Academic literature on the topic 'Wheat Planting time'

Millions of hectares of temperate woodland and billions of trees have been cleared from Australia’s agricultural landscapes. This has allowed land to be developed for cropping and grazing livestock but has also had significant environmental impacts, including erosion, salinity and loss of native plant and animal species.
 Restoring Farm Woodlands for Wildlife focuses on why restoration is important and describes best practice approaches to restore farm woodlands for birds, mammals and reptiles. Based on 19 years of long-term research in temperate agricultural south-eastern Australia, this

After years of ancestral journeys of the human psyche and the development of four transcendental research macroprojects in the field, it is time to undertake the method of ancestral walking on the living system of mother earth and her human son as a verifiable sense of essential nature and substantial of the soul. Method of walking in the loving order of the ancestors, the father and the mother, the cosmos and the earth, the sun and the moon. Co-responsible planting of bridging the integration of the ancestral left hand and the western right hand from the sensible, the construction of mythical

The chapter shows how, within a year after the Discalced Carmelites of Teresa of Avila’s reform were founded in France, opinions diverged on just what constituted an authentic Teresian reform. Spanish nuns brought to guarantee the new order’s authenticity found Paris’s convent of the Incarnation too big, too grand, and too ambitious to lead the order’s expansion. They worked to ensure that the second convent, founded outside Paris at Pontoise, conformed more closely to Teresa’s desire to keep the houses small and poor. The chapter uses written records and art to show how nuns at Pontoise created their own vision of an authentic Teresian convent but in doing so provoked a rivalry that threatened at times to divide the rapidly growing French order. The case illustrates well the challenges not just of defining and enacting religious reform but also of adapting reform to local circumstances and values.

This chapter examines the pre-existing definitions of what corruption entails starting from the abuse of public office for private authority to forms of political and divisional advantage. Definitions of police corruption follow to analyse a variety of activities that qualify as police malfeasance related to famously cited criminological literature concerning typologies. The typologies list the activities that range from corruption of authority, kickbacks and finally planting of evidence (that includes drugs). Integrity violations are then examined to cover a broader range of police malpractices such as moonlighting and criminal activity in private time. Moreover, the debate of bending rules which includes the use of the ‘magic pencil’, perjury or excessive means of coercion for a noble and/or justified outcome as part of departmental advantage is reached.

Spring always seemed to begin for us with spring break, when we had a whole week to be at the Shack and do the planting together. Spring is such a special time, with the buds bursting and the early flowers opening. Ever since we started planting in the spring of 1936, we always looked forward to the project, though it meant a fair amount of work, and we always had such a marvelous time. The preparations each year were considerable. Mother and Dad would sit at the dining room table in Madison with a list and plan what kind of meals we might like to have up there and what supplies would be needed. Dad would order in advance thousands of pines from the Conservation District. He ordered at least two-year-old seedlings, usually at least two thousand white pines and two thousand reds for a season, and sometimes more. As soon as we arrived at the Shack we would prepare the slurry of red clay and water (as described earlier), dip the roots of each bundle of pines in the clay to protect them, and dig a short ditch “to spud them in” (as Dad called it). The ditch was in the shade west of the Shack so the pines seedlings would not dry out. During the drive up our car was usually jam-packed with gear, and Gus or Flicky the dog. To keep things organized, we used the old chuck boxes Dad had used to lash to his packhorse when he worked in New Mexico. We generally stopped in Baraboo for a twenty-five-pound block of ice so we could keep our vittles cool. If Starker joined us he brought his little roadster to help carry the gear. We also looked forward to the guests sometimes invited to help us plant. Daddy’s sister, Marie Leopold Lord of Burlington, Iowa, fit right in. She was lots of fun, and a great botanist with a special interest in ferns. One year our visitor was a forester Dad had met in Germany, Adelbert Ebner, who was a jolly fellow perhaps fifty years of age, and quite a musician.

An enduring problem of social life is what to do about the future. Can we predict it? Can we control it? How much sacrifice are we willing to make in the present for the promise of a better future? The questions are harrowing, and agreement comes hard. The year 1921 was a time of famine in some parts of the newly formed Soviet Union. An American journalist, visiting a refugee camp on the Volga, reported that almost half of the people had died of starvation. Noticing some sacks of grain stacked on an adjacent field, he asked the patriarch of the refugee community why the people did not simply overpower the lone soldier guarding the grain and help themselves. The patriarch impatiently explained that the seed was being saved for next season's planting. "We do not steal from the future," he said. It would be too much to claim that only the human animal is capable of imagining what is yet to come, but it is difficult to believe that any other animal can have so keen an appreciation of the demands of the future. Alfred Korbzybski (1879- 1950) called man "the time-binding animal." Binding the future to the present makes sense only if understandable mechanisms connect the two. This understanding was notably missing in the writings of the anarchist-journalist William Godwin. Unlike Malthus, he could make no sense of the fluctuations of human numbers. "Population," he said, "if we consider it historically, appears to be a fitful principle, operating intermittedly and by starts. This is the great mystery of the subject.. .. One of the first ideas that will occur to a reflecting mind is, that the cause of these irregularities cannot be of itself of regular and uniform operation. It cannot be [as Malthus says] 'the numbers of mankind at all times pressing hard against the limits of the means of subsistence.'" Rather than trying to see how appearances might be reconciled with natural laws, Godwin simply said there were no natural laws. His proposal to replace law with "fhfulness" led one of his critics to comment: "Perhaps Godwin was simply carrying his dislike of law one step farther. Having applied it to politics (1793) and to style (1797), he now applied it to nature (1820). He deliberately placed a whole army of facts out of the range of science."

Many of us who work with pencil, pen, or computer like to vary the intellectual routine by doing something “real.” Some build cabinets and canoes, some sing in choral groups, others join first aid squads. I take care of our garden. Gardening is an especially good activity for eggheads because it combines physical labor with the opportunity to be creative. Unlike the ideas in the books I write, however, my creations in the gar-den are quickly put to the test. My experience last summer is a case in point. I like to eat what I grow, so I have little patience with flowers and other ornamentals. I tolerate the ones that were planted around the house when we first arrived: yew, hemlock, cherry laurel, forsythia, flame azalea—the usual things provided by botanically challenged, cost-conscious builders. If these woody perennials get sick I do what I can for them, given my lack of knowledge and low level of interest. Some times I fertilize, sometimes I continue to refrain from fertilizing, depending on my intuition in the particular case. The same goes for watering. Our flame azalea is down to one tiny branch with eleven leaves on it, about the same as last year. I don’t know whether I am keeping it alive against all odds, or preventing it from making the full recovery that it would be capable of if cared for by somebody else. I view my role in the treatment of our ornamental plantings like that of the remote HMO clerk who makes the critical decisions in a complex medical case; any unfortunate consequences of my ignorance are not of great concern. Fruits and vegetables are another matter. I am not much more knowledgeable about them than about azaleas, but I try a lot harder. Because this is a story about vegetables, I will skip the fruits, except to note that we pick our own sour cherries, figs, peaches, plums, grapes, apricots, and apples—in sharply decreasing order of abundance (squirrels got all of my apples this year).

The Nile slashes through the eastern Sahara Desert like an arrow, a stalk of green amid some of the most arid landscape on earth. Each summer, floodwaters from deep in tropical Africa inundate the floodplain, depositing fertile silt and nourishing growing crops, enabling an Egyptian civilization to endure for five thousand years. Along the river’s banks, pharaohs, considered to be living gods, created a palimpsest of pyramids, rock-cut tombs, and temples that have fascinated the traveler since Herodotus’s day. Egypt was the land of Ra, the sun god, whose golden rays shone day after day in an unchanging chronicle of human existence and immortality— birth, life, and death. Ra’s rays shine between the serried pillars of Karnak’s Hypostyle Hall, darken the jagged contours of the Valley of Kings in deep shadow, project the steep slopes of the pyramids of Giza over the surrounding desert. Ancient Egyptian ruins cast a profound spell over the visitor, especially in the days before Egyptologists measured the ruins and recorded their secrets. They were desolate, unfamiliar, their gods irrevocably gone, the hieroglyphs on the walls unintelligible except to a privileged few—and that only after about 1830, when Jean François Champollion’s decipherment came into common use. But the sense of time and history these monuments conveyed was, and still is, pervasive. The figures on temple and tomb walls expose the habits, fantasies, and beliefs of thirty dynasties. Even today, there is an underlying sense of permanence along the Nile. The pharaohs have vanished, succeeded by caliphs, pashas, colonial overlords, and presidents, but life along the Nile still follows a timeless routine of planting and harvest, of life and death. The traveler has been part of this timeless landscape for more than two thousand years. We have already encountered Roman tourists at the Colossi of Memnon. Christian pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem passed through, too, although travel was difficult for the faithful in what was now Islamic territory. The founding in London of the Levant Company in 1581, originally to foster trade with Turkey—among other things, trade in coffee—brought more visitors, some of them in search of mumiya, pounded-up Egyptian mummy, considered to be a powerful aphrodisiac.