The following articles were written as a joint project between Environmental Science and English Class, focusing on interviewing skills and journalism in English, and agriculture and appropriate technology in Environmental Science. Over the course of our week-long trek through the Sham Region, students interviewed villagers and homestay families about the innovations and inventions they saw in fields and homes, from solar panels to composting toilets, stoves made out of repurposed oil drums, the “barbed wire,” Seabuckthorn, used to strengthen walls and to protect trees, tin cans and trash as an anti-grazing measure, the use of dzos and wooden plows to sow fields, hillside terracing, and the ran-tak, a water powered flour mill. Here are a few that students volunteered to post:
Max
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Trash That Saves Trees
To most villagers in the Himalayan desert of Ladakh, within the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir, plastic bags and tin cans stuck around the trunks of trees are not uncommon. After all, there is a purpose to the “trash.”
Wandering yaks, cows, and dzos (yak-cow crossbreeds) can lay waste to young willow and poplar trees by gnawing at their bark and young twigs. Tin cans, plastic bags, instant noodle wrappers, and old clothing (among other waste) can protect the saplings when wrapped around the trunks.
“People use what there is,” says Tsewang Nyamgil of Hemisshukpachen village. “Dzos will not kill the trees because dzos will not eat what we use.”
A simple comparison of two trees of the same grove yields an immediate contrast: the protected trees grow healthy while their naked counterparts are often stunted or killed at a young age.
Yet even though the practice works effectively, many still recognize it as unattractive.
“It maybe does not look so nice,” says Rigzin Dorje of Ule village, “but [it] is better than dead trees.”
In the American society where being green has become a fashionable way of life, there is still a difference between the unaesthetic re-use of trash and a stylish eco-conscience.
In Ladakhi village life, however, there is no matter of aesthetics and style. Rather, the anti-grazing barrier is simple, practical, and effective, not to mention an effective outlet for waste that would otherwise be dumped.
Occasionally, one will come across a solution more pleasing to the Western eye while remaining just as effective.
Seabuckthorn, a local shrub known for its sharp thorns and often used for fencing, is sometimes roped to trees. Not only does it provide the same inedible barrier, but it also provides a sharp and painful one should any animal encounter it.
This sharp defense is also where the seabuckthorn has its downfall: no human wants an encounter with the thorns on accident either. With tin cans and other trash, this problem does not
Ella
Himalayan Traditional Toilets: No Toilet, Just Beneficial Composting
The Western idea of a toilet fits the dictionary definition; a “bowl for urinating or defecating into, typically plumbed into a sewage system and with a flushing mechanism (New Oxford American Dictionary).” Using the toilet seems like one of the most elemental aspects of life, one that would remain the same from culture to culture. But really, from the West to Ladakh, a region in the Indian Himalaya, the fact that we all have to go poop is the only thing that remains the same about going to the toilet.
In the Himalayan Mountains, going to the bathroom usually means getting your shoes on and walking outside to a dirt-floored, wooden walled edifice. Inside is a traditional composting toilet: a simple hole in the ground. Besides the hole, the toilet room usually contains a pile of a mixture of old broken down manure, dirt, and grass in the corner, with a shovel propped up against the pile. After one is done defecating, some of the broken down manure from the pile is thrown down the hole. When you walk into the room, you are greeted not by an unpleasant smell but by a sweet musty one.
Composting toilets in Ladakh are both the traditional and sensible choice. The Himalayas have very little access to water, so flush toilets would be using a precious resource. Composting toilets not only conserving water, but they also put the poop to use. The manure is shoveled out once or twice a year to use on the fields in the springtime. Little effort is needed to make the benefit of manure worth it.
“I spend three hours a month shoveling dirt into the toilet. Other than that there is no work except for once a year [when I shovel the dung out of the toilet,]” said Tundup Tsewang Gonpa from the village of Hemischukpachen.
At Gonpa’s house, they combine the human dung with cow and goat dung. He explained that human dung is harder to break down, but, “As long as I mix three kinds of manure in a pile, it composts the right way.”
Tsering Wangchuk of Ang village said, “There has never been any problem.”
Not one villager said that they had plans of switching to a flush toilet. So, atleast for a while, it seems that using the bathroom will remain a cultural difference between the West and Ladakh.
Bo
Powered by the Sun: Solar panels in Ladakh
Thirteen thousand feet above the ocean in northern India lies the high altitude desert of Ladakh. In this desert resources are scarce, so every resource is highly prized and conserved diligently. This need has led the local people to create and embrace practical, environmentally friendly and sustainable equipment for use in their daily lives. One such piece of equipment is the solar panel.
“The government gives each house in our village one solar panel and one battery, these can be used when the government’s diesel power generators are not functioning” said Tundup Nangyal of Ang through our translator Tanzin. “the diesel only runs from 6:30-11 and (the solar panel battery can be) used for 8 hours when fully charged at any time. We use often when the diesel is not working.”
When Tundup was asked what was his favorite part of solar panels he responded simply, “lights.”
Tundup and his village of Ang are not the only town to benefit from government issued solar panels. Tsering Stanzin of Yang-tang was also given solar panels by the government, which he can use when the village’s power is turned off between 11 pm at night at 6 pm the next day. When Tsering was asked what was his favorite part about solar panels? He replied,
“Solar panels allow me to read Buddhist books and socialize at night.”
In fact Yang-tang’s main supply of power is not from a diesel plant like that of Ang, but from, “a solar plant (located) in the upper part of village.” The village of Yang-Tang had tried several other forms of clean power before deciding on solar. Twelve years before solar was introduced into the village a small hydro dam project was installed above the village.
“The dam worked but they moved it down river and it stopped working because there was not enough water” said Tsering Stanzin. Solar has provided Yang-tang with electricity ever since.
When asked if solar panels were good or bad the overall answer was positive Tsiring Dorjay of Hemishukpachan said, “solar panels don’t pollute like the diesel generators so they are good” and Rigzen Dorjay of Ulay said, “the solar panel allows us to charge our cell phone when the electricity is off in the village” However solar panels are not perfect, they too have their flaws.
“Solar is environmentally good but, it is very expensive” said Skarma Seeku of Hemishukpachan, “everything has some goods and bads” His village of Hemishukpachan got solar for the first time in 1993 but, “the solar did not power the village enough, so the government gave us generators” he said. The solar panels in town are now used strictly for powering the phone lines. But even after seeing the problems with solar when asked if he would buy some he said with a chuckle, “if I had money I would buy, but I don’t have.”
Pheylan
Leaving it All Behind
Deep in the Himalayas is nestled a culture that depends on efficient, appropriate technology to lead their lives in a way that makes sense. We come from a nation where flush toilets are the norm, and anything else would be considered primitive, but in Ladakh, a region in northern India tucked away in the Himalayas, most cannot have these toilets because they pollute the water, and are expensive to install and maintain. Instead, they rely on composting toilets with no water. However, there is a simple Ladakhi villager that is leaving this behind.
Dorje Namgyal, a man who lives in the village of Ang, hosts foreigners in his home. He has a composting toilet for temporary use, but in a room that usually stays locked, Dorje has an American style bathroom complete with a shower and tiled floors. The bathroom is not completely installed because, as Dorje says through translator Jigmet, “The plumbing is very confusing to put in”. Dorje is still willing to push through it, as he says that his family “likes English/American technology, because it makes foreigners comfortable.” Almost no Ladakhis in a small village setting have toilets like this, nor will they in the near future. They pollute the waters, are expensive to install and maintain, and are impractical for their lifestyle.
The composting toilet that is prevalent in Ladakh operates very simply. It is a room with a hole in the floor, that goes down into a lower compartment. The user puts in a shovelful of manure or other composting material after each use. Dorje empties his toilet out two or three times a year, and annually in March whether it really needs it or not. The manure is moved outside to finish decomposing before being spread on the fields, but only after decomposing to a safe extent. This may sound like nothing but a hassle, but they are rewarding in their own way. They provide more fertilizer for the field, they do not pollute, and Dorje says that his composting toilet is inexpensive to fix, because, unlike it’s flushing counterpart, the composting toilet never breaks.
Nora
Situated 8,000 miles away from Vermont at 12,000 feet above sea level in the Himalaya, one wouldn’t think that Vermont would have much in common with Ladakh, India. But no matter how vast an expanse of ocean or land separates different cultures, one fact remains constant: When temperatures drop below -25 degrees Celsius, all people need a reliable way to keep warm. However, though the basic need remains the same, the means people consider necessary to meet this need vary greatly between the two societies. While Vermonters rely heavily on central heating systems and expensive wood stoves, the people of Ladakh have devised a way of heating their houses that is both economical and sustainable. A tin stove, often fashioned of an old oil drum and other scraps of recycled metal is ubiquitous throughout the homes of Ladakh. These are fueled by a combination of wood and animal dung, both of which Ladakhis have easy and plentiful access to.
“We can produce wood and dung,” says Skarma Punchok Seeku of Hemisshukpachan village in Ladakh. “So it is easier than a gas stove.” Though wood is not overly plentiful in the dry Himalayan climate, virtually every family living in a Ladakhi village owns a cow or a dzo (a cross between a yak and a cow). Both of these animals produce ample manure to fuel the stoves, which are used for heating as well as cooking. The manure is collected and formed into cakes, which are left to dry in the strong Ladakhi sun. “Wood burns hotter and longer,” says Skarma Punchok Seeku, but the use of the dung cakes is not without benefits. When burned they give off a pleasant musky scent which contributes to the welcoming atmosphere of a typical Ladakhi kitchen, and their sheer availability is definitely a plus. In fact, one can’t help but wonder if Vermont could learn a little something from the Ladakhis’ method. After all, in a state which is said to have more cows than people, surely there is more than enough manure to go around.
Laura
BARBED WIRE OF LADAKH
Ladakh, India- In a part of the world where cattle are necessary, winters are harsh, and food is limited, a good fence is essential. In northern India, in a part of the Jammu and Kashmir region known as Ladakh, walk through a village and note the scraggly spiky wire atop stone and mud walls. Look closer at that wire, see how thickly it grows? Wait a minute, it grows?! As it turns out, the Ladakhi version of barbed wire is a plant and not a metal, a plant known to English speakers as sea buck thorn and to Ladakhis as tsetalulu.
“First we build the wall, then we put down mud, then sea buck thorn.” Tsewang Namgil of Hemis Shuch Pachin explained. The defensive part of the fence is growing inside of the wall, not placed on top like ordinary defense systems.
“The wood burns hot, too hot, and very long” Namgil said. After the shrub’s five to six year lifespan ends, the wood is used to cook barley flour. Barley flour, called tsampa in Ladakhi, is a crucial part of the Ladakhi’s diets and eaten daily in some form or another. The wood of the sea buck thorn plant is perfect for roasting the home-grown tsampa. The plant also grows berries that can be mashed to make a delectable juice.
When driving through the more urban parts of Ladakh, you can see broken glass topping stone fences, and real barbed wire surrounding important military buildings. But sea buck thorn has so many uses that it would be impractical to replace it in villages. As long as roasted barley flour is a staple food, and as long yaks, cows, and dzos need to be kept off fields, sea buck thorn will be the most practical form of fencing.
Schuyler
STEPPING DOWN THE HILLSIDE
In a world that is constantly growing, the way in which we produce our food is becoming ever more important. In Ladakh, a region in northern India far from large-scale factory farming and temperate climates, many people still farm the land as their ancestors did. Mountainous and dry, Ladakhis have had to learn how to cope with the sloping earth and scarcity of water. The solution is to build an intricate system of stone terracing and fencing, thanka.
“The fences have been used forever and were made by my ancestors,” Tsewang Namgil of Hemishukpachen noted. With the terraces in place, the land is easier to farm, earth doesn’t have to be moved around as much and overall labor is reduced.
In Ang, Stanzin Dolma explained that “The fencing must be repaired very quickly or the terracing will be washed away.”
In Namgil’s village they “repair the terraces every year.” Despite the fact that the terracing is man-made and needs lots of maintenance, it is still a part of the landscape instead of an obstruction or an eyesore. The land steps down the hillside, with curving walls containing the fertile soil. The stones used in the construction of the fences are all found in the soil contained by the terraces, making construction of the terraces easy and beneficial for the soil.
There is no use for tractors because of the inability for something with wheels to travel from terrace to terrace. Instead, dzos (a cross between a yak and a cow) are hitched to plows and all of Namgil’s plowing can be done in three days. The only other machinery used is a hydro-run mill to grind the grain.
Crops grown in the terracing include wheat, barley, mustard greens, tomatoes, potatoes, turnips, radishes, peas, coriander and cabbage.
Every village has its own irrigation system, each following the same principle: The main river runs through the village and is diverted to every field for a certain period of time with a complex system of channels. This way, all the crops are properly irrigated and erosion is stopped almost entirely.
In the United States, farming methods are usually based on the factory farm system with an emphasis on efficiency and high yields, using advanced machines and seeds. But this poses many problems, including rapid topsoil erosion, depletion of groundwater and reliance on foreign oil. While textbooks talk about the many benefits of using terracing as a sustainable technology, the terracing referenced in this article is almost entirely impractical in the United States where labor is cut out of the system whenever possible. Regardless, one might want to take a few tips from a place where water and fertile soil are scarce: We are running out of the very same resources at an alarming rate.
