Girls at Pangong Lake, begining of Changtang Trek
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Changthang Trek
We just got back from our trek in Changthang, an area known for nomads, cold weather, and herds of horses and yaks. Pangong Lake was beautiful and we were able to see the Tibetan border. I had great home stays. The first night, I played with a four year old girl named Punchok and her baby sheep and made yak dumplings with the family. We celebrated Dan’s birthday with chocolate bars, which was fun. On Easter, I was in a home stay with a little boy, his mother and grandmother, and a 20-day-old goat. On the last day of hiking, we climbed over a 17,000 foot pass. It was really challenging and I was exhausted but everybody was encouraging and helpful. We were all in it together. Fortunately, we made it over the pass, and below us were cars to take us back to SECMOL, which has started to feel like home. In the next couple weeks, we’ll all be working on our Exhibition projects.
Marga
Appropriate Technology Articles
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.
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.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Hello outside world
Two months ago in the Burlington airport we were asked what we were most glad we packed. Some people said socks, others said water bottles, i said my Ipod. Now i realize just how right i was to say that. On our way to anywhere with the foundation students on a bus, they sing to EVERY song on the radio in very high pitched voices. Now at first i enjoyed this but, during the 2 hour ride to see an artificial glacier i cannot express how glad i was to have my Ipod with me . Because i want to be an engineer when i get older i am really interested in the Artificial Glaciers, mostly because it was just so simple, yet effective and that's the engineering ideal. When we arrived i was a little bit surprised by what i saw, there was a huge wall of stone and a small patch of white ice off to the right side. Now essentially the A.G is bunch of rocks piled in different ways to slow down the glacial melt water and allow it to freeze so it can be stored in winter and it can melt faster in summer. Everyone was so excited to go ice skating on the artificial glacier like last year but, when we looked over the retaining wall we were surprised to find that there was in fact no ice. at The entire reservoir was empty except for one small corner filled with snow. When we got over our initial disappointment we got a talk from "the Glacier man" tserang norfel(that's probably spelled totally wrong) he told us that above us was 2 more artificial glaciers and we were going to walk up and see them. At first i was excited, the scenery was beautiful with snow capped mountains and narrow valleys, and the artificial glacier was so cool. Now all this was really cool, but after an hour of straight up hill hiking i was too tired to worry about doing anything besides putting one foot in front of the other. When we finally reached the top, there was a very small patch of ice, maybe the size of a small pond back home and everyone started skating. It was a really cool experience, Mikey, Nick and Schuyler all tried to do tricks off this little hill of ice, sometimes succeeding other times failing, fairly humorously. At the end of the day we all left the day feeling happy, because the downhill walk was significantly easier then the uphill one and our stomachs were full of chapati and apricot jam. We boarded the bus and slowly started creeping down the hill we had just driven up. I put on my ipod thankful for the relaxing music in my head and fell asleep. Only to wake up several minutes later after hitting my head off the side of the bus while we drove over a rough section of road.
Bo Attley
Bo Attley
Pizza Night
After over a month of a diet consisting almost exclusively of lentils and potatoes over rice, besides the occasional yummy from our care packages (thank you parents! You have no idea what a difference those make!), the VISpas decided it was time to introduce some classic American (or, I guess, Italian) cuisine to SECMOL. So last Sunday we had pizza night! After scouring Leh on our last trip in for cheese (thank you Bo, who went to no less than five different stores) and tomatoes, we returned to SECMOL campus pumped and ready for action. We began at 9:00 Sunday morning, washing and chopping tomatoes for what turned out to be the biggest vat of tomato sauce I had ever seen. Throughout the day, VISpas wandered in and out of the kitchen whenever we had a spare moment to see what needed to be chopped, grated, kneaded, or rolled. Once the sauce was simmering away on our solar cooker, we mixed flour, salt, yeast, and water to make a ball of dough about the size of a large beach ball. Becky lent us sizable amounts of basil and oregano from her own private stash and at 4:00, the first shift of VISpas headed into the kitchen to commence the actual assembly of between fifteen and twenty pizzas. We topped them with cheese (which comes only in cans here), onions, more basil and oregano, and Mr. James, in an act of incredible generosity, donated a stick of his own personal pepperoni on a pizza especially for the VISpas which was devoured in approximately 16 seconds.
As the evening progressed, the pizza making process got increasingly ridiculous as VISpas began to decorate the waiting pizza crusts with dough animals, hearts, stars, and other whimsical objects. Nicole and Emery took it upon themselves to fashion an entire alligator out of dough (which we baked and set free in the Indus the next morning). American music played in our little kitchen from 4:00 straight through until 10:30, and the atmosphere was as lighthearted and energetic as I had even seen it. It was without a doubt, exactly what we needed to really come together as a community and on top of that, the Ladakhis LOVED it!
By the end of the night, all of us were so full that we were essentially incapacitated. We collapsed on the benches in the kitchen, unable to move or speak in complete sentences, the word "pizza" bringing a wave of nausea over all of us who had eaten more than any of us cared to calculate. Of course, the next morning, upon learning that there were leftovers, we decided to forgo the chipati and dal offered to us, opting instead for the bits and pieces of pizza we were too sick to even think about the night before.
-Nora
As the evening progressed, the pizza making process got increasingly ridiculous as VISpas began to decorate the waiting pizza crusts with dough animals, hearts, stars, and other whimsical objects. Nicole and Emery took it upon themselves to fashion an entire alligator out of dough (which we baked and set free in the Indus the next morning). American music played in our little kitchen from 4:00 straight through until 10:30, and the atmosphere was as lighthearted and energetic as I had even seen it. It was without a doubt, exactly what we needed to really come together as a community and on top of that, the Ladakhis LOVED it!
By the end of the night, all of us were so full that we were essentially incapacitated. We collapsed on the benches in the kitchen, unable to move or speak in complete sentences, the word "pizza" bringing a wave of nausea over all of us who had eaten more than any of us cared to calculate. Of course, the next morning, upon learning that there were leftovers, we decided to forgo the chipati and dal offered to us, opting instead for the bits and pieces of pizza we were too sick to even think about the night before.
-Nora
its finally springtime here! the days are really warm and sunny, the trees are about to explode with leaves. we (mailny the girls) have been sleeping outside on the roof almost every night for the past couple of weeks. with tons of blankets and layers of clothing, it's very comfortable laying under the shooting stars and listening to the wild dogs barking in the desert. in the morning we wake up early with the sun beating down on us and we try to stay asleep for a bit longer by burying our heads in our sleeping bags, but soon we get up and go down to breakfast. the first time we slept outside, we were all almost asleep when everyone noticed that there was a dzo on the other side of the roof. all they could see was its giant shape in the dark. everything about this trip is so funny and strange.. a few weeks ago ella, emery, max, laura and i went on a bone hunting expedition. becky had mentioned something about there being human bones up on the hillside and we decided to go see for ourselves. the landscape near secmol is the most bizzare thing, its a regular desert if you just look at the ground, with small dusty rocks and a few tiny dry plants, but then all of a sudden the ground turns into a mountain, and then behind that there are snow-covered mountains, and behind that are clouds. and the indus river reminds me of the grand canyon with the huge cliffs on either side. anyway, we felt like we were in a movie or video game or weird dream as we walked along a small stream through the brown desert, all of us holding sticks and listening to techno music from pheylan's speaker. we found a lot of unmistakably human bones-- ribs, femurs, vertabre, finger bones, and a perfect skull with all its teeth. after being really excited and slightly creeped out for a while, we put them back where we found them and went back to secmol. nobody there seems to know why the bones are there.
Ali
Ali
Friday, March 12, 2010
SECMOL Campus
Hi Parents,
Just a quick update, we are back at SECMOL and spending the next month focusing on academics, interspersed with some guest speakers and a few fieldtrips. Yesterday we took a trip to Choglamsar, the Tibetan Refuge Colony, outside of the city of Leh, to visit the Tibetan Children's Village School, hear about the history of the Tibet conflict, and hear the story of a man who escaped from Tibet as a small boy. This week James's English class has been wrapping up reading Patrick French's Tibet, Tibet and learning about Tibetan history. SECMOL hosted a Cultural Workshop this week, so campus has been quite busy with the pounding of traditional drums, flute playing, singing, and lots and lots of dancing! VISpas attended the final performance. Many care packages arrived in the mail, and there were many big smiles! Phone calls to SECMOL Campus have also been much appreciated, the best times to call are mornings and evenings (Indian Time), when students are usually in the kitchen having breakfast or dinner, or in the dorms.
To give you an idea of the days here, the morning begins with 7:50 VIS student meeting, (some students on cow duty and solar duty start their days much earlier, 5:30 or 6:30am!) 8am breakfast,9am work hour, 10am class, 11am tea, 11:30 class, 12:15 class, 1pm lunch, 2pm class, 3-4 freetime, 4pm afternoon tea, 4:30 responsibilities, 6pm class (some days), and 7:30 dinner, 8:30 evening activities.
If you call, most likely a Ladakhi student will answer. They are learning English, and most are quite good but it helps to speak slowly and to just keep repeating your VIS student's name...eventually they'll find the right person! Often to fill airtime one of the other VIS students may pick up the phone while someone else is running over to the dormitory. Internet has been out on campus, but we've been in Leh about once a week and you probably have heard from your VISpa by now. (I hope!)
The Sham trek was wonderful. Lots of snow, lots of hiking, everyone has acclimatized extraordinarily well. Several students have posted about the homestay experience, and I just uploaded both a photo of one homestay family and one of the group on a pass around 13,000 feet, on our hardest day. In Environmental Science, we've been doing a unit on Agriculture and Appropriate Technology, so students spent their freetime in villages interviewing villagers about topics ranging from Composting Toilets, to Water Wheels (for grinding grain), to Seabuckthorn Fencing (used like barbed wire, to keep cows from damaging precious trees), to Oil Drum Stoves and Cow Dung Fuel, and many, many more. In conjunction with English, James taught a journalism workshop and students have just turned in their final articles.
Fieldtrips to Stok Monastary, the Tibetan Colony, and guest speakers on Ancient Futures, a Buddhism Workshop, and Nick's unit on Buddhism have occupied our Ladakh Then and Now Class, as well as discussions on the book Tibet, Tibet and newspaper articles. Ladakhi class has gotten off to a very slow start, as our Ladakhi teacher has been sick, but James has been teaching the class and students got some intensive practice during homestay visits! We are getting a new Ladakhi teacher begining next week.
This photo is one of the main building at SECMOL, during the Culture Workshop, the uppermost floor houses the school's library and the girl's dorm, and the lower floor is the auditorium and classrooms. That's about all for now, as I write this, everyone is happy and healthy and enjoying Ladakh.
Julley,
Amy
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