Academic literature on the topic 'Farm forestry. eng'

Jonas of Bobbio, writing in the mid-seventh century, was not only a major Latin monastic author but also a historic figure in his own right. Born in the ancient Roman town of Susa in the foothills of the Italian Alps, he became a monk of Bobbio, the monastery founded by the Irish abbot Columbanus, soon after the saint’s death. He became archivist and personal assistant to successive Bobbio abbots, traveled to Rome to obtain the first papal privilege of immunity, and served as a missionary on the northern borderlands of the Frankish kingdom, where he wrote his Vita Columbani, one of the most in

The Pan-American Highway rises in the far north of the Americas at Prudhoe Bay, Alaska and, except for a small gap in Panama, runs the entire length of the two American continents to terminate at Ushuaia in southernmost Argentina. Along its way it travels nearly 50,000 kilometres, from the polar landscape of the far north, through the boreal forests of Canada, the temperate plains and hot deserts of the USA and Mexico, and on further into the tropical zones of Central and South America, until it reaches the sub-polar landscape of Tierra del Fuego. The American landscape was not always like this. To travel along the Pan-American Highway some three million years ago, in the Pliocene Epoch, would have revealed a different world. It was a little warmer than our own. Far away, the Greenland ice sheet covered only a small part of that land mass. At the other end of the world, there was less ice covering the West Antarctic than we are familiar with today. Going south, from Prudhoe Bay along the Pan-American Highway of the Pliocene, there was none of the scrub tundra now seen by the ice road truckers. Forests then extended far to the north, covering vast areas of northern Canada and Alaska, and draping the coastal margins of Greenland. They stretched, too, into Siberia, a mass of forest extending thousands of kilometres from Norway to Kamchatka. There was almost no tundra in the north, except for a few patches in Greenland and on the far northern extremities of Siberia. Instead the polar sun rose across that well-nigh endless green Pliocene forest. Such a prehistoric journey south along the Pan-American Highway would take one across the grasslands of temperate America. These are truly ancient, having been long established even then. Patterns of seasonal temperature and rainfall, though, allowed forests to grow where none are present today. There were no humans to cut down the trees or hunt the animals that lived in the forests. There were no Great Lakes either, for no northern ice had grown yet, to scour out their floors and fill them with melt water.

At the end of the nineteenth century, Edward Bellamy, one of the Connecticut River Valley’s most famous literary residents, created a fictional character who wanted to avoid “industrial existence” and instead “all day to climb these mighty hills, feeling their strength” and to “happen upon little brooks in hidden valleys.” Bellamy planned for his protagonist “to breathe all day long the forest air loaded with the perfume of the forest trees.” The wanderings of this turn-of-the-century fictitious character through thick forests and deserted hills reflects the changes engendered in the valley with the coming of industrial cities and the abandonment of hillside farms. When Bellamy was born in 1850 at Chicopee Falls in western Massachusetts, the region was in the process of deforestation and had few areas that were not intensely farmed. Yet as Bellamy himself noted in an 1890 letter to the North American Review, “the abandonment of the farm for the town” had become all too common. Deserted farms became one of the themes Bellamy sketched out in his notes for the novel. Bellamy had his character live in an “abandoned farmhouse. . . . The farmhouse was one of the thousands of deserted farms that haunted the roadsides of the sterile back districts of New England.” In viewing the depopulated countryside as a retreat from industrial existence, Bellamy’s character represented the fate of late-nineteenthand early-twentieth-century New Englanders. Increasingly, urbanized New Englanders began to look to rural areas not as sources of food or resources of necessity but as places to contemplate nature and practice fishing and hunting as sport. As rural areas, particularly on the hills and up the valleys, became less populated, farmers there lost much of their political voice. New city voices now became more important in the conversation about resource conservation. What farmers saw as abandoned and ruined farms, urban and suburban naturalists saw as rural retreats from the tensions and pollution of the cities. For these interlopers, rural New England represented a romantic ideal of a past they or their ances tors put behind them when they moved to the city.

The earth’s surface supports living organisms and their environments to form the biosphere, a thin film of life around the planet. Organisms participate in interacting systems or communities, and these communities are coupled to their environments by the transfer of matter and energy and by movements of air, water, and organisms. Human activities in Monteverde and elsewhere can drastically alter forest ecosystems. Textbooks on ecosystem ecology typically include such topics as community structure and composition (including plant growth forms, vertical structure, niche space, species diversity), communities and environments (species distributions along environmental gradients, community classification, succession), production (food chains and webs, decomposition and detritus, photosynthesis), and nutrient cycling (mineral nutrition of organisms, soil development, biogeochemistry). Our understanding of tropical ecosystem ecology generally falls short of what we know of other aspects of tropical biology. There are far more studies concerning population biology, autecology, and life history of tropical organisms than nutrient cycling, productivity, and landscape ecology. This pattern is true in Monteverde and in such well-studied tropical forests as La Selva, Barro Colorado Island (BCI), and the Luquillo National Forest (Lugo and Lowe 1995, McDade et al. 1994). Logistical blocks to ecosystem research exist because collaborating teams of scientists are typically needed to tackle the multiple disciplines that ecosystem-level questions require, which demands a large infrastructure and budget. Temporal problems exist because ecosystem-level phenomena (e.g., tree mortality and forest regeneration) may involve time scales longer than the life of a single granting period or lifetime of a researcher. A strong academic base for ecosystem ecology is lacking because the pool of existing studies is too small to draw patterns and extrapolate trends. These obstacles have not often been overcome in Monteverde. No Monteverde institution has provided the infrastructure to support ecosystem research (e.g., laboratory facilities, meteorological station, technical library). Some community members have negative feelings about experimental manipulations and destructive sampling sometimes needed to answer ecosystem ecology questions. From the 1970s to the 1990s, Organization for Tropical Studies (OTS) courses were in Monteverde and in such well-studied tropical forests as La Selva, Barro Colorado Island (BCI), and the Luquillo National Forest (Lugo and Lowe 1995, McDade et al. 1994).

There is ample evidence to show that in medieval Europe, unlike today, pigs (Sus scrofa f. domestica) were herded in woodland (see for example ten Cate 1972; Laurans 1975; Mane 1997). For England, this statement has been contested (Rackham 1976, 1980, 1986), but a recent re-evaluation of the historical data indicates that pig husbandry traditions there were the same as in continental Europe (Wilson 2003). Nowadays, pigs have almost everywhere become farm animals, at best living outdoors in semi-confinement near farmhouses, or, at worst, being reared in intensive indoor units with very limited freedom of movement. At some point in time the animals thus made the transition from forest dwellers to farmyard inhabitants, a process that is hardly documented by historical data, or at least little investigated by historians. The aim of this chapter is to investigate whether the analysis of animal remains from archaeological sites can recognize this transition by identifying changes in the characteristics of diachronic pig populations, indicative of differing animal husbandry regimes. Flanders (in present-day Belgium) was one of the most densely populated regions in medieval Europe, and as such, represents an appropriate case study area where the transition from forest to farmyard pigs can be explored. Historical data from Flanders confirm that deforestation was already very advanced towards the end of the High Medieval period (10th–12th centuries AD), so much so that reforestation campaigns were implemented (be it not always successfully) during Late Medieval times (13th–15th centuries AD) (Verhulst 1990; Tack et al. 1993; Tack & Hermy 1998). Deforestation, together with overhunting, resulted in the local extinction of wild woodland mammal species such as brown bear (Ursus arctos) in the 12th century, and wild boar (Sus scrofa) and red deer (Cervus elaphus) towards the end of the Middle Ages (Ervynck et al. 1999). In fact, in Flanders, virtually no parcel of land has been continuously under forest since medieval times, a phenomenon illustrated, for example, by the poverty of the carabid beetle fauna (an insect group with poor (re-)colonizing capacities) in present-day woodlands (Desender et al. 1999).

Not much is written about communication in the languages of natural sciences and hunting. Only a few authors explore literature and the language of forestry or hunting (Dynak 1988, 1991a, 1991b, 1993, 1994, 2004, 2012; Jóźwiak Z. 2004; Jóźwiak J. 2013; Kloc 2019; Kościelniak-Marszał 2013; Pajewska 2003; Przybecki 2008). At the same time, these languages, both in Poland and abroad, have not been researched into so far from a broader comparative perspective in the field of intercultural communication. First of all, monolingual dictionaries are available on the market (e.g. Hoppe 1970; Gawin 2016; Jóźwiak; Biały 1994; Kozłowski 1996; Krzemień 1986; Szałapak 2004). In addition, you can find several bilingual dictionaries of the forestry or hunting language in Polish-English (Kloc 2013, 2015; Witkowska 2010), Polish-German (Niedbał 1917; Żeromski 1990; Klin et al. 2006) pairs and vice versa, but there are no dictionaries for other language pairs, e.g. Polish-French. There are also no papers devoted to communication problems, despite the fact that books on nature sciences and hunting are translated from various languages into Polish, and there is a market demand for translators ensuring effective interlingual communication during hunting trips. The aim of the work is to present the problems of intercultural communication in the field of natural sciences and hunting language. The results presented in the work were obtained by analyzing the work of students participating in a specialist translation course. A qualitative analysis of the mistakes made by students has been made and conclusions have been drawn as to how well a student of philological studies is prepared to translate natural science texts, including hunting texts.

East and South-East Asia is a vast and diverse region (Fig. 6.1). The northern boundary can be taken as approximately 45 degrees latitude, from the Gobi desert on the west across Manchuria to the northern shores of Hokkaido, the main island of northern Japan. The southern boundary is over 6,000 kilometres away: the chain of islands from Java to New Guinea, approximately 10 degrees south of the Equator. From west to east across South-East Asia, from the western tip of Sumatra at 95 degrees longitude to the eastern end of New Guinea at 150 degrees longitude, is also some 6,000 kilometres. Transitions to farming within this huge area are discussed in this chapter in the context of four major sub-regions: China; the Korean peninsula and Japan; mainland South-East Asia (Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, the Malay peninsula); and island South-East Asia (principally Taiwan, the Philippines, Sumatra, Java, Borneo, Sulawesi, and New Guinea). The chapter also discusses the development of agricultural systems across the Pacific islands to the east, both in island Melanesia (the Bismarck Archipelago and the Solomon Islands east of New Guinea) and in what Pacific archaeologists are terming ‘Remote Oceania’, the islands dotted across the central Pacific as far as Hawaii 6,000 kilometres east of Taiwan and Easter Island some 9,000 kilometres east of New Guinea—a region as big as East Asia and South-East Asia put together. The phytogeographic zones of China reflect the gradual transition from boreal to temperate to tropical conditions, as temperatures and rainfall increase moving southwards (Shi et al., 1993; Fig. 6.2 upper map): coniferous forest in the far north; mixed coniferous and deciduous forest in north-east China (Manchuria) extending into Korea; temperate deciduous and broadleaved forest in the middle and lower valley of the Huanghe (or Yellow) River and the Huai River to the south; sub-tropical evergreen broad-leaved forest in the middle and lower valley of the Yangzi (Yangtze) River; and tropical monsoonal rainforest on the southern coasts, which then extends southwards across mainland and island South-East Asia. Climate and vegetation also differ with altitude and distance from the coast.

Understanding household farming behavior among smallholders is an essential element of land-change studies inasmuch as a considerable portion of the world is dominated by land-users of this kind. Smallholders (peasants in some literature) are especially important within the tropical forests of Mexico, and the southern Yucatán peninsular region is no exception. This region, as elsewhere in the tropics, is characterized by underdeveloped markets and the consequent partial engagement of frontier farmers as market participants. Sparse exchange opportunities resulting from remoteness, low population density, and poorly developed infrastructure constrain these farmers to maintain a strong focus on consumption production, especially in terms of staple foods. Indeed, until the late 1960s, households in the region were totally subsistence-based and had virtually no experience with the agricultural market. Today, smallholder farmers retain consumption production, though a growing proportion also produce crops for sale. While this dual position in the market and in subsistence is an increasingly prevalent feature of smallholder farmers throughout the developing world, studies of deforestation commonly ascribe to them a wholly commercial orientation by employing profit-maximizing theoretical structures as a basis for econometrically modeling their land-use decisions (e.g. Chomitz and Gray 1996; Cropper, Griffiths, and Mani 1999; Cropper, Puri, and Griffiths 2001; Nelson, Harris, and Stone 2001; Nelson and Hellerstein 1997; Panayotou and Sungsuwan 1994; Pfaff 1999). In essence, the assertion of profit-maximization rests on the assumption that agents are fully engaged in markets, from which it follows that production, being strictly a function of farm technology and exogenously given input and output prices, is entirely independent of consumption and labor supply (Barnum and Squire 1979). This chapter explores the implications of relaxing the perfect-markets assumption for the modeling of semi-subsistence and commercial land-use decisions. By introducing variables measuring the consumption side of the colonist household, evidence is presented to suggest that, consistent with mixed or hybrid production themes (e.g. Singh, Squire, and Strauss 1986; Turner and Brush 1987), farmers operating in a context of thin product and/or labor markets do not exhibit behavior corresponding to that of a commercially oriented profit-maximizing farm.

During the past century, the standard measure for safeguarding the maintenance of biodiversity has been the establishment of protected areas in which consumptive uses by humans are minimized. Over the years, the design of protected areas has evolved from the creation of small refuges for particular species to the protection of entire ecosystems that are large enough to maintain most if not all their component species and that are mutually interconnected wherever possible. While many other, equally important, measures are now being contemplated and implemented (e.g., comprehensive land-use planning, sustainable development), protected areas remain the cornerstone of all conservation strategies aimed at limiting the inevitable reduction of this planet’s biodiversity (e.g., World Conservation Strategy, Caring for the Earth, Global Biodiversity Strategy). Existing protected rain forest areas suffer from an array of problems that reduce their effectiveness in a broad conservation strategy. They cover a scant 5 percent of tropical rain forest habitats (WCMC, 1992)— arguably not enough to forestall species extinction, especially since the proportions of areas protected vary appreciably from region to region. Protected areas are often not sited appropriately, and they are often too small to maintain the full diversity of their communities. They will in future be affected by external forces (Neumann and Machlis, 1989), such as changes in local climates caused by extensive deforestation, pollution, or fires emanating from outside; introduced exotic species; and global climate change, which in parts of the tropics will likely manifest itself as an increase in the frequency of long droughts. Fortunately, these existing and anticipated threats are being addressed in some countries and regions by measures such as integrated land-use planning, redesigning parks, and establishing corridors, although ecologists are concerned that not enough is being done (see chapter 3). These shortcomings of protected area networks are significant and need to be redressed, but human activities currently pose far more serious threats to protected areas.

When my wife Joan and I were newly married, we lived in a north Jersey suburb not far from the New York state line. Every weekday morning we drove down the Palisades Interstate Parkway to the George Washington Bridge and crossed the Hudson River to Manhattan, where I taught and Joan was a graduate student. The parkway runs along the Palisades, a magnificent, igneous bluff that flanks the west bank of the Hudson and faces, on the far shore, Yonkers, the Riverdale section of the Bronx, and Manhattan. Wooded parkland extends on both sides of the road for its entire length until just before the approach to the bridge, where many lanes of superhighway converge on the toll booths. We loved the woods along the parkway—they calmed us before our immersion in the chaotic city, and soothed us when we left it at the end of the day. That was before we went on our honeymoon, a three-week hike on the Appalachian Trail (interspersed with some hitchhiking on country roads), from Springer Mountain, Georgia, to the border of the Great Smokies in North Carolina. The forest we walked through was a mixture of tall pines and an incredible variety of native hardwoods—an experience of natural diversity that was overwhelming. Nearly every tree we saw was new to us, yet we could feel the pattern and cohesiveness of the forest as a whole. Rhododendrons formed a closed canopy over our heads, fragmenting the June sunshine into a softly shifting mosaic of dap-pled patches. We stepped on a carpet of rhododendron petals. The trip was over all too quickly. The plane carrying us back de-scended through a dense inversion layer of black smog before touching down on the runway at Newark. Home. We were depressed and silent. The ride from Newark Airport to our house took us on the Palisades Parkway. For the first time, we became aware that the woods along the park way were dominated by thin, ungainly Ailanthus, with their coarse(and, we knew, rank-smelling) foliage, and by other weedy species such as the lanky Paulownia. Suddenly, these exotic species seemed very much out of place.

Recently, the environmental impact of wind farms has been receiving increasing attention. As land is more extensively exploited for onshore wind farms, they are more likely to be in proximity with human dwellings, infrastructure (e.g. roads, transmission lines) and environmental features (e.g. rivers, lakes, forests). As a result of regulatory constraints, this proximity causes significant portions of the wind farm terrain to become unusable for turbine placement. In this work, we present a constrained, continuous-variable model for layout optimization that takes noise and energy as objective