I came across this article in the Irish Independent on Andrew Bergin a tillage farmer in Co. Kildare. In it he discusses healthy soil and changing farming practices to be kinder to nature.
“Our soils are degrading and we think we have to start knitting our own muesli to change things. A lot of conventional advice is very conservative and maybe too science-based. To change the soils you need to open your mind.
“Direct drilling is good as I don’t disturb the ground too much, which means I don’t lost moisture and nutrients, so there’s steadier growth and less weeds.
how to become white & why the blue swoosh
I found this thread by Michael Harriot fascinating.
A lot of the anger about non-white people voting for a white nationalist is because some people don't understand one inarguable historical truth:— michaelharriot (@michaelharriot) November 5, 2020
THAT'S EXACTLY HOW YOU BECOME WHITE!
There is the strongest reason for believing that the first movement toward amalgamation in this country will take place between Irish and Negroes.
Does any of this sound familiar?
So how did they become white?
Well, basically, it was because of Gangs.
And this thread by Latif Nasser was equally fascinating, where geological movements and social movements intertwine.
The US election is tomorrow. If you, like me, are tired of horse-race-style reporting, and need to zoom out, I wanna tell you a story. It’s about an ancient force influencing the election. And, as a bonus, it’ll give you an Easter egg to watch for as the returns come in. THREAD pic.twitter.com/vfPp0f2s6X— Latif Nasser (@latifnasser) November 2, 2020
Jackson’s death galvanized the Civil Rights Movement, inspiring the legendary Selma to Montgomery Marches the next month. The ground they marched on contains what geologists call Selma Chalk, which also dates back to the Cretaceous.
Song for Baby-O, Unborn
Aptly current. Heart-breakingly familar.
I won’t promise
you’ll never go hungry
or that you won’t be sad
on this gutted
The road is the same. The tar spots right there, do they remember me like I remember them?
The bend is the same. It hasn’t changed. It curves away. Will the calves be at the gate today? They are the variable in this game.
One step at a time. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The lowly beat of the constant feet. Do it again and again and again.
The road rises up to the gate. The hedgerow mature on the right, adolescent on the left. The electricity poles attentive in the fields.
Turn around, and down we go. Past the shed, with the lop-sided roof. The new manhole in it’s shiny black asphalt frame. Solid, no rattle my foot connects. Another step done, another ascends.
The grass verge, kept neat, has been changed today. The tyre treads deep are carved and shout at me. Past the stone wall, with jagged teeth. Repeat, repeat.
One step at a time.
The pigeons lift, from their stolen grain feast. Disturbed by me, and my pattering feet. The wind rages, my gilet flaps, the noise warns all of my steady approach.
The ruts in the concrete, the puddle too deep, the jeering litter, the wire on the window, constants. Constants like my steps. Turn again, repeat repeat.
Just one more loop, reset the brain. The road is the same.