My Published Articles for ViewsHound: Facts about the Cassava and Bamboo in the Philippines.

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Facts about the Cassava and Bamboo in the Philippines.

From My FaceBook Page the other day. I grew up with these two plants during my childhood years in the Philippines.  Bamboo and Cassava Plants are all over our backyard. These are two of the many  tropical plants I am familiar with. 
A:  WHY SHOULD WE GROW CASSAVA 

Highly profitable crop-Cassava is more profitable than maize. The gross margins per hector of Cassava is three times higher than that of  maize.

Ready Market: Cassava is very easy to sell. The domestic market is huge. Cassava is also used for industrial purposes like in baking, making of cardboards, packaging materials, beer, starch, glue, baking and many more. Therefore the market for both cassava chips and flour is huge

Cassava is drought resistant compared to maize, making it a good for household and national food security

Cassava is easy to store. The crop can be harvested only as needs arise. The surplus can be stored under ground thereby resulting in low post harvest losses.

The crop is desease resistant. No need for insecticides, thus cheaper and easy to manage

Can grow almost everywhere, regardless of the soil fertility

Multiple uses-. All parts of the plant are useful. Leaves can be used for vegetables, stems are used for planting, roots or tubers can be used to make floor, chips, or can be eaten raw.

Widely consumed in many African regions countries. Staple food in many regions

Can be processed using the most basic or natural methods like just socking, sun-drying and pounding

Huge demand for both domestic and industrial use

Can be inter-cropped with other crops like millet, groundnuts and beans

Does not require any chemical fertilizers, making it cheaper to grow

Rich source of starch and carbohydrates, making it a good security crop

Complementarity-Cassava can be consumed together or mixed with other crops. Tates supper with groundnuts, beans. Cassava floor mixed with maize meal tastes better. 

Huge potential for commercialization- cassava can easily or will soon be a commercial crop given it's multiple industrial uses like the making of starch, flour, beer etc.

Nutritious-Cassava leaves are nutritious with some medicinal properties

Cassava Cake💚 is delicious and nutritious. The Cabunocs, two of my guests at my 90th Birthday Party last Saturday, brought me a Cassava Cake with Jack fruit. It was delicious.   

B: Some Facts about Bamboo:

1. Fast Growth: Bamboo is the fastest-growing plant in the world. It has been recorded at growing 47.6 inches in 24 hours. Some species can even grow over a meter per day under optimal conditions. A new bamboo shoot reaches its full height in less than a year.

2. Oxygen Release: A grove of bamboo releases 35% more oxygen than any other tree out there.

3. Carbon Dioxide Absorption: Bamboo absorbs carbon dioxide at a rate of 17 tons per hectare every year. It can act as a valuable carbon sink given how fast the plant grows.

4. No Fertilizer Required: Bamboo doesn’t need fertilizer to grow. It can self-mulch by dropping its leaves and use the nutrients to grow.

5. Drought Resistance: Bamboos are drought-tolerant plants. They can grow in the desert.

6. Wood Replacement: Bamboos can be harvested in 3-5 years compared to the 20-30 years of most softwood trees.

7. Building Material: Bamboo is incredibly strong and sturdy. It has been used as support for concrete as well as scaffolding, bridges, and houses.

8. Soil Stability: Bamboo has a wide network of underground roots and rhizomes that prevent soil erosion.

9. Natural Air Conditioner: Bamboo cools the air surrounding it by up to 8 degrees in the summer.

10. Invasiveness: Some species of bamboo, especially ‘running’ bamboos, can be invasive due to their extensive root systems, which allow them to spread rapidly. However, not all species are invasive, and with proper management, the environmental impact can be minimized.

Meanwhile,  From My Former Garden- My Doggie Pepper- Its not an AI generated photo. It's the real thing! 
Lastly, Did you Know that,  Apo Reef is a coral reef system in the Philippines situated in the western waters of Occidental Mindoro province in the Mindoro Strait.  The reef and its surrounding waters are protected areas administered as the Apo Reef Natural Park (ARNP). It is one of the best known and most popular diving regions in the country, and is on the tentative list for UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

Finally looking forward for our Christmas Eve ( tonite) and New Year's Eve ( 12/31/24)Dinners.
I plan on enjoying the Crab cakes and Pan Seared Scallops and Dutch apple pie a la mode
For New Years Eve, I have reserved the lobster bisque soup, smoked salmon platter,  Baked Lobster Tail and the Chocolate  Cake with Strawberries 

💚 recipe for cassava cake

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to All!

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Guest Article from Susan Creamer Joy

In The Silence, by Susan Creamer Joy.

Today's guest article is from Susan Creamer Joy. Susan is one of my favorite authors in the ViewsHound community. Susan writes, draws, paints and cobbles together art from found objects making a variety of creations from jewelry to religious shrines. She frequently sports burns on her fingers from her soldering iron, paint on her palms and ink under her fingernails, but her hair is usually combed. When she is not losing time in the creative vortex of her studio, she is likely to be putting her knowledge of metaphysics and esoteric principles including Tarot, numerology, astrology and graphology to good use in consultations. Her children are grown, her husband still works and her four dogs believe she needs serious help. The title of her article is "A Matter Of Love And Death". Thank you Susan.

By the time they reached my bedroom door, I was already sitting up – my stomach ratcheted in the tense grip of an unnamed anxiety; my pillow, unburdened of my drowsy head.

To this day I cannot explain how I heard them coming up those stairs in their bare feet or how I knew that my father struggled to hold his composure as my mother unnaturally clutched at the folds of her dressing gown and followed him through the dark just a little too closely.

As the wooden groan of those old stairs tore into my bones that morning like a hacksaw, all I could see between the predawn shadows was the letter I’d written just hours earlier to my boyfriend, Chris, propped against the lamp on my desk across the room awaiting an envelope.

I had not slept well. It was late November and there had been so many changes since the middle of August when he left for the Air Force in Texas to begin basic training and I began my third new school in as many years.

The conspiracy between fate and the last surge of the Vietnam draft had broken apart the every-waking-minutes of our two-year union with unceremonious indifference. All that night my sleep had been infested by difficult dreams and by the illogical fear that truth and reality were merging into a darkness only a martyr could grasp; and at sixteen, martyrdom seemed reasonable only for the nuns among the poor in Bangladesh

I tried to remind myself that he would be home on leave for Thanksgiving in another few days. It was the only tether to calm I could find, but reviewing the facts offered little relief from my baseless fears.

Chris had been girding his pacifist sensibilities preparing to fight in an unpopular war that had not yet slaughtered its last innocent. I was hovering just over the line of inclusion at an exclusive girl’s school – missing him – and finding myself at odds with these young women and their attachment to propriety and with the prep-school veneer that blinded them to the fact that they were no better than anyone else.

Neither one of us was coping well with the worlds into which we were respectively summoned, and although we both knew that the best hope for any future together depended upon our individual successes apart, it was far from comforting most days.

But in spite of our discomfort, we each did our best; and, of course, there were the letters: Thin, plain-paper sheets with row after row after row of inky blue words penned with the intensity and awkward locutions of a love learned too soon. It had come down to just that little, but without them, I would have had nothing.

Chris was learning to fly. I was learning to drive, and both of us were aching to transport our souls to an earlier time through the hallowed intercourse of memories and dreams. Of course, as with all progress, there was the positive element: We were both clean and drug-free for the first time in years.

Now, without pretense, both healthy cognition and sincere motivation surfaced regularly in my psychology and prompted me to care about myself and to arbitrate against all temptation for a better standing in the world, in school and in my own eyes. I even did my homework.

No longer was I escaping today but, instead, living for my day of escape. Lying still in the dark of my room, I listened to the slow, padded footfall of my parents approaching and looked to the floor and to my history book half hidden beneath the nightstand where I’d tossed it the night before. Even in this early morning dark I could make out the swirls and stars in colored marker and the bubble-formed letters that spelled C H R I S in soft, juvenile curves on the torn book cover I’d fashioned out of a brown paper grocery bag.

I vaguely remembered throwing it there somewhat hastily. I had been doing my homework when a sense of urgency struck and I realized I had not written him as I promised I would and glancing at the clock, I noted it was nine-twenty-three. Why that mattered I had no way of knowing in that strange moment, but within hours, it would be one I would never forget; and although I was becoming drowsy and still needed to finish my work, I felt beyond reason that my letter to him could not wait.

So, I wrote. I would always write. I would always be there. He would always be there.“Suzi."It was my name spoken in the smooth and familiar voice of my mother, although weighted and slow, her head bowed to her chest almost as though she were speaking only to herself.

"Suzi.” She said it again, this time with sharp gravity, like a chisel against stone.

As if on cue, I leaned forward, flanked now by my parents who were sitting on either side of my bed.

I had been waiting for them. I don’t know how. I didn’t know why. The lights in my room remained off, but it seemed that the darkness clung more to them than to me, as though they were holding it there – away from me to give me enough light to see through the next moment. They were crying. My father was crying. My father. “Suzi. We have something very, very bad to tell you." Chris has been in a car accident." And he was killed."

If the world moved forward from that moment, I could not know it. f there were air around me worth breathing, I could not take it in. And if there were another sound beyond the leaden bellow of my own raw grief, I could not hear it.

"Who am I going to talk to? Who am I going to love?” I wailed. Who will love me? In that sodden moment violated by the intrusion of a predawn light that had no business rising, everything I ever believed about happiness, hoped for in life, trusted in or held as my own was annihilated.

After that – there was no after that. After that came months of hollow redundancies that would inform my way of being in the world for years to come. A serial commitment to waking up each morning, remembering he was gone and dedicating the remaining hours to forgetting. To that end I would try anything, drink anything, ingest anything, inject anything. It was a slow and arbitrary suicide by indifference.

Many years later, at 25 years-old and in the midst of a pharmaceutical free-fall leaning dangerously close to terminal, I discovered that I was expecting a child, and after a decade of forgetting, I remembered. I named him Griffin after the legendary winged lion, a symbol of the divine because what he inspired and the miracle that he was, were nothing less. I remembered and I loved again, and I went on to marry and to the gift of two beautiful daughters.

Today my son is struggling not to drown in the same well of drug abuse and apathy that almost swallowed me – his great, divine wings clipped by his own hand; and while it is up to him to restore his place in the sky, I will do my best to help provide an open runway.

In the meantime, I will continue soaring for both of us; bequeathed as I have been, with a determination to fly from a boy whose ragged fate precluded that dream.

Death took one young man from me once upon a dark time. If it has any intention of coming for this one, it will have to go through me. And trust me, it will be in for one hell of a fight.

Note: If you enjoy this article, please let me know.

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Facts about the Cassava and Bamboo in the Philippines.

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