CHILLING THE FRAIL TORSO BENEATH, A PATHETIC DUFFEL OF MEAT WRACKED WITH HEAVY SOBS, SOBS CAUSED BY WORDS, WORDS WHICH CONTINUE TO DRIP. AND SLEUCE. AND SPILL. THREATENING TO DROWN ME. PLEDGING TO. PROMISING! AND YET I WILL NOT DROWN. WHY WON'T I DROWN? PLEASE LET ME DROWN. LET ME DROWN SO THE WORDS WILL BE NO MORE!