Focus on Geography最新文献

The photographic essay is part of an ongoing ethnographic project on the Mardi Gras Indians and focuses on unlocking the mysteries and practices of one of North America's most fascinating cultures.

The Potemkin Stairs in Odessa is symbolic of the city's historical experiences with propaganda, revolution, and class struggle.

A close-up look at the collision between Corvettes and karst in Bowling Green, Kentucky.

This article explains the role of Peruvian coca production in the war on drugs and explores the viability of expanding the market for legal, non-narcotic coca products as a means of reducing the flow of coca leaf toward the illicit cocaine market and potentially reducing conflict between peasants and the state in Peru.

Hydropower and infrastructure development in Yunnan Province is examined as are the growing demands for energy in China.

The author investigates the spatial and temporal patterns of foaling locations for Kentucky-born Kentucky Derby winners, from 1875 to 2013.

Throughout the world, small islands that are not immediately adjacent to larger landmasses experience several common problems related to infrastructure and public services. Aspects of the physical geographies of these islands—especially their insularity and remoteness—require that a variety of infrastructural systems be designed to operate independently of larger grids and to fit within a small scale. Among many others, specific challenges exist in the areas of energy production, waste disposal, and water supply.

While the ISCID's optimism is well-received in academic settings, where the “island as laboratory” concept has taken much purchase since at least the earliest days of biogeographical study (Sauer 1969), many island governments and energy industries remain unconvinced, as noted by Notton and colleagues (2011, 652): “Thus, the most usable power plant for small islands is diesel engines.” This trend may be on the cusp of changing, however, as fossil fuel costs continue to increase and both islanders and tourists demand more sustainable solutions.

An island's ability to handle its municipal and industrial waste is directly related to the size of its physical land area and its population. On islands with extreme population density, such as Manhattan, the export of trash is the only option. Larger or more sparsely populated islands may relegate some of their land area to landfills. Incineration is also widely practiced—both as a centralized activity and on the household scale. Issues of air pollution are well documented with regard to incineration. One major argument against the implementation of sustainable waste management solutions has been that landfills are relatively cheap and abundant in mainland settings and on large islands such as Great Britain (Read, et al. 1998). However, this line of reasoning applies less in small island contexts. Islands, by virtue of their naturally limited land area, have added incentive to develop efficient methods of waste disposal.

Small oceanic islands—especially those without significant surface water or groundwater reserves—often experience the plight of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner: “Water, water everywhere/Nor any drop to drink.” People living on small, dry islands often rely on rainwater catchment as their primary source of freshwater. This system involves the inherent risk of reliance upon the weather for sustenance and leaves little recourse during droughts and regular dry seasons except for rationing, doing without, or importing fresh water. Climate change further exacerbates this uncertainty. Desalination is an effective option on some islands, but many more are unable to provide enough water through this process, owing to the inherent expense—both financial and in terms of energy consumption. Eric Swyngedouw (2013) has recently highlighted the attendant politico-social issues that can surround the development of desali

Fewer than 19% of Americans live in areas classified as “rural”. Moreover, only 0.7% of Americans (according to the 2007 USDA Census of Agriculture) are farmers. Yet, this miniscule segment of the population is responsible for maintaining well over 60% of our country's land through ranching and growing crops that provide food, fuel, and fiber. That is a substantial burden to bear, and yet it is one that often goes unnoticed by the remaining 99.3% of Americans.

Because the agricultural landscape changes slowly, many of the transitions go unnoticed. On the other hand, “sexier” and more easily-politicized movements and rallying cries such as “save the land,” “eat organic,” “down with urban sprawl,” and “eat locally sourced food” are often front-page news. What most Americans fail to realize is that there are multitudes of socio-economic and socio-ecological forces that work together at multiple spatial and temporal scales driving these transformations. Without direct ties to agriculture, many people decry the transition from general farming practices to more corporatist and monocultural practices. Most fail to see their own complicity in this transition. Who among us hasn't recently eaten a hamburger, filled his or her car's tank with gas, enjoyed a carbonated soft drink, or in one way or another purchased and consumed one of the thousands of other products made from the corn-soy dominated agricultural landscape?

One change happening on the rural landscape can be observed in the James River Valley of North and South Dakota (Figure 2). As our insatiable (global) appetite for Zea mays (corn) and Glycine max (soy) continues to increase, this region's agricultural landscape is being quietly transformed.

The James River originates in Wells County North Dakota, and winds its way gently 710 miles south to just east of Yankton, South Dakota, where it meets the Missouri River. Known as the “unnavigable river” to early Dakota Indian tribes, its meager 700 foot drop in elevation creates a multitude of meanders and a slow rate of discharge, which creates – more in some years than others – difficulty in finding water deep enough to paddle a canoe. The southern portion of the James River Valley has long been entrenched in Corn Belt agriculture. For decades, counties from Sanborn County, SD south to the Missouri River have planted nearly 30% of their cropland to corn. Evidence of this early Corn Belt status can be seen in Mitchell, SD – home to the Corn Palace and the Mitchell High School Kernels, whose mascot, a supersized ear of corn named Cornelius, intimidates rival schools from around the region.

But just to the north of Mitchell, some major changes are occurring. From LaMoure County, ND south to Spink, these counties have, over the past five decades, seen marked increase in the amount of cropland devoted to growing corn – in some cases by as much as twenty percent. In aggregate terms, this region's agricultural landsc

I walked up Monte de Gozo in a steady Galician rain hoping, like all who come here, for a transcendent view of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. This hilltop named Mount Joy is where pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago (“St. James Way”) first set tearful eyes on their long-awaited goal; the supposed resting place of the bones of the fourth apostle of Jesus. It has been this way since the Middle Ages when both the devout and derelict (seeking indulgences to shorten their stay in purgatory) walked here from Paris, the Pyrenees, Bilbao, Pamplona, Astorga, Seville or any of a thousand other starting points. The roads were many, but the goal was one – to reach this remote locus sanctus – this holy place built of stone and mythic aspiration.

Unlike my previous visit, I crested Mount Joy alone and found the summit encased in winter fog. All I saw was a stone monument built to honor Pope John Paul II, a grotesque refugio of barracks that could sleep 800, and statues of pilgrims with walking sticks lifted in ecstasy as they gazed at the cathedral spires in the distance (Figure 1). I gazed at clouds. January is avoided by most pilgrims for a reason. Previously that morning I dutifully prepared for this day's walk by visiting Lavacola, the last village before Santiago. In the past, pilgrims stopped here to clean up before reaching Monte de Gozo and completing their journey at the immense cathedral in town (Figure 2). The name of the place, lava (to wash), cola (scrotum), is a fine reminder of the earthy joys of toponomy.

The rest of my walk back to Santiago was a slog. I had already been to the cathedral several times and was staying near the Plaza Obradoiro in a small hotel. My pilgrimage in 2010 consisted of nine day hikes over two weeks. I was a sad member of the lowest caste on the Camino; a “tourist.” As I walked past new apartment buildings and dashed across busy four-lane highways I felt none of the intense emotions I imagine actual peregrinos (pilgrims) experience at the prospect of reaching their goal after months on the trail. Santiago de Compostela began as sacred ground and is now real estate. On this rain-soaked day at least, I wasn't questing for God; I was longing for dry clothes and a meal of pork chops and beer at a family restaurant named Casa Manolo.

The story of St. James in Spain is curious and, to the non-believer, lavishly confabulated. The versions are diverse, changing with the times and human need. The basic tale is this: James the Elder, or the Greater, (St. James) was a fisherman and the brother of the Apostle John back in those turbulent days in Palestine. Much is known of John from his Gospel but the words of James did not make the final cut of the Bible canon. Legend has it that James went to the Iberian Peninsula to spread the Word of God. He was not a spellbinding preacher. By the time James reached Galicia (in northwest Spain) he had attracte