Journal articles on the topic 'Barred Olivine'

The new Cuban chondrite, Viñales, fell on February first, 2019 at Pinar del Rio, northwest of Cuba (22°37′10″N, 83°44′34″W). A total of about 50–100 kg of the meteorite were collected and the masses of individual samples are in a range 2–1100 g. Two polished thin sections were studied by optical microscope, Raman spectroscopy and electron microprobe analysis in this study. The meteorite mainly consists of olivine (Fa24.6), low-Ca pyroxene (Fs20.5), and troilite and Fe-Ni metal, with minor amounts of feldspar (Ab82.4-84.7). Three poorly metamorphosed porphyritic olivine-pyroxene and barred olivine chondrules are observed. The homogeneous chemical compositions and petrographic textures indicate that Viñales is a L6 chondrite. The Viñales has fresh black fusion crust with layered structure, indicating it experienced a high temperature of ∼1650°C during atmospheric entry. Black shock melt veins with width of 100–600 μm are pervasive in the Viñales and olivine, bronzite, and metal phases are dominate minerals of the shock melt vein. The shock features of major silicate minerals suggest a shock stage S3, partly S4, and the shock pressure could be >10 GPa.

Phytoliths are microscopic, amorphous silica or crystalline, inclusions of plant origin that can be of diagnostic value in an archaeological context. This study demonstrated that distinct phytoliths can be extracted from two major extant and ancient crop species: olive (Olea europaea L.) and grape (Vitis vinifera L.). Nonacid digestion of leaves and fruits of two Greek olive cultivars (Megareitiki and Kothreiki) and a Greek grape cultivar (Agiorgitiko) showed that olive and grape contained distinctly different calcium phytoliths and that olive fruit flesh and stone contained sclereids. Olive oil sediment from traditionally produced oil from Greece and Turkey and barrel sediment from traditional Greek red wine were found to contain phytoliths and (or) sclereids corresponding to their fruit of origin. Olive oil could therefore be distinguished from wine, making the nonacid phytolith extraction method a potentially useful alternative to chemical analysis of ancient storage jar residues. Key words: calcium and silica phytoliths, olive, grape, sediment analysis.

The NE Fennoscandian Shield comprises the Northern Belt in Finland and the Southern Belt in Karelia. They host mafic-ultramafic layered Cu-Ni-Cr and Pt-Pd-bearing intrusions. Precise U-Pb and Sm-Nd analyses indicate the 130-Ma evolution of these intrusions, with major events at 2.53, 2.50, 2.45, and 2.40 Ga. Barren phases were dated at 2.53 Ga for orthopyroxenites and olivine gabbro in the Fedorovo-Pansky massif. PGE-bearing phases of gabbronorites (Pechenga, Fedorovo-Pansky, Monchetundra massifs) and norites (Monchepluton) are 2.50 Ga old. Anorthosites of Mt. Generalskaya (Pechenga), the Fedorovo-Pansky, and Monchetundra massifs occurred at 2.45 Ga. This event produced layered PGE-bearing intrusions in Finland (Penikat, Kemi, Koitelainen) and mafic intrusions in Karelia. The Imandra lopolith dikes occurred at the final phase (2.40 Ga). Slightly negative εNd and ISr values (0.703–0.704) suggest that intrusions originated from an enriched mantle reservoir. Low 3He/4He ratios in accessory minerals (ilmenite and magnetite) indicate an upper mantle source. Large-scale correlations link the Fennoscandian Shield with the Superior and Wyoming cratons.

Chromatophoromas (cutaneous pigment cell tumors) were seen in two species of butterflyfish, Chaetodon multicinctus and Chaetodon miliaris, over an 11-year period (1976–1987) in waters off the islands of Maui, Lanai, and Molokini in the state of Hawaii. The chromatophore tumors found in the brown-barred butterflyfish, C multicinctus, were predominantly iridophoromas (characterized by the presence of birefringent olive-green crystalline pigment), while the tumors in the lemon butterflyfish, C. miliaris, were primarily melanophoromas (characterized by the presence of melanin pigment). Mixed chromatophoromas, composed of iridophores, melanophores, and undifferentiated chromatophores, were found in both species. The prevalence of chromatophoromas in C. multicinctus off the island of Maui varied from a low of 22–25% in 1976 to a high of 50% in 1987. The estimated prevalence of chromatophoromas in C. miliaris was 2.5% off the island of Molokini in 1976, and 5.0% off Lanai in 1987. The cause or causes of chromatophoromas in these two species of butterflyfish has not been determined.

The 650–621 Ma plume which impinged beneath the Siberian craton during the breakup of Rodinia caused the formation of several alkaline carbonatite massifs in craton margins of the Angara rift system. The Beloziminsky alkaline ultramafic carbonatite massif (BZM) in the Urik-Iya graben includes alnöites, phlogopite carbonatites and aillikites. The Yuzhnaya pipe (YuP) ~ 645 Ma and the 640–621 Ma aillikites in BZM, dated by 40Ar/39Ar, contain xenoliths of carbonated sulfide-bearing dunites, xenocrysts of olivines, Cr-diopsides, Cr-phlogopites, Cr-spinels (P ~ 4–2 GPa and T ~ 800–1250 °C) and xenocrysts of augites with elevated HFSE, U, Th. Al-augites and kaersutites fractionated from T ~ 1100–700 °C along the 90 mW/m2 geotherm. Higher T trend for Al-Ti augite, pargasites, Ti-biotites series (0.4–1.5 GPa) relate to intermediate magma chambers near the Moho and in the crust. Silicate xenocrysts show Zr-Hf, Ta-Nb peaks and correspond to carbonate-rich magma fractionation that possibly supplied the massif. Aillikites contain olivines, rare Cr-diopsides and oxides. The serpentinites are barren, fragments of ore-bearing Phl carbonatites contain perovskites, Ta-niobates, zircons, thorites, polymetallic sulphides and Ta-Mn-Nb-rich magnetites, ilmenites and Ta-Nb oxides. The aillikites are divided by bulk rock and trace elements into seven groups with varying HFSE and LILE due to different incorporation of carbonatites and related rocks. Apatites and perovskites reveal remarkably high LREE levels. Aillikites were generated by 1%–0.5% melting of the highly metasomatized mantle with ilmenite, perovskite apatite, sulfides and mica, enriched by subduction-related melts and fluids rich in LILE and HFSE. Additional silicate crystal fractionation increased the trace element concentrations. The carbonate-silicate P-bearing magmas may have produced the concentration of the ore components and HFSE in the essentially carbonatitic melts after liquid immiscibility in the final stage. The mechanical enrichment of aillikites in ore and trace element-bearing minerals was due to mixture with captured solid carbonatites after intrusion in the massif.

Abstract. We investigate the occurrence and chemistry of magmatic sulfides and their chalcophile metal cargo behaviour during the evolution of compositionally different magmas from diverse geodynamic settings both in mineralised and barren systems. The investigated areas are the following: (a) the Miocene Konya magmatic province (hosting the Doğanbey Cu–Mo porphyry and Inlice Au epithermal deposits, representing post-subduction) and (b) the Miocene Usak basin (Elmadag, Itecektepe, and Beydagi volcanoes, the latter associated with the Kişladağ Au porphyry in western Turkey, representing post-subduction). For comparison we also investigate (c) the barren intraplate Plio-Quaternary Kula volcanic field west of Usak. Finally, we discuss and compare all the above areas with the already studied (d) Quaternary Ecuadorian volcanic arc (host to the Miocene Llurimagua Cu–Mo and Cascabel Cu–Au porphyry deposits, representing subduction). The volcanism of the newly studied areas ranges from basalts to andesites–dacites and from high-K calc-alkaline to shoshonitic series. Multiphase magmatic sulfides occur in different amounts in rocks of all investigated areas, and, based on textural and compositional differences, they can be classified into different types according to their crystallisation at different stages of magma evolution (early versus late saturation). Our results suggest that independently of the magma composition, geodynamic setting, and association with an ore deposit, sulfide saturation occurred in all investigated magmatic systems. Those systems present similar initial metal contents of the magmas. However, not all studied areas present all sulfide types, and the sulfide composition depends on the nature of the host mineral. A decrease in the sulfide Ni∕Cu (a proxy for the monosulfide solid solution (mss) to intermediate solid solution (iss) ratio) is noted with magmatic evolution. At an early stage, Ni-richer, Cu-poorer sulfides are hosted by early crystallising minerals, e.g. olivine–pyroxene, whereas, at a later stage, Cu-rich sulfides are hosted by magnetite. The most common sulfide type in the early saturation stage is composed of a Cu-poor, Ni-rich (pyrrhotite mss) phase and one to two Cu-rich (cubanite, chalcopyrite iss) phases, making up ∼84 and ∼16 area % of the sulfide, respectively. Sulfides resulting from the late stage, consisting of Cu-rich phases (chalcopyrite, bornite, digenite iss), are hosted exclusively by magnetite and are found only in evolved rocks (andesites and dacites) of magmatic provinces associated with porphyry Cu (Konya and Ecuador) and porphyry Au (Beydagi) deposits.

The biology and larval morphology of Ceramida, a pest of olive trees in southern Spain, are described. The life-cycle is multivoltine, spanning three years in the field. Females lay eggs in the early spring, with the highest larval densities in June. Larvae feed on the root system of plants. Pupation takes place in the late summer. Adults emerge with the first autumnal rainfalls, with mating extending from September to January. Larval characters such as type of head pubescence, shape of antennal sensory areas, chaetotaxy of raster, and degree of reduction of metathoracic claws are of taxonomic value within Pachydeminae.

Abstract Since 2004, Indonesia has become an importer of fossil oil in the world and it is increase steadily year by year. Currently its production of oil is only about 857,000 barrels per day, on the other hand its consumption has increased to 1,5 million barrels per day. The raising of oil subsidy and the increase of oil consumption has pressure Indonesian economy. On the other hand, Indonesia has a potency of production of various plants to produce vegetable oils as biofuel feedstock, such as : palm, coconut, jatropha, castor, calophyllum, sunflower, corn, olive, peanut, cotton/kapok and other sources like algae and biomass. Therefore, Indonesia has to develop soon plants to produce vegetable oils to replace fossil oil. Besides that, this study also reveals the processing of biofuel by using the trans-esterification method to convert triglyceride to ester namely biodiesel. Abstrak Indonesia sejak tahun 2004 telah menjadi salah satu Negara pengimpor minyak fosil didunia yang setiap tahun meningkat. Saat ini produksi minyak Indonesia hanya berkisar 857.000 barrel per hari, sedangkan konsumsi telah mencapai 1,68 juta barrel per hari. Peningkatan subsidi minyak dan konsumsi minyak telah menekan kondisi ekonomi. Dilain pihak, Indonesia termasuk salah satu Negara penghasil beragam jenis tanaman penghasil minyak nabati sebagai bahan baku biofuel, seperti : sawit, kelapa dalam, jarak kapyar, jarak pagar, nyamplung, bunga matahari, jagung, zaitun, kacang tanah, kapas/kapok dan sumber lainnya seperti algae dan biomas. Untuk itu tidak ada pilihan lain, Indonesia harus segera mengembangkan tanaman penghasil minyak nabati sebagai pengganti minyak fosil. Disamping itu juga akan didiskusikan proses pembuatan biodiesel dari minyak nabati menggunakan metoda transesterifikasi untuk merubah trigliserida menjadi ester sebagai biodiesel.

The role of medullary gamma-aminobutyric acid A (GABAA)-receptor activation in the expression of breathing was studied in suckling opossums (Didelphis virginiana) from 4 to 8 wk of age. Animals were anesthetized with a thiobarbiturate, and the ventral medulla was exposed so that drugs could be microinjected into the medulla with a two-barrel glass micropipette. The GABAA antagonist bicuculline at approximately 1-3 pmol total dose was injected in volumes < 1 nl; injections of saline with pontamine sky blue dye were used as controls and to mark location. Breathing pattern was assessed using diaphragm electromyography (EMG). Effective sites for bicuculline microinjection were obtained in the ventrolateral medulla, with both lateral reticular and inferior olive nuclei present as rostrocaudal markers. Responses among 18 tested animals included increased duration of breaths (Ttot) and duration of inspiration (Ti). Peak amplitude of the diaphragm EMG and peak amplitude of the diaphragm/Ti were not consistently affected. Transient apnea, lasting at least 8 s, occurred in five of the animals. Control solutions did not elicit respiratory responses. These results suggest that neural circuitry in the medulla, using the neurotransmitter GABA, can have an early role in the modulation of breathing pattern.

The Faunal Reserve of the Lobéké area of south-eastern Cameroon is an important area for forest conservation. One day, it is hoped, it will be part of an international unit, in association with two protected areas in neighbouring countries (Dzanga-Ndoki National Park, Central African Republic and Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park, Congo). With a view to assessing the status of its avifauna in particular, 24 days were spent in three short surveys from 1997 to 1999. The main forest type is semi-evergreen, with an open canopy; the only natural savannas are small saline swamps. The total of 305 species of bird recorded includes a forest nightjar not yet identified (but more likely to be the rare Itombwe Nightjar Caprimulgus prigoginei than a new species) and the Dja River Warbler Bradypterus grandis. The latter is a species confined to Rhynchospora swamps and had not been re-located in Cameroon since it was first collected in 1914 west of the Dja river; the extent of suitable habitat in Lobéké makes this site the most important to date for its conservation. Other rare or little-known forest species recorded include Olive Ibis Bostrychia olivacea, Sandy Scops Owl Otus icterorhynchus, Zenker's Honeyguide Meligomon zenkeri, Tessmann's Flycatcher Muscicapa tessmanni and Yellow-capped Weaver Ploceus dorsomaculatus. Barred Owlet Glaucidium capense is locally common in open-canopy forest: this population was only recently discovered in central Africa and its taxonomic relationships have yet to be determined. We include a brief comparison with the avifauna of adjacent Dzangha-Ndoki National Park and Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park. A feature of the Lobéké avifauna is the presence of a few species normally associated with forest at higher altitudes (such as White-headed Wood Hoopoe Phoeniculus bollei, Uganda Woodland Warbler Phylloscopus budongoensis, Black-throated Apalis Apalis jacksoni), and perhaps absent from lower-lying Nouabalé-Ndoki.

The Montenegrin fauna of the superfamily Scarabaeoidea is not satisfactorily studied. This is evidenced by the small number of species from this superfamily reported from Montenegro, despite the richness of the country’s habitats, especially high-mountain meadows, pastures, lush canyons, riverside, coastal dunes and old forests. Moreover, significant is the greater number of species of scarabaeoid beetles in neighbouring countries. Therefore, we aim to supplement the current information on the distribution of the taxa of the superfamily Scarabaeoidea in the country. The presented scarabaeoid beetles were caught during three expeditions: the first in May/June 2019, the second in May/June 2021, and the third in July 2021. As a result of this study, we have collected 2130 beetles belonging to 107 species and five families of the superfamily Scarabaeoidea: Geotrupidae, Trogidae, Lucanidae, Ochodaeidae and Scarabaeidae. The 28 days of the faunistic study confirmed the occurrence in Montenegro of 54.2% of the scarabaeoid species hitherto known from this country and added 16 new species that had not been previously recorded: Odonteus armiger (Scopoli, 1772), Trox sabulosus (Linnaeus, 1758), Ochodaeus integriceps Semenov, 1891, Agrilinus convexus (Erichson, 1848), Melinopterus reyi (Reitter, 1892), M. sphacelatus (Panzer, 1798), Phalacronothus biguttatus (Germar, 1824), Trichonotulus scrofa (Fabricius, 1787), Psammodius nocturnus Reitter, 1892, Platytomus tibialis (Fabricius, 1798), Pleurophorus mediterranicus Pittino & Mariani, 1986, P. pannonicus Petrovitz, 1961, Rhyssemus berytensis Marseul, 1878, Onthophagus ovatus (Linnaeus, 1767), Rhizotrogus aestivus (Olivier, 1789) and Chaetopteroplia segetum (Herbst, 1783). Six species and three subspecies that are typical for the Balkan Peninsula were also found: Trypocopris alpinus balcanicola (Mikšić, 1954), Onthophagus panici Petrovitz, 1964, Amphimallon solstitiale simplicissimum (Müller, 1902), Omaloplia illyrica (Baraud, 1965), Triodontella dalmatica (Baraud, 1962), Chaetopteroplia segetum straminea (Brullé, 1832), Anomala matzenaueri Reitter, 1918, Exomala adriatica (Petrovitz, 1968) and Oxythyrea dulcis Reitter, 1899. Thus, the number of currently known scarabaeoid species in Montenegro has increased to 184. Twenty-four species of scarabaeoid beetles are illustrated. Our results indicate insufficient knowledge of the Scarabaeoidea of Montenegro and, at the same time, their diversity and the presence of rare species among them. High-mountain and coastal communities of coprophagic scarabaeoid beetles, as well as communities of scarabaeoid beetles inhabiting coastal dunes, are especially valuable, worthy of protection. Therefore, further research and new expeditions to Montenegro are highly desirable.

Seven sedimentary facies have been identified in a 40-m-thick portion of the Kanawha Formation near Chelyan in southern West Virginia. Lithology, sedimentary and biogenic structures, body fossils, paleocurrent patterns, and facies geometry have been used to identify the following paleoenvironments: Facies 1, fluviodeltaic channels represented by thick, cross-stratified channel sandstone; Facies 2, crevasse splays and tidal creeks represented by thin, cross-stratified wedge and channel sandstone; Facies 3, coastal swamps and lakes represented by coal seat and carbonaceous shale; Facies 4, restricted bay and upper tidal flats represented by dark-gray shale, mudstone; Facies 5, interdistributary bays represented by olive-gray siltstone and shale with brachiopods; Facies 6, bay or tidal flat scour fills represented by sandy limestone with brachiopods and pelmatozoans; and Facies 7, low to mid tidal flats and distributary mouth bars represented by thinly interbedded, rippled sandstone and siltstone.Trace fossils representing 17 ichnogenera are present with most being restricted to certain sedimentary facies. Three ichnoassemblages are recognized. 1) An annulated vertical burrow assemblage, consisting of arthropod(?) dwellings, occurs in an abandoned fluvial channel facies. 2) A Phycodes–Zoophycos assemblage is associated with dark-gray shales and mudstones of a restricted bay and/or upper tidal flat environment. Additional ichnogenera include Planolites and ?Conostichus. 3) An Olivellites assemblage with a high abundance and a high diversity of trace fossils occurs within a rippled sandstone/siltstone facies; trace fossils include (in order of abundance) Olivellites, Teichichnus, Planolites, Aulichnites, transversely ridged surface trails, Rosselia, Scolicia, Curvolithus, Helminthopsis, Tasmanadia, Petalichnus, Ancorichnus, and ?Asterosoma. The associated depositional environments are interpreted as low to mid tidal flats and possibly distributary mouth bars.The occurrence of salinity-sensitive trace fossils such as the assemblages described herein within otherwise faunally barren intervals facilitates the recognition of marine-influenced coastal facies in which stenohaline or brackish body fossils are lacking.

Abstract. While groundwater recharge is one of the most prominently covered subjects in hydrogeology, the spatial distribution of recharge has been given relatively little attention, especially in semi-arid, karstic aquifers. Under conditions of highly diverse geology, relief, vegetation and land use, the complexity and variability of spatially distributed hydrological processes remains a challenge in many regions around the world. This is particularly true for hitherto ungauged basins, such as Wadi Natuf, a 103 km2 large karstic Eastern Mediterranean watershed in the Palestinian upstream mountain and recharge area of the Western Aquifer Basin (WAB), which is shared with Israel in the coastal plain. In this first in a series of two papers, distributed recharge is estimated and represented, based on 7 years of extensive field observations and measurements and based conceptually on observable physical landscape features such as geology, land use and land cover (LU/LC) and especially soil conditions. For the first time in the WAB, a forward calculated soil moisture and percolation model (SMSP) was set up with parameters directly gained from field observations. The model was parameterised in a strictly parsimonious manner, as a one-dimensional model (a.k.a. “tank”, bucket or box model). This is based on dominant hydrological processes, in particular saturation excess in the soil column, and identifying patterns of linkage between different landscape features. Average soil thickness was encountered at the range of decimetres, rarely above one metre. Both soil thickness and LU/LC features, such as terraced olive groves or forests as well as grassland or barren rock outcrops, were found to be highly formation specific. This linkage allowed us to further simplify the model and its requirements in a realistic manner for eight soil moisture stations, chosen at six different geological formations with typical soil and LU/LC representations. The main result of the model was the determination of formation-specific recharge coefficients, spatially ranging between 0 % and almost 60 % of annual rainfall or up to 300 mm a−1 in Wadi Natuf's climate. The karstified main aquifers showed recharge coefficients (RC) above 40 % and even the less prominent slightly aquitardal local aquifers reached RC values above 30 %. The model was separately tested on two conceptual levels: on the level of basin form (soil moisture) and basin response (signatures of peak recharge and local spring discharge events) under well-controlled conditions in isolated sub-catchments. In principle, our approach is applicable in many of the scarcely gauged karstic groundwater basins around the world with a highly diverse landscape and geology.

Долины малых рек являются важным элементом ландшафтно-экологического каркаса города Волгограда. В последнее время долины рек претерпели сильную антропогенную трансформацию. Сухая Мечетка является правым притоком р. Волга. Берет начало в Городищенском районе Волгоградской области и имеет общую протяженность 18,5 км. В настоящее время, река не имеет постоянного водотока и является одной из самых загрязненных малых рек Волгоградской агломерации. Естественные древесные насаждения в долине реки практически полностью отсутствуют. В условиях аридного климата долины малых рек являются единственным местом где возможно формирование естественных лесных массивов и искусственных насаждений лесопаркового типа не требующих регулярного орошения. Сохранение и восстановление пойменных и байрачных лесных массивов позволит значительно повысить санитарно-гигиеническую, рекреационную и эстетическую ценность зеленых насаждений в долинах малых рек Волгоградской агломерации. Цель исследований – оценить современное состояние и разработать механизмы сохранения, восстановления и обогащения древесных насаждений долины реки Сухая Мечетка. Объект исследований - дендрофлора долины реки Сухой Мечетки в границах Городищенцского района Волгоградской области и Тракторозаводского района г. Волгограда от Третьей Продольной магистрали до устья реки между микрорайоном Спартановка и поселком ГЭС. В результате проведенных исследований установлено, что растительный покров долины реки Сухая Мечетка представляет собой сеть разрозненных интразональных сильно деградированных байрачных и пойменных растительных сообществ. Типичные байрачные лесные насаждения встречаются только на склонах долины в среднем течении реки. В древесных насаждениях пойменной части преобладают интродуцированные и инвазивные виды растений. Самая низкая антропогенная нагрузка на растительный покров в пределах исследуемой территории наблюдается на правом склоне долины в среднем течении реки. В верхней части склона сохранились типичные для данной зоны типчаково-ковыльные ассоциации и байрачные насаждения. Растительный покров пойменной террасы претерпел полную антропогенную трансформацию. В верхней части рядом с Третьей продольной магистралью пойма находится в многолетнем подтоплении, что привело к гибели крупного древесного массива с участием видов вяза Ulmus sp. Ниже по течению Сухая Мечетка представлена каскадом прудов, между которыми река не имеет русла. Заиливание почвы, подъем и высокая минерализация грунтовых вод привели к полному доминированию в растительном покрове Тростника южного Phragmites australis и Лоха узколистного Elaeagnus angustifolia L. В нижнем течении на территории бывших дачных участков сформировалось растительное сообщество со специфическим флористическим составом, основу которого составляют остатки плодово- ягодных насаждений. В результате проведенных исследований установлено, что многие интродуцированные виды сформировали устойчивые самовозобновляющиеся популяции, а некоторые из них (Hippophae rhamnoides L.), являются потенциально инвазивными и требуют организации дальнейших наблюдений за их расселением. Результаты исследований позволили выделить единственный участок в пойме Сухой Мечетки с небольшим естественным лесным массивом Ольхи клейкой Alnus glutinosa (L.) Gaertn., площадью 0,6 га. На территории ольшаника долина реки практически не подвергается экологической трансформации. Флористический состав древесных насаждений представлен местными аборигенными видами растений. Реконструкцию пойменных древесных насаждений предлагается начинать с восстановления ольшаников и ивняков, обладающих ярко выраженной водорегулирующей и руслоформирующей функцией. Для восстановления естественного биоразнообразия в пойменной части реки необходимо использовать местные природные виды: Иву пепельную Salix cinerea L. и Иву трехтычинковую Salix triandra L., Иву белую Salix alba L., Тополь черный Populus nigra L., Тополь белый Populus alba L. и Тополь дрожащий Populus tremula L. В нижних надпойменных террасах возможна посадка Дуба черешчатого Quercus robur L., Ясеня обыкновенного Fraxinus excelsior L., Яблони лесной Malus sylvestris (L.) Mill., Бересклета бородавчатого Euonymus verrucosus Scop., Жостера слабительного Rhamnus cathartica L., Сливы колючей Prunus spinosa L.. На верхних террасах и на склонах балок необходимо высаживать: Боярышник сомнительный Crataegus ambigua C.A.Mey. ex A.K.Becker, Боярышник однопестичный Crataegus monogyna Jacq., Клен татарский Acer tataricum L., Розу собачью Rosa canina L., Миндаль низкий Amygdalus nana L., Спирею зверобоелистную Spiraea hypericifolia L., Чингиль серебристый Halimodendron halodendron Pall. и др. При проведении работ по экологической реабилитации, в первую очередь необходимо обеспечить сохранность естественных природных растительных комплексов. Проектирование и устройство противоэрозионных лесозащитных насаждений на верхних террасах долины реки необходимо проводить с учетом инвазивной активности используемых видов в целях предотвращения их активного внедрения в естественные байрачные сообщества. Small river valleys are an important element of the landscape and environmental framework of the city of Volgograd. Recently, river valleys have undergone a strong anthropogenic transformation. The Sukhaya Mechetka is a right tributary of the Volga River. It originates in the Gorodishchensky District of the Volgograd Region and has a total length of 18.5 km. Currently, the river has no permanent watercourse and is one of the most polluted small rivers of the Volgograd agglomeration. Natural tree plantations in the river valley are almost completely absent. In an arid climate, small river valleys are the only place where it is possible to form natural forests and artificial plantations of the forest-park type that do not require regular irrigation. Conservation and restoration of floodplain and ravine forests will significantly increase the sanitary, recreational, and aesthetic value of green spaces in the small river valleys in the Volgograd agglomeration. The purpose of the research is to assess the current state and develop mechanisms for preserving, restoring, and enriching tree plantations in the Sukhaya Mechetka River valley. The object of research is the forest flora of the Sukhaya Mechetka River valley within the boundaries of the Gorodishchensky District of the Volgograd Region and the Traktorozavodskoy District of Volgograd from the Third Longitudinal Highway to the mouth of the river between the Spartanovka Microdistrict and the GES Settlement. As a result of the conducted research, it was found that the vegetation cover of the Sukhaya Mechetka River valley is a network of scattered intrazonal highly degraded ravine and floodplain plant communities. Typical ravine forest plantations are found only on the slopes of the valley in the middle reaches of the river. Introduced and invasive plant species predominate in the woodlands of the floodplain. The lowest anthropogenic load on vegetation within the study area is observed on the right slope of the valley in the middle reaches of the river. In the upper part of the slope, typical sheep fescue – needlegrass associations and ravine plantings have been preserved. The vegetation cover of the floodplain terrace has undergone a complete anthropogenic transformation. In the upper part, near the Third Longitudinal Highway, the floodplain is in long-term flooding, which resulted in the death of a large forest area containing the elm species Ulmus sp. Downstream, the Sukhaya Mechetka is represented by a cascade of ponds, between which the river has no channel. The siltation of the soil, rise and high mineralization of groundwater led to the complete domination in the vegetation cover of common reed (Phragmites australis) and Russian olive (Elaeagnus angustifolia L.). In the lower reaches of the former suburban areas, a plant community with a specific floral composition has formed, the basis of which is the remains of fruit and berry plantations. As a result of the conducted research, it was found that many introduced species formed stable self-renewing populations, and some of them (Hippophae rhamnoides L.) are potentially invasive and require further observations of their settlement. The results of the research made it possible to identify a single area in the Sukhaya Mechetka floodplain with a small natural forest of black alder Alnus glutinosa (L.) Gaertn. with an area of 0.6 ha. In the alder forest area, the river valley is almost not subject to environmental transformation. The floral composition of tree stands is represented by local native plant species. It is proposed to begin the reconstruction of floodplain tree plantations with the restoration of alders and willows, which have a pronounced water-regulating and channel-forming function. To restore natural biodiversity in the floodplain part of the river, it is necessary to use local natural species: grey willow Salix cinerea L., almond willow Salix triandra L., white willow Salix alba L., black poplar Populus nigra L., white poplar Populus alba L. and common aspen Populus tremula L. In the lower terraces above the floodplain, it is possible to plant pedunculate oak Quercus robur L., common ash Fraxinus excelsior L., European crab apple Malus sylvestris (L.) Mill, warty-barked spindle tree. Euonymus verrucosus Scop., common buckthorn Rhamnus cathartica L., and blackthorn Prunus spinosa L. On the upper terraces and ravine slopes, it is required to plant Russian hawthorn Crataegus ambigua C.A. Mey. ex A.K. Becker, common hawthorn Crataegus monogyna Jacq., Tatar maple Acer tataricum L., dog rose Rosa canina L., dwarf Russian almond Amygdalus nana L., Iberian spirea Spiraea hypericifolia L., Russian salt tree Halimodendron halodendron Pall., etc. When carrying out environmental rehabilitation, first of all, it is necessary to ensure the safety of natural plant complexes. The design and construction of anti-erosion forest protection stands on the upper terraces of the river valley should be carried out taking into account the invasive activity of the species used in order to prevent their active introduction into natural ravine communities.

The paper discusses the geochemistry of major (EPMA) and trace (SIMS) elements in olivine of porphyritic, nonporphyritic chondrules, and the matrix of equilibrated ordinary chondrite Saratov (L4). Olivine corresponds to forsterite and is rather heterogeneous (Fo 73-77). No differences in the content of the major elements in the olivine of the chondrule and the matrix of the meteorite were found. However, the content of major and trace elements in olivine within chondrules varies considerably; high values found in olivine from barred chondrules. Olivine from porphyritic chondrules and the matrix of the Saratov meteorite have similar concentrations of trace elements. High concentrations of refractory (Zr, Y, Al) and moderately volatile (Sr and Ba) trace elements in barred olivine chondrule indicate the chondrule melt formation due to the melting of precursor minerals and its rapid cooling in the protoplanetary disk, which is consistent with the experimental data. The olivine of the chondrules center of the Saratov meteorite differs from the olivine of the chondrules rims and meteorite matrix by the increased values of the Yb/La ratio. No relict grains and magnesian cores of olivine were found in meteorite chondrules. Individual grains in the chondrules are distinguished by their enrichment in trace elements relative to the rest of the olivine grains in the chondrule.

A model is developed that recognizes genetic links between almost all meteorites. The model is based on processes that were active in the solar nebula. The most important processes identified are: (1) early part to total evaporation of presolar matter; (2) recondensation beginning with olivine followed by other phases; (3) aggregation of the condensates to millimetre-sized objects during condensation; (4) partial or total compaction of early aggregates by continuing condensation preferentially utilizing the aggregate’s pore space; (5) a second heating event leading to sintering and partial melting of the aggregates (chondrule formation) and mild vapour fractionation; (6) vapour—solid exchange reactions introducing Fe 2+ (and other elements) into the silicates (‘equilibration’ via metasomatism) and forming FeS via S-metasomatism; (7) depending on conditions, centimetre-sized aggregates of early aggregates form either before or while processes (4)-(7) are active, or later. This process can continue to form decimetre-sized aggregates; (8) accretion takes place at very low temperatures with condensation of volatile elements still continuing; (9) some matter experienced H 2 O- and CO 2 -metasomatism (formation of phyllosilicates and carbonates) and almost total oxidation before accretion (Cl, C2). The typical early condensate is olivine, which displays different growth features depending on physical conditions. Common are ‘barred’ olivines (greater than 200 pm), huge (100 pm) subparallel stacks of olivine platelets and small stacks (10-50 pm) of similar platelets. These olivines have highly defective lattices and contain large amounts of minor elements (including refractory lithophile elements). Depending on growth rate and particle abundance, primitive olivines aggregate to millimetre-sized objects (the protoliths of chondrite constituents) or centimetre-sized aggregates. Formation of large aggregates apparently takes place when the condensation rate is high. This quickly leads to compaction of the aggregates and highly reduced pore space. These aggregates will ultimately end up in ureilites and pallasites. Slower growth rates produce smaller aggregates (millimetre-sized) with abundant pore space which serves as a cold trap for the condensation of the volatile elements. Olivine is partly converted into pyroxene by reaction with the vapour (formation of poikilitic pyroxenes). Pyroxene and olivine abundances will vary depending on reaction time and other parameters. The pore space will also be highly variable. Moderately volatile elements condense into this pore space with their abundance governed by the space available. In this manner, the protoliths for chondrules formed. The chemical fractionations observed in meteoritic constituents can be accounted for mostly by physical parameters: (1) the main condensing phase and the pore space provided by the aggregates; (2) the timing of formation of aggregates of aggregates and of the closure of pore space (physical isolation of aggregate interiors); (3) reprocessing of aggregates in a high temperature event; (4) metasomatic exchange reactions between solid aggregates and vapour; (5) isolation of aggregates from vapour via shielding by condensates (e.g. metal) or physical removal; (6) timing and rate of final accretion; (7) degree of mixing with solar and presolar dust.

Abstract Olivine is an important mineral in mafic–ultramafic rocks and records various crustal and mantle processes in basaltic magma. Generally, phosphorus (P) is immobile in olivine and its zoning tends to record magmatic processes. In contrast, lithium (Li) is one of the most mobile elements in olivine and tends to be re-distributed by postcumulus to hydrothermal processes. This study reports coupled Li-P oscillatory and sector zoning in cumulus olivine (Fo &gt; 80 mol%) from magmatic Ni-Cu deposits in northwest China. The close to 1:1 relationship between Li + Na cation and P cation in olivine suggests P substitutes for slowly diffusing Si at the tetrahedral site and Li (Na) substitutes for Mg at the octahedral metal site. The preservation of such coupled Li-P zoning suggests that the charge-balanced–controlled substitution of Li+P5+ for Mg2+Si4+, producing a member of the Li(Fe)PO4 structure, may cause sluggish Li diffusion in olivine. The Li-P zoning is uncorrelated to other elements (Fe, Mg, Cr, Al, Ca, Ti, V, Ni, Zn, Mn, Co, and Sc). The Ca abundances in cumulus olivine are significantly depleted relative to those in volcanic olivine and modeled for olivine using the rhyolite–MELTS program, whereas the Mg, Fe, Mn, Zn, Ni, and Co contents show no signs of depletion. The Cr and Al contents in high Fo olivine are lower than those in volcanic olivine with a similar Fo value. The depletions in Ca, Cr, and Al (both divalent and trivalent cations) have been attributed to post-crystallization re-equilibration processes. We suggest that the selective Ca-Cr depletion in olivine resulted from re-equilibration between olivine and clinopyroxene–orthopyroxene–spinel–melts at the postcumulus stage, whereas the Al content variation in olivine is likely controlled by olivine–spinel (pyroxene) re-equilibration. Olivine fractionation modeling results reveal that Co content in both olivine and sulfides changes slightly during evolution, whereas the olivine Ni/Co ratio decreases dramatically from 30 (at Fo90) to 4 (Fo80). These are consistent with the variation of Ni and Co contents in olivine from sulfide-barren rocks but cannot explain the strong positive Ni-Co correlation observed in olivine from the sulfide-bearing rocks. The considerable increase in the Ni/Co ratio in olivine coexisting with the high Ni tenor sulfide compared with the slight increase of the Ni/Co ratio in olivine coexisting with moderate-low Ni tenor sulfide strongly suggests that the Ni and Co contents and Ni/Co ratio in olivine from the mineralized rocks were the results of olivine–sulfide interaction. The olivine Fe/Zn and Mn/Zn ratios show little difference between sulfide-barren and sulfide-rich rocks, but these ratios decrease considerably with the decreasing Fo values. Overall, the study suggests that elements (Ca, Cr, Al, Mg, Fe, Ni, Co, Zn, etc.) diffuse faster than P have been re-distributed in cumulus olivine by re-equilibration processes, modifying the elemental content and inter-element ratios in olivine. The characteristics of the crystallization, particularly the source recorded in cumulus olivine, may be obscured and overprinted by postcumulus processes.

Forests, which account for a third of the world's land surface, are of vital importance for plenty of living organisms as a natural habitat. In addition to economic contribution, a variety of main characteristics, such as biodiversity, erosion prevention, carbon absorption, sustainability of water resources, landscape and aesthetic appearance increase the crucial value of forests. Forests, which are one of the essential zones that need to be protected for the future of the world, are damaged by many biotic and abiotic factors, and some of them are in danger of extinction. It is known that insects, one of the biotic factors, cause significant damage for some years depending on ecological conditions, and are also vectors of some fungal disease agents. This study was conducted to determine the harmful insects that cause drying in the oak and wild cherry trees in Emirgan Grove of Sarıyer district, one of the most important recreation areas in Istanbul, Turkey's most populous metropolitan city, as well as the beneficial insect species found in this area between 2017 and 2018. Insects that make sawdust on the stems of drying trees, mostly English oak (Quercus robur L.), were obtained from the barks of trunks and galleries, which were up to 2 meters above ground level. Among the insect species obtained, Scolytus mali (Bechstein, 1805), Scolytus scolytus (Fabricius, 1775), Xyleborus monographus (Fabricius, 1792), Xyleborinus saxesenii (Ratzeburg, 1837) (Coleoptera, Curculionidae, Scolytinae), Platypus cylindrus (Fabricius,1792) (Col.: Platypodidae) harmful beetle species, Corticeus fasciatus (Fabricius, 1790) (Coleoptera: Tenebrionidae), Aulonium ruficorne (Olivier, 1790), Colydium elongatum (Fabricius, 1787) (Coleoptera: Colydiidae), Rhizophagus depressus (Fabricius, 1793) (Coleoptera: Rhizophagidae) and Epuraea sp. (Coleoptera: Nitidulidae have been identified as predatory species.

Abstract The Eagle’s Nest Ni-Cu-(platinum group element; PGE) deposit occurs within the 2.73 Ga Esker intrusive complex of the Ring of Fire intrusive suite in the McFaulds Lake greenstone belt of northern Ontario. Mineralization occurs along the northern margin of a formerly ~500-m-high, ~85-m-thick, &gt;1,500-m-long subvertical structurally rotated blade-shaped dike composed of harzburgite, lherzolite, and wehrlite. Three sulfide textural facies are present (percentage as proportion of total mineralization): (1) disseminated (~5%), (2) net texture (~80%), and (3) semimassive to massive (~15%). Five subfacies of net texture have been identified: (1) bimodal olivine-bearing leopard net texture (~50%), (2) inclusion net texture (~5%), (3) orthopyroxene-bearing pinto net texture (&lt;1%), (4) localized zones of disrupted net texture (~30%) containing 3- to 5-cm-thick zones of barren amoeboid crosscutting pyroxenite, and (5) fine-grained patchy net texture (~15%). All textural facies are characterized by typical magmatic pyrrhotite-pentlandite-chalcopyrite-(platinum group mineral) assemblages. Massive sulfides are localized in two embayments along the basal contact separated by a topographic high, grading upward to rare semimassive, laterally more continuous net-textured, and disseminated sulfides, with gradational contacts between all textures except massive. Similar mean ore tenors of different sulfide textural facies (Ni100 ~7.5, Cu100 ~4.8), suggest that the majority of the mineralization formed from similar magma compositions at similar magma/sulfide ratios, but the presence of different inclusion populations (peridotite, gabbro, chromitite) and the presence of disrupted net texture indicates that the olivine, inclusions, and sulfide melts accumulated from multiple pulses in a dynamic system. The smaller, blade-shaped, sulfide-rich, chromite-poor Eagle’s Nest body does not appear to be the feeder to the overlying larger, oblate, sulfide-poor, chromite-rich Double Eagle body. This highlights the need to understand the fluid dynamics of entire plumbing systems when exploring for these deposit types and the significance of smaller, more dynamic magmatic conduits as environments favorable for Ni-Cu-(PGE) mineralization.

Abstract The chemical characteristics of magmatic Ni-Cu sulfide deposits in orogenic settings differs from those in cratons as they are characterized by extensive alteration, presence of hydrous minerals, and typical normal mantle sulfur isotopes. How these characteristics are related to the mode of formation of the Ni-Cu sulfide deposits is still unknown. Here, we present petrological and mineralogical investigations of the Hongqiling Ni-Cu sulfide deposit, a typical representative of such numerous deposits in the Central Asian Orogenic Belt. Observations at various scales of field outcrops, hand specimens, thin sections and microscopes reveal that alterations are selectively exposed in silicate minerals, particularly olivine and pyroxenes that are close to ore bodies and sulfides. Such selective alteration is also related to sulfide type and abundance, and ore texture in the rocks/ores. It is worth noting that alteration of olivine and pyroxenes becomes weak when hydrous minerals (hornblende and phlogopite) are present. Profile analyses demonstrate that the olivine grains enclosed in or in contact with sulfides have compositional zonation with Fe, Mn, Sc and Zn concentrations higher in closer to the contacts with sulfides relative to the cores and contacts with other silicates, while those grains in sulfide-barren rocks show relatively homogeneous compositions. Similarly, the hornblende grains in contact with sulfide show distinctly compositional variations. Sulfides in rocks and ores are all free of alteration and have mantle-like sulfur isotopic compositions (pyrrhotite δ34S = -1.53 to 0.38 ‰; pentlandite δ34S = -1.28 to 0.25 ‰; chalcopyrite δ34S = -1.77 to 0.24 ‰). These features suggest that the selective alterations occurring in early crystallized phases were induced by sulfide melt intrusion and crystallization, instead of late-stage processes as previously thought. The sulfide melts segregated at the early stage of the magma evolution were presumably hydrous and buoyant in the silicate magma and therefore were transported upward and penetrated into silicate grains. The hydrous fluids were independent of the subducted material and metamorphic origin, and contained no significant crustal component in the late Triassic. Finally, when sulfides crystallized, fluids would be released from the sulfide melts to hydrate surrounding mineral phases and rocks, because sulfides theoretically don’t accommodate hydrous components. The fluids also enhanced compositional exchanges between sulfides and silicates and accounted for the crystallization of hydrous minerals. From this perspective, fluids play a critical role in sulfide melt transportation and silicate compositional alteration, and selective alteration can be considered as a significant indicator of mineralization and exploration in mafic-ultramafic intrusions.

Abstract Magmatic Ni-Cu-platinum group element (PGE)-Te mineralization in the Gondpipri mafic-ultramafic layered intrusion of ca. 3323 ± 74 Ma age, western Bastar craton, central India, is one of the most prospective exploration targets for magmatic sulfides in India. The Gondpipri layered intrusion is divided into two distinct group of rocks based on their mineralization potential, which includes (1) mineralized layered gabbro and pyroxenite and (2) a barren olivine gabbro intrusion. The host rocks show Cu + Ni concentrations up to 5,000 ppm with a Cu/Ni ratio &lt;1 and all platinum group element (PGE) values between 0.1 and 1.1 ppm. Mineralization occurs in two modes: type I mineralization occurring as blebs, specks, and dissemination and type II mineralization occurring as stringers and minor veins. The geochemical data suggest that the parental magma of the host rock was generated at depths between spinel and garnet peridotite mantle source regions and subsequently modified by assimilation fractional crystallization (AFC) of the continental crust. High large ion lithophile elements, Th/Yb ratios of the studied rocks, and Sm-Nd isotope studies are consistent with a depleted mantle source. The geochemical proxies such as Th versus Ba/Th and (Ta/La)PM versus (Hf/Sm)PM and higher Sr/Nd (2.21–82.58) ratios indicate involvement of fluid-related subduction metasomatism and enrichment processes in an island-arc tectonic setting. Mineral assemblages and textural relationship between platinum group minerals (PGMs) and base metal sulfides suggest that sulfide-silicate liquid immiscibility was brought about by the precipitation of magnetite/Cr magnetite resulting in sulfide saturation in the melt by decreasing S solubility. Sulfur isotope compositions (δ34S: 1.61–3.30‰) and Sm-Nd geochemistry suggest that the sulfur was added in the tholeiitic magma by magmatic process. Crustal contamination played a significant role in sulfide saturation and in bringing about PGE and Te, As, Bi, Sb, Se (TABS) mineralization. PGM-NiTeBi developed at relatively low temperatures, where moncheite (PtPd)Te2 and merenskyite (PdTe) were formed at 650°C. The identification of Ni-Cu-PGM-Te in the margin of the western Bastar craton boosts deeper subsurface exploration.

Coffee (Coffea arabica L.) is one of the most important agricultural commodities in the world market. As an important cash crop in China, coffee is cultivated mainly in Yunnan and Hainan provinces. During October 2013 and September 2020, coffee trees showing typical dieback and wilt symptoms were found in Nanping town (N 22° 38', E 101° 0'), Pu’er, and Puwen town (N 22° 32', E 101° 4'), Xishuangbanna in Yunnan province, China. Symptomatic trees initially exhibited yellowing of foliage, expanding in size along the leaf margin, then became blighted and dry, and the internal xylem in main stem discolored brown to black. Infected trees eventually developed dieback and wilt. Disease incidence ranged from 10% to 22% and 25% to 40% of crown symptoms in the affected coffee trees. In extreme cases, 50% out of 380 trees were affected. The stems of coffee trees with typical symptoms were collected, and then the diseased tissues were surface disinfected with 75% ethanol for 30 s and 0.1% mercuric chloride (HgCl2) solution for 2 min, rinsed three times with sterile distilled water, plated onto potato dextrose agar (PDA) medium, and incubated at 25°C. After 6 days, fungal mycelium was observed growing from the tissue. Three isolates (C3-1, C3-2, and C3-2-1) were obtained by picking spore masses from the apices of perithecia and transferring them to malt extract agar (MEA) medium and incubated at 25°C for 10 days to observe the cultural features. In culture, colonies reaching 65 mm within 10 days, mycelium initially white, then becoming light blue-green. After 6 days of formation, perithecia were black, globose (123.8 - 173.4 μm × 138.2 - 180.6 μm), and showed a long black neck (414.2 - 650.0 μm). Ascospores with outer cell wall forming a brim, hat-shaped, accumulating in a mucilaginous mass at the tips of ostiolar hyphae (4.3 μm × 6.0 μm). Cylindrical endoconidia (14.1 - 45.2 μm × 3.5 - 5.7 μm) were hyaline. Chain of barrel-shaped conidia (6.6 - 10.2 μm × 6.8 - 8.8 μm) were found. Aleuroconidia (10.8 - 16.9 μm × 9.1 - 13.0 μm) were olive-brown, ovoid or obpyriform, and smooth. Morphological characteristics of the fungus were consistent with the description of Ceratocystis fimbriata Ellis & Halst. (Engelbrecht and Harrington 2005). The three isolates were used for molecular identification, and their genomic DNA was extracted using the chelex-100 method (Xu et al. 2020). The internal transcribed spacer (ITS) region of rDNA was sequenced using the procedures of Thorpe et al. (2005). Analysis of the ITS sequence data (GenBank accessions KY580836, KJ511480, and KJ511479) showed that the isolates were 100% homologous to isolates of C. fimbriata from Punica granatum, Camellia sinensis, and Cucumis sativus in China (GenBank accessions KY580891, KY580870, and MH535909, respectively) by BLAST analysis. Neighbor-joining (NJ) phylogenetic analysis was performed using MEGA 6.06 based on the ITS sequences. The three isolates were clustered on the same clade with other C. fimbriata isolates with a high bootstrap value (90%). Therefore, the fungus was identified as C. fimbriata based on both morphological and molecular characteristics. Pathogenicity of the three isolates was tested by inoculating one-year-old pot grown coffee seedlings (C. arabica) through drenching the loams with 30 ml spore suspension (1 × 106 spores/ml). Control plants were inoculated with 30 ml of sterile distilled water. The trees were kept in a controlled greenhouse at 25°C and watered weekly. One month after inoculation, all inoculated plants produced typical dieback and wilt symptoms, whereas the control trees showed no symptoms. The same fungus was isolated from the inoculated trees on PDA and identified as C. fimbriata according to the methods described above, and no fungal growth was observed in the controls, thus fulfilling the Koch's postulates. Coffee canker disease caused by C. fimbriata has been reported in Indonesia and Colombia (Marin et al. 2003). To our knowledge, this is the first report of C. fimbriata causing canker disease of coffee trees in China.

Calotropis gigantea belongs to the family Asclepiadaceae, native to Asia and commonly known as crown flower. C. gigantea was identified as an important medicinal plant in Asia and also harvested to obtain the fibres from the stem (Ganeshan et al. 2018; Narayanasamy et al. 2020). In April 2021, a quick wilt epidemic of C. gigantea was observed in District Gujranwala (32°05'58.0"N 74°02'38.0"E) Punjab, Pakistan. The wilt symptoms were very severe on mature plants with 60% disease incidence. Affected plants exhibited yellowing and quick wilting of leaves on each branch that eventually spread to the whole plant (Figure 1). Black patches were observed on the stem bark and cross section of infected stem showed black streaks in the xylem. The samples (n=33) were collected from symptomatic plants. Infected tissues were excised into 4-5mm segments, surface disinfested with 1% NaClO and rinsed 3 times with sterilized distilled water. To induce the sporulation of the fungus, the described carrot baiting method of Moller et al., (1968) was used. Single ascoma from carrot baits were picked under a microscope and transferred to malt extract agar (MEA) medium and incubated at 25°C. Purified cultures were obtained by single spore culture method and all the isolates were preserved with 35% glycerol at -80°C. The fungal colony was greyish olive with overripe banana odour. Hyphae were smooth and segmented. The perithecia were globose, black, measuring 190.27 to 257.34 × 186.11 to 243.24 µm, and showed a long black neck (732 to 977.34 µm). Cylindrical conidia (9.46 to 22.97 µm × 2.7 to 5.41 µm), barrel-shaped conidia (6.34 to 7.95× 8.15-10.41 µm) and chlamydospores (7.65-11.38µm×10.17-16.81µm) were observed (Figure 2). The isolates were identified as Ceratocystis fimbriata based on morphology and similar results were reported by Engelbrecht et al. (2005) and Suwandi et al. (2021). Genomic DNA was extracted from all isolates and multi-locus sequence analysis approach was used for molecular identification. The Internal Transcribed Spacers (ITS) region, the Translation Elongation Factor 1-α gene (TEF) and β-tubulin gene (TUB) were amplified using ITS1/4 (White et al. 1990), EF1-728F/ EF1-986R (Carbone et at. 1999) and βt1a/βt1b (Glass and Donaldson, 1995). Based on the BLAST analysis, all isolates were identified as C. fimbriata. The sequences of the representative isolate AK-W17 were submitted to the GenBank, NCBI database with the accession numbers (ITS:MZ711226), (TEF: MZ714595) and (TUB:MZ714596) showing 100% similarity with AF395687(ITS), MG980731(TEF) and AY177227(TUB) accessions of C. fimbriata. Based on Sequences similarity, representative isolate AK-W17 grouped with the isolates which representing C. fimbriata. Pathogenicity test was conducted on healthy C. gigantea seedlings grown in pots. A fungal mycelium plug (4×4mm) from 15 days old culture of AK-W17 was inserted into a slit (5 × 8 mm and made by puncturing the bark surface) in the stem bark, and the artificial wound was covered with wetted tissue paper and secured with Parafilm to maintain humidity, while control treatment was inoculated with only MEA medium plug. The seedlings were incubated under 70% relative humidity (RH) and 28°C in greenhouse. After 24 days, the inoculated seedlings showed 100% wilting identical to the original plant from which they were isolated (Figure 3). The control treatment had no symptoms. The pathogenic fungus was reisolated and identifies as C. fimbriata based on morphological and molecular characterization. C. fimbriata has been also reported to cause wilt disease in Dalbergia sissoo (Harrington et al. 2015) and pomegranate (Alam et al. 2017) in Pakistan. To our knowledge, this is the first report of C. fimbriata to cause C. gigantea quick wilt in Pakistan. C. fimbriata is one of the most aggressive plant pathogens and rapidly spread worldwide, so it is critical to implement appropriate management practices to reduce the fungus attack on plants.

In Ireland today, we eat more pigmeat per capita, approximately 32.4 kilograms, than any other meat, yet you very seldom if ever see a pig (C.S.O.). Fat and flavour are two words that are synonymous with pig meat, yet scientists have spent the last thirty years cross breeding to produce leaner, low-fat pigs. Today’s pig professionals prefer to use the term “pig finishing” as opposed to the more traditional “pig fattening” (Tuite). The pig evokes many themes in relation to cuisine. Charles Lamb (1775-1834), in his essay Dissertation upon Roast Pig, cites Confucius in attributing the accidental discovery of the art of roasting to the humble pig. The pig has been singled out by many cultures as a food to be avoided or even abhorred, and Harris (1997) illustrates the environmental effect this avoidance can have by contrasting the landscape of Christian Albania with that of Muslim Albania.This paper will focus on the pig in Irish cuisine and culture from ancient times to the present day. The inspiration for this paper comes from a folklore tale about how Saint Martin created the pig from a piece of fat. The story is one of a number recorded by Seán Ó Conaill, the famous Kerry storyteller and goes as follows:From St Martin’s fat they were made. He was travelling around, and one night he came to a house and yard. At that time there were only cattle; there were no pigs or piglets. He asked the man of the house if there was anything to eat the chaff and the grain. The man replied there were only the cattle. St Martin said it was a great pity to have that much chaff going to waste. At night when they were going to bed, he handed a piece of fat to the servant-girl and told her to put it under a tub, and not to look at it at all until he would give her the word next day. The girl did so, but she kept a bit of the fat and put it under a keeler to find out what it would be.When St Martin rose next day he asked her to go and lift up the tub. She lifted it up, and there under it were a sow and twelve piglets. It was a great wonder to them, as they had never before seen pig or piglet.The girl then went to the keeler and lifted it, and it was full of mice and rats! As soon as the keeler was lifted, they went running about the house searching for any hole that they could go into. When St Martin saw them, he pulled off one of his mittens and threw it at them and made a cat with that throw. And that is why the cat ever since goes after mice and rats (Ó Conaill).The place of the pig has long been established in Irish literature, and longer still in Irish topography. The word torc, a boar, like the word muc, a pig, is a common element of placenames, from Kanturk (boar’s head) in West Cork to Ros Muc (headland of pigs) in West Galway. The Irish pig had its place in literature well established long before George Orwell’s English pig, Major, headed the dictatorship in Animal Farm. It was a wild boar that killed the hero Diarmaid in the Fenian tale The Pursuit of Diarmaid and Gráinne, on top of Ben Bulben in County Sligo (Mac Con Iomaire). In Ancient and Medieval Ireland, wild boars were hunted with great fervour, and the prime cuts were reserved for the warrior classes, and certain other individuals. At a feast, a leg of pork was traditionally reserved for a king, a haunch for a queen, and a boar’s head for a charioteer. The champion warrior was given the best portion of meat (Curath Mhir or Champions’ Share), and fights often took place to decide who should receive it. Gantz (1981) describes how in the ninth century tale The story of Mac Dathó’s Pig, Cet mac Matach, got supremacy over the men of Ireland: “Moreover he flaunted his valour on high above the valour of the host, and took a knife in his hand and sat down beside the pig. “Let someone be found now among the men of Ireland”, said he, “to endure battle with me, or leave the pig for me to divide!”It did not take long before the wild pigs were domesticated. Whereas cattle might be kept for milk and sheep for wool, the only reason for pig rearing was as a source of food. Until the late medieval period, the “domesticated” pigs were fattened on woodland mast, the fruit of the beech, oak, chestnut and whitethorn, giving their flesh a delicious flavour. So important was this resource that it is acknowledged by an entry in the Annals of Clonmacnoise for the year 1038: “There was such an abundance of ackornes this yeare that it fattened the pigges [runts] of pigges” (Sexton 45). In another mythological tale, two pig keepers, one called ‘friuch’ after the boars bristle (pig keeper to the king of Munster) and the other called ‘rucht’ after its grunt (pig keeper to the king of Connacht), were such good friends that the one from the north would bring his pigs south when there was a mast of oak and beech nuts in Munster. If the mast fell in Connacht, the pig-keeper from the south would travel northward. Competitive jealousy sparked by troublemakers led to the pig keepers casting spells on each other’s herds to the effect that no matter what mast they ate they would not grow fat. Both pig keepers were practised in the pagan arts and could form themselves into any shape, and having been dismissed by their kings for the leanness of their pig herds due to the spells, they eventually formed themselves into the two famous bulls that feature in the Irish Epic The Táin (Kinsella).In the witty and satirical twelfth century text, The Vision of Mac Conglinne (Aisling Mhic Conglinne), many references are made to the various types of pig meat. Bacon, hams, sausages and puddings are often mentioned, and the gate to the fortress in the visionary land of plenty is described thus: “there was a gate of tallow to it, whereon was a bolt of sausage” (Jackson).Although pigs were always popular in Ireland, the emergence of the potato resulted in an increase in both human and pig populations. The Irish were the first Europeans to seriously consider the potato as a staple food. By 1663 it was widely accepted in Ireland as an important food plant and by 1770 it was known as the Irish Potato (Mac Con Iomaire and Gallagher). The potato transformed Ireland from an under populated island of one million in the 1590s to 8.2 million in 1840, making it the most densely populated country in Europe. Two centuries of genetic evolution resulted in potato yields growing from two tons per acre in 1670 to ten tons per acre in 1800. A constant supply of potato, which was not seen as a commercial crop, ensured that even the smallest holding could keep a few pigs on a potato-rich diet. Pat Tuite, an expert on pigs with Teagasc, the Irish Agricultural and Food Development Authority, reminded me that the potatoes were cooked for the pigs and that they also enjoyed whey, the by product of both butter and cheese making (Tuite). The agronomist, Arthur Young, while travelling through Ireland, commented in 1770 that in the town of Mitchelstown in County Cork “there seemed to be more pigs than human beings”. So plentiful were pigs at this time that on the eve of the Great Famine in 1841 the pig population was calculated to be 1,412,813 (Sexton 46). Some of the pigs were kept for home consumption but the rest were a valuable source of income and were shown great respect as the gentleman who paid the rent. Until the early twentieth century most Irish rural households kept some pigs.Pork was popular and was the main meat eaten at all feasts in the main houses; indeed a feast was considered incomplete without a whole roasted pig. In the poorer holdings, fresh pork was highly prized, as it was only available when a pig of their own was killed. Most of the pig was salted, placed in the brine barrel for a period or placed up the chimney for smoking.Certain superstitions were observed concerning the time of killing. Pigs were traditionally killed only in months that contained the letter “r”, since the heat of the summer months caused the meat to turn foul. In some counties it was believed that pigs should be killed under the full moon (Mahon 58). The main breed of pig from the medieval period was the Razor Back or Greyhound Pig, which was very efficient in converting organic waste into meat (Fitzgerald). The killing of the pig was an important ritual and a social occasion in rural Ireland, for it meant full and plenty for all. Neighbours, who came to help, brought a handful of salt for the curing, and when the work was done each would get a share of the puddings and the fresh pork. There were a number of days where it was traditional to kill a pig, the Michaelmas feast (29 September), Saint Martins Day (11 November) and St Patrick’s Day (17 March). Olive Sharkey gives a vivid description of the killing of the barrow pig in rural Ireland during the 1930s. A barrow pig is a male pig castrated before puberty:The local slaughterer (búistéir) a man experienced in the rustic art of pig killing, was approached to do the job, though some farmers killed their own pigs. When the búistéirarrived the whole family gathered round to watch the killing. His first job was to plunge the knife in the pig’s heart via the throat, using a special knife. The screeching during this performance was something awful, but the animal died instantly once the heart had been reached, usually to a round of applause from the onlookers. The animal was then draped across a pig-gib, a sort of bench, and had the fine hairs on its body scraped off. To make this a simple job the animal was immersed in hot water a number of times until the bristles were softened and easy to remove. If a few bristles were accidentally missed the bacon was known as ‘hairy bacon’!During the killing of the pig it was imperative to draw a good flow of blood to ensure good quality meat. This blood was collected in a bucket for the making of puddings. The carcass would then be hung from a hook in the shed with a basin under its head to catch the drip, and a potato was often placed in the pig’s mouth to aid the dripping process. After a few days the carcass would be dissected. Sharkey recalls that her father maintained that each pound weight in the pig’s head corresponded to a stone weight in the body. The body was washed and then each piece that was to be preserved was carefully salted and placed neatly in a barrel and hermetically sealed. It was customary in parts of the midlands to add brown sugar to the barrel at this stage, while in other areas juniper berries were placed in the fire when hanging the hams and flitches (sides of bacon), wrapped in brown paper, in the chimney for smoking (Sharkey 166). While the killing was predominantly men’s work, it was the women who took most responsibility for the curing and smoking. Puddings have always been popular in Irish cuisine. The pig’s intestines were washed well and soaked in a stream, and a mixture of onions, lard, spices, oatmeal and flour were mixed with the blood and the mixture was stuffed into the casing and boiled for about an hour, cooled and the puddings were divided amongst the neighbours.The pig was so palatable that the famous gastronomic writer Grimod de la Reyniere once claimed that the only piece you couldn’t eat was the “oink”. Sharkey remembers her father remarking that had they been able to catch the squeak they would have made tin whistles out of it! No part went to waste; the blood and offal were used, the trotters were known as crubeens (from crúb, hoof), and were boiled and eaten with cabbage. In Galway the knee joint was popular and known as the glúiníns (from glún, knee). The head was roasted whole or often boiled and pressed and prepared as Brawn. The chitterlings (small intestines) were meticulously prepared by continuous washing in cool water and the picking out of undigested food and faeces. Chitterlings were once a popular bar food in Dublin. Pig hair was used for paintbrushes and the bladder was occasionally inflated, using a goose quill, to be used as a football by the children. Meindertsma (2007) provides a pictorial review of the vast array of products derived from a single pig. These range from ammunition and porcelain to chewing gum.From around the mid-eighteenth century, commercial salting of pork and bacon grew rapidly in Ireland. 1820 saw Henry Denny begin operation in Waterford where he both developed and patented several production techniques for bacon. Bacon curing became a very important industry in Munster culminating in the setting up of four large factories. Irish bacon was the brand leader and the Irish companies exported their expertise. Denny set up a plant in Denmark in 1894 and introduced the Irish techniques to the Danish industry, while O’Mara’s set up bacon curing facilities in Russia in 1891 (Cowan and Sexton). Ireland developed an extensive export trade in bacon to England, and hams were delivered to markets in Paris, India, North and South America. The “sandwich method” of curing, or “dry cure”, was used up until 1862 when the method of injecting strong brine into the meat by means of a pickling pump was adopted by Irish bacon-curers. 1887 saw the formation of the Bacon Curers’ Pig Improvement Association and they managed to introduce a new breed, the Large White Ulster into most regions by the turn of the century. This breed was suitable for the production of “Wiltshire” bacon. Cork, Waterford Dublin and Belfast were important centres for bacon but it was Limerick that dominated the industry and a Department of Agriculture document from 1902 suggests that the famous “Limerick cure” may have originated by chance:1880 […] Limerick producers were short of money […] they produced what was considered meat in a half-cured condition. The unintentional cure proved extremely popular and others followed suit. By the turn of the century the mild cure procedure was brought to such perfection that meat could [… be] sent to tropical climates for consumption within a reasonable time (Cowan and Sexton).Failure to modernise led to the decline of bacon production in Limerick in the 1960s and all four factories closed down. The Irish pig market was protected prior to joining the European Union. There were no imports, and exports were subsidised by the Pigs and Bacon Commission. The Department of Agriculture started pig testing in the early 1960s and imported breeds from the United Kingdom and Scandinavia. The two main breeds were Large White and Landrace. Most farms kept pigs before joining the EU but after 1972, farmers were encouraged to rationalise and specialise. Grants were made available for facilities that would keep 3,000 pigs and these grants kick started the development of large units.Pig keeping and production were not only rural occupations; Irish towns and cities also had their fair share. Pigs could easily be kept on swill from hotels, restaurants, not to mention the by-product and leftovers of the brewing and baking industries. Ed Hick, a fourth generation pork butcher from south County Dublin, recalls buying pigs from a local coal man and bus driver and other locals for whom it was a tradition to keep pigs on the side. They would keep some six or eight pigs at a time and feed them on swill collected locally. Legislation concerning the feeding of swill introduced in 1985 (S.I.153) and an amendment in 1987 (S.I.133) required all swill to be heat-treated and resulted in most small operators going out of business. Other EU directives led to the shutting down of thousands of slaughterhouses across Europe. Small producers like Hick who slaughtered at most 25 pigs a week in their family slaughterhouse, states that it was not any one rule but a series of them that forced them to close. It was not uncommon for three inspectors, a veterinarian, a meat inspector and a hygiene inspector, to supervise himself and his brother at work. Ed Hick describes the situation thus; “if we had taken them on in a game of football, we would have lost! We were seen as a huge waste of veterinary time and manpower”.Sausages and rashers have long been popular in Dublin and are the main ingredients in the city’s most famous dish “Dublin Coddle.” Coddle is similar to an Irish stew except that it uses pork rashers and sausage instead of lamb. It was, traditionally, a Saturday night dish when the men came home from the public houses. Terry Fagan has a book on Dublin Folklore called Monto: Murder, Madams and Black Coddle. The black coddle resulted from soot falling down the chimney into the cauldron. James Joyce describes Denny’s sausages with relish in Ulysses, and like many other Irish emigrants, he would welcome visitors from home only if they brought Irish sausages and Irish whiskey with them. Even today, every family has its favourite brand of sausages: Byrne’s, Olhausens, Granby’s, Hafner’s, Denny’s Gold Medal, Kearns and Superquinn are among the most popular. Ironically the same James Joyce, who put Dublin pork kidneys on the world table in Ulysses, was later to call his native Ireland “the old sow that eats her own farrow” (184-5).The last thirty years have seen a concerted effort to breed pigs that have less fat content and leaner meat. There are no pure breeds of Landrace or Large White in production today for they have been crossbred for litter size, fat content and leanness (Tuite). Many experts feel that they have become too lean, to the detriment of flavour and that the meat can tend to split when cooked. Pig production is now a complicated science and tighter margins have led to only large-scale operations being financially viable (Whittemore). The average size of herd has grown from 29 animals in 1973, to 846 animals in 1997, and the highest numbers are found in counties Cork and Cavan (Lafferty et al.). The main players in today’s pig production/processing are the large Irish Agribusiness Multinationals Glanbia, Kerry Foods and Dairygold. Tuite (2002) expressed worries among the industry that there may be no pig production in Ireland in twenty years time, with production moving to Eastern Europe where feed and labour are cheaper. When it comes to traceability, in the light of the Foot and Mouth, BSE and Dioxin scares, many feel that things were much better in the old days, when butchers like Ed Hick slaughtered animals that were reared locally and then sold them back to local consumers. Hick has recently killed pigs for friends who have begun keeping them for home consumption. This slaughtering remains legal as long as the meat is not offered for sale.Although bacon and cabbage, and the full Irish breakfast with rashers, sausages and puddings, are considered to be some of Ireland’s most well known traditional dishes, there has been a growth in modern interpretations of traditional pork and bacon dishes in the repertoires of the seemingly ever growing number of talented Irish chefs. Michael Clifford popularised Clonakilty Black Pudding as a starter in his Cork restaurant Clifford’s in the late 1980s, and its use has become widespread since, as a starter or main course often partnered with either caramelised apples or red onion marmalade. Crubeens (pigs trotters) have been modernised “a la Pierre Kaufman” by a number of Irish chefs, who bone them out and stuff them with sweetbreads. Kevin Thornton, the first Irish chef to be awarded two Michelin stars, has roasted suckling pig as one of his signature dishes. Richard Corrigan is keeping the Irish flag flying in London in his Michelin starred Soho restaurant, Lindsay House, where traditional pork and bacon dishes from his childhood are creatively re-interpreted with simplicity and taste.Pork, ham and bacon are, without doubt, the most traditional of all Irish foods, featuring in the diet since prehistoric times. Although these meats remain the most consumed per capita in post “Celtic Tiger” Ireland, there are a number of threats facing the country’s pig industry. Large-scale indoor production necessitates the use of antibiotics. European legislation and economic factors have contributed in the demise of the traditional art of pork butchery. Scientific advancements have resulted in leaner low-fat pigs, many argue, to the detriment of flavour. Alas, all is not lost. There is a growth in consumer demand for quality local food, and some producers like J. Hick & Sons, and Prue & David Rudd and Family are leading the way. The Rudds process and distribute branded antibiotic-free pig related products with the mission of “re-inventing the tastes of bygone days with the quality of modern day standards”. Few could argue with the late Irish writer John B. Keane (72): “When this kind of bacon is boiling with its old colleague, white cabbage, there is a gurgle from the pot that would tear the heart out of any hungry man”.ReferencesCowan, Cathal and Regina Sexton. Ireland's Traditional Foods: An Exploration of Irish Local & Typical Foods & Drinks. Dublin: Teagasc, 1997.C.S.O. Central Statistics Office. Figures on per capita meat consumption for 2009, 2010. Ireland. http://www.cso.ie.Fitzgerald, Oisin. "The Irish 'Greyhound' Pig: an extinct indigenous breed of Pig." History Ireland13.4 (2005): 20-23.Gantz, Jeffrey Early Irish Myths and Sagas. New York: Penguin, 1981.Harris, Marvin. "The Abominable Pig." Food and Culture: A Reader. Eds. Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik. New York: Routledge, 1997. 67-79.Hick, Edward. Personal Communication with master butcher Ed Hick. 15 Apr. 2002.Hick, Edward. Personal Communication concerning pig killing. 5 Sep. 2010.Jackson, K. H. Ed. Aislinge Meic Con Glinne, Dublin: Institute of Advanced Studies, 1990.Joyce, James. The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, London: Granada, 1977.Keane, John B. Strong Tea. Cork: Mercier Press, 1963.Kinsella, Thomas. The Táin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970.Lafferty, S., Commins, P. and Walsh, J. A. Irish Agriculture in Transition: A Census Atlas of Agriculture in the Republic of Ireland. Dublin: Teagasc, 1999.Mac Con Iomaire, Liam. Ireland of the Proverb. Dublin: Town House, 1988.Mac Con Iomaire, Máirtín and Pádraic Óg Gallagher. "The Potato in Irish Cuisine and Culture."Journal of Culinary Science and Technology 7.2-3 (2009): 1-16.Mahon, Bríd. Land of Milk and Honey: The Story of Traditional Irish Food and Drink. Cork:Mercier, 1998.Meindertsma, Christien. PIG 05049 2007. 10 Aug. 2010 http://www.christienmeindertsma.com.Ó Conaill, Seán. Seán Ó Conaill's Book. Bailie Átha Cliath: Bhéaloideas Éireann, 1981.Sexton, Regina. A Little History of Irish Food. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1998.Sharkey, Olive. Old Days Old Ways: An Illustrated Folk History of Ireland. Dublin: The O'Brien Press, 1985.S.I. 153, 1985 (Irish Legislation) http://www.irishstatutebook.ie/1985/en/si/0153.htmlS.I. 133, 1987 (Irish Legislation) http://www.irishstatuebook.ie/1987/en/si/0133.htmlTuite, Pat. Personal Communication with Pat Tuite, Chief Pig Advisor, Teagasc. 3 May 2002.Whittemore, Colin T. and Ilias Kyriazakis. Whitmore's Science and Practice of Pig Production 3rdEdition. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006.

I wake up early, questions buzzing through my mind. While I sip my morning cup of tea and read The Guardian online, the writer, restless because I’m ignoring her, walks around firing questions.“Expecting the patriarchy to want to share its enormous wealth and power with women is extremely naïve.”I nod. Outside the window pieces of sky are framed by trees, fluffy white clouds alternate with bright patches of blue. The sweet, heady first wafts of lavender and citrus drift in through the open window. Spring has come to Hvar. Time to get to work.The more I understand about narcissism, the more I understand the world. I didn’t understand before. In the 1990s.“No—you knew, but you didn’t know at the same time.”I kept telling everybody The River Ophelia wasn’t about sex, (or the sex wasn’t about sex), it was about power. Not many people listened or heard, though. Only some readers.I’ve come here to get away. To disappear. To write.I can’t find the essay I want for my article about the 1990s. I consider the novel I’m reading, I Love Dick by Chris Kraus and wonder whether I should write about it instead? It’s just been reprinted, twenty years after its initial release. The back cover boasts, “widely considered to be the most important feminist novel of the past two decades.” It was first published in the 1990s. So far it’s about a woman named Chris who’s addictively obsessed with an unavailable man, though I’m yet to unravel Kraus’s particular brand of feminism—abjection? Maybe, maybe … while I think, I click through my storage folder. Half way through, I find a piece I wrote about Kathy Acker in 1997, a tribute of sorts that was never published. The last I’d heard from Kathy before this had been that she was heading down to Mexico to try shark cartilage for her breast cancer. That was just before she died.When I was first introduced to the work of Foucault and Deleuze, it was very political; it was about what was happening to the economy and about changing the political system. By the time it was taken up by the American academy, the politics had gone to hell. (Acker qtd. in Friedman 20)Looking back, I’d have to say my friendship with Kathy Acker was intense and short-lived.In the original I’d written “was a little off and on.” But I prefer the new version. I first met Kathy in person in Sydney, in 1995. We were at a World Art launch at Ariel bookshop and I remember feeling distinctly nervous. As it turned out, I needn’t have been. Nervous, that is.Reading this now brings it all back: how Kathy and I lost touch in the intervening two years and the sudden fact of her death. I turn to the end and read, “She died tragically, not only because she was much too young, but because American literature seems rather frumpy without her, of cancer on the 30th November 1997, aged 53.”The same age as I am now. (While some believe Kathy was 50 when she died, Kathy told me she lied about her age even to the point of changing her passport. Women who lie about their age tend to want to be younger than they are, so I’m sticking with 53.) This coincidence spooks me a little.I make a cup of tea and eat some chocolate.“This could work …” the writer says. My reasons for feeling nervous were historical. I’d spoken to Kathy once previously (before the publication of The River Ophelia on the phone from Seattle to San Francisco in 1993) and the conversation had ended abruptly. I’d wanted to interview Kathy for my PhD on American fiction but Kathy wouldn’t commit. Now I was meeting her face to face and trying to push the past to the back of my mind.The evening turned out to be a memorable one. A whole bunch of us—a mixture of writers, publishers, academics and literati—went out to dinner and then carried on drinking well into the night. I made plans to see Kathy again. She struck me as a warm, generous, sincere and intensely engaging person. It seemed we might become friends. I hesitated: should I include the rest? Or was that too much?The first thing Kathy had said when we were introduced was, “I loved your book, The River Ophelia. I found it as soon as I arrived. I bought it from the bookshop at the airport. I saw your amazing cover and then I read on the back that it was influenced by the work of Kathy Acker. I was like, wow, no one in America has ever put that on the back cover of a novel. So I read it immediately and I couldn’t put it down. I love the way you’ve deconstructed the canon but still managed to put a compelling narrative to it. I never did that.”Why didn’t I include that? It had given me more satisfaction than anything anyone else had said.I remember how quickly I abandoned my bestselling life in Sydney, sexual harassment had all but ruined my career, and exchanged it for an uncertain future in London. My notoriety as an author was damaging my books and my relationship with my publisher had become toxic. The first thing I did in London was hire a lawyer, break my contract with Picador and take both novels out of print.Reality intrudes in the form of a phone call from my mother. Terminally ill with cancer, she informs me that she’s off her food. For a retired chef, the loss of appetite is not inconsiderable. Her dying is a dull ache, a constant tiredness and sadness in me. She’s just arrived in London. I will go there next week to meet her.(1)I first came across Kathy’s work in 1991. I’d just finished my MA thesis on postmodernism and parody and was rewarding myself with some real reading (i.e. not related to my thesis) when I came across the novel Don Quixote. This novel had a tremendous impact on me. Those familiar with DQ may recall that it begins with an abortion that transforms its female narrator into a knight.When she was finally crazy because she was about to have an abortion, she conceived of the most insane idea that any woman can think of. Which is to love. How can a woman love? By loving someone other than herself. (Acker Quixote 9)Kathy’s opening sentences produced a powerful emotional response in me and her bold confronting account of an abortion both put me in touch with feelings I was trying to avoid and connected these disturbing feelings with a broader political context. Kathy’s technique of linking the personal and emotional with the political changed the way I worked as a writer.I’d submitted the piece as an obituary for publication to an Australian journal; the editor had written suggestions in the margin in red. All about making the piece a more conventional academic essay. I hadn’t been sure that was what I wanted to do. Ambitious, creative, I was trying to put poststructuralist theory into practice, to write theoretical fiction. It’s true, I hadn’t been to the Sorbonne, but so what? What was the point of studying theory if one didn’t put it into practice? I was trying to write like French theorists, not to write about them. The editor’s remarks would have made a better academic essay, it’s just I’m not sure that’s where I wanted to go. I never rewrote it and it was never published.I first encountered I Love Dick (2017) during a film course at the AFTVRS when the lecturer presented a short clip of the adaptation for the class to analyse. When I later saw the novel in a bookshop I bought a copy. Given my discovery of the unpublished obituary it is also a bit spooky that I’m reading this book as both Chris Kraus and Kathy Acker had relationships with academic and Semiotext(e) publisher Sylvère Lotringer. Chris as his wife, Kathy as his lover. Kraus wrote a biography of Acker called After Kathy Acker: A Biography, which seems fairly unsympathetic according to the review I read in The Guardian. (Cooke 2017) Intrigued, I add Kraus’s biography to my growing pile of Acker related reading, the Acker/Wark letters I’m Very Into You and Olivia Laing’s novel, Crudo. While I’ve not read the letters yet, Crudo’s breathless yet rhythmic layering of images and it’s fragmented reflections upon war, women and politics reminded me less of Acker and more of Woolf; Mrs Dalloway, in fact.(2)What most inspired me, and what makes Kathy such a great writer, is her manner of writing politically. For the purposes of this piece, when I say Kathy writes politically, I’m referring to what happens when you read her books. That is, your mind—fuelled by powerful feelings—makes creative leaps that link everyday things and ideas with political discourses and debates (for Kathy, these were usually critiques of bourgeois society, of oedipal culture and of the patriarchy).In the first pages of Don Quixote, for example, an abortion becomes synonymous with the process of becoming a knight. The links Kathy makes between these two seemingly unrelated events yields a political message for the creative reader. There is more at stake than just gender-bending or metamorphoses here: a reversal of power seems to have taken place. A relatively powerless woman (a female victim except for the fact that in having an abortion she’s exerting some measure of control over her life), far from being destroyed by the experience of aborting her foetus, actually gains power—power to become a knight and go about the world fulfilling a quest. In writing about an abortion in this way, Kathy challenges our assumptions about this controversial topic: beyond the moral debate, there are other issues at stake, like identity and power. An abortion becomes a birth, rather than a banal tragedy.When I think about the 1990s, I automatically think of shoulder pads, cocktails and expense accounts (the consumption of the former, in my case, dependent on the latter). But on reflection, I think about the corporatisation of the publishing industry, the Backlash and films like Thelma and Louise, (1991) Basic Instinct (1992) and Single White Female (1992). It occurs to me that the Hollywood movie star glamorous #MeToo has its origin in the turbulent 1990s Backlash. When I first saw each of these films I thought they were exciting, controversial. I loved the provocative stance they took about women. But looking back I can’t help wondering: whose stories were they really, why were we hearing them and what was the political point?It was a confusing time in terms of debates about gender equality.Excluding the premise for Thelma and Louise, all three films present as narrative truth scenarios that ran in stark contrast to reality. When it came to violence and women, most domestic homicide and violence was perpetrated by men. And violence towards women, in the 1990s, was statistically on the rise and there’s little improvement in these statistics today.Utter chaos, having a British passport never feels quite so wonderful as it does in the arrivals hall at Heathrow.“Perhaps these films allow women to fantasise about killing the men who are violent towards them?”Nyah, BI is chick killing chick … and think about the moral to the story. Fantasy OK, concrete action painful, even deadly.“Different story today …”How so?“Violent female protagonists are all the rage and definitely profitable. Killing Eve (2018) and A Simple Favour (2018).”I don’t have an immediate answer here. Killing Eve is a TV series, I think aloud, A Simple Favour structurally similar to Single White Female … “Why don’t you try self-publishing? It’ll be 20 years since you took The River Ophelia out of print, bit of an anniversary, maybe it’s time?”Not a bad idea. I’m now on the tube to meet mum at her bed and breakfast but the writer is impatient to get back to work. Maybe I should just write the screenplay instead?“Try both. If you don’t believe in your writing, who else will?”She has a point. I’m not getting anywhere with my new novel.A message pips through on Facebook. Want to catch up?What? Talk about out of the blue. I haven’t heard from Sade in twenty years … and how on earth did he get through my privacy settings?After meeting mum, the next thing I do is go to the doctor. My old doctor from West Kensington, she asks me how I’m going and I say I’m fine except that mum’s dying and this awful narcissistic ex-partner of mine has contacted me on Facebook. She recommends I read the following article, “The Highly Sensitive Person and the Narcissist” (Psychology Today).“Sometimes being a kind caring person makes you vulnerable to abusers.”After the appointment I can’t get her words out of my head.I dash into a Starbucks, I’m in Notting Hill just near the tube station, and read the article on my laptop on wifi. I highlight various sections. Narcissists “have a complete lack of empathy for others including their own family and friends, so that they will take advantage of people to get their own needs and desires met, even if it hurts someone.” That sounds about right, Sade could always find some way of masking his real motives in charm, or twisting reality around to make it look like things weren’t his fault, they were mine. How cleverly he’d lied! Narcissists, I read, are attracted to kind, compassionate people who they then use and lie to without remorse.But the bit that really makes me sit up is towards the end of the article. “For someone on the outside looking at a relationship between a highly sensitive person and a narcissist, it’s all too easy to blame the HSP. How and why would anyone want to stay in such a relationship?” Narcissists are incredibly good at making you doubt yourself, especially the part of you that says: this has happened before, it’ll happen again. You need to leave.The opening paragraph of the psychology textbook I read next uses Donald Trump as an example. Trump is also Patrick Bateman’s hero, the misogynistic serial killer protagonist of Bret Easton Ellis’s notorious American Psycho. Despite an earlier version that broadly focused on New York fiction of the 1990s, Ellis’s novel and the feminist outcry it provoked became the central topic of my PhD.“Are you alright mum?”I’ve just picked Mum up and I’m driving her to Paris for a night and then on to Switzerland where she’s going to have voluntary euthanasia. Despite the London drizzle and the horrific traffic the whole thing has a Thelma and Louise feel about it. I tell mum and she laughs.“We should watch it again. Have you seen it since it first came out?”“Sounds like a good idea.”Mum, tiny, pointy-kneed and wearing an out-of-character fluoro green beanie given to her at the oncology clinic in Sydney, is being very stoic but I can tell from the way she constantly wrings her hands that she’s actually quite terrified.“OK Louise,” she says as I unfold her Zimmer frame later that evening.“OK Thelma,” I reply as she walks off towards the hotel.Paris is a treat. My brother is waiting inside and we’re hoping to enjoy one last meal together.Mum didn’t want to continue with chemo at 83, but she’s frightened of dying a horrific death. As we approach hotel reception Mum can’t help taking a detour to inspect the dinner menu at the hotel restaurant.“Oysters naturel. That sounds nice.”I smile, wait, and take her by the elbow.I’ve completely forgotten. The interview/review I wrote of Acker’s Pussy, King of the Pirates, in 1995 for Rolling Stone. Where is it? I open my laptop and quickly click through the endless publicity and reviews of The River Ophelia, the interview/review came out around the same time the novel was published, but I can’t find it. I know I had it out just a few months ago, when I was chasing up some freelance book reviews.I make a fresh pot of tea from the mini bar, green, and return to my Acker tribute. Should I try to get it published? Here, or back in Australia? Ever the émigré’s dilemma. I decide I like the Parisian sense of style in this room, especially the cotton-linen sheets.Finally, I find it, it’s in the wrong folder. Printing it out, I remember how Kathy had called her agent and publisher in New York, and her disbelief when I’d told her the book hadn’t been picked up overseas. Kathy’s call resulted in my first New York agent. I scrutinise its pages.Kathy smiles benign childlike creativity in the larger photo, and gestures in passionate exasperation in the smaller group, her baby face framed by countless metal ear piercings. The interview takes place—at Kathy’s insistence—on her futon in her hotel room. My memories clarify. It wasn’t that we drifted apart, or rather we did, but only after men had come between us first. Neither of us had much luck in that department.(4)Kathy’s writing is also political because her characters don’t act or speak the way you’d expect them to. They don’t seem to follow the rules or behave in the way your average fictional character tends to do. From sentence to sentence, Kathy’s characters either change into different people, or live revolutionary lives, or even more radical still, live impossible lives.When the narrator of DQ transforms herself into a knight (and lives an impossible life); she turns a situation in which she is passive and relatively powerless—she is about to be operated on and drugged—into an empowering experience (and lives a creative revolutionary life). Ironically, getting power means she turns herself into a male knight. But Kathy gets around the problem that power is male by not letting things rest there. The female, aborting Kathy isn’t actually replaced by a male knight, bits of him are just grafted onto her. Sure, she sets out on a quest, but the other aspects of her empowerment are pretty superficial: she does adopt a new name (which is more like a disguise), and identity (appearance); and picks up a bad habit or two—a tendency to talk in the language used by knights.“But who’s the father?” the writer wants to know. “I mean isn’t that the real question here?”No, that is exactly not the real question here and not the point. It is not about who the father is—it’s about what happens to a woman who has an unwanted unplanned pregnancy.The phone rings. It’s my brother. Mum’s waiting for me downstairs and the oysters are beckoning.(5)The idea that writing could be political was very appealing. The transformation between my first novel, Marilyn’s Almost Terminal New York Adventure and my second, The River Ophelia (Picador insisted on publishing them in reverse chronology) was partly a result of my discovery of Kathy’s work and the ideas it set off in me. Kathy wasn’t the first novelist to write politically, but she was the first female novelist to do so in a way that had an immediate impact on me at an emotional level. And it was this powerful emotional response that inspired me as a writer—I wanted to affect my readers in a similar way (because reading Kathy’s work, I felt less alone and that my darkest experiences, so long silenced by shame and skirted around in the interests of maintaining appearances, could be given a voice).We’re driving through Switzerland and I’m thinking about narcissism and the way the narcissists in my personal and professional life overshadowed everything else. But now it’s time to give the rest of the world some attention. It’s also one way of pulling back the power from the psychopaths who rule the world.As we approach Zurich, my mother asks to pull over so she can use the ladies. When she comes out I can see she’s been crying. Inside the car, she reaches for my hand and clasps it. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to say goodbye.”“It’s alright Mum,” I say and hold her while we both cry.A police car drives by and my mother’s eyes snag. Harassed by the police in Australia and unable to obtain Nembutal in the UK, Mum has run out of options.To be a woman in this society is to find oneself living outside the law. Maybe this is what Acker meant when she wrote about becoming a pirate, or a knight?Textual deconstruction can be a risky business and writers like Acker walk a fine line when it comes to the law. Empire of the Senseless ran into a plagiarism suit in the UK and her publishers forced Acker to sign an apology to Harold Robbins (Acker Hannibal Lecter 13). My third novel Dependency similarly fell foul of the law when I discovered that in deconstructing gossip and myths about celebrities, drawing on their lives and then making stuff up, the result proved prophetic. When my publisher, Harper Collins, refused to indemnify me against potential unintended defamation I pulled the book from its contract on the advice of a lawyer. I was worth seven million pounds on paper at that point, the internet travel site my then husband and I had founded with Bob Geldof had taken off, and the novel was a radical hybrid text comprised of Rupert Murdoch’s biography, Shakespeare’s King Lear and Hello Magazine and I was worried that Murdoch might come after me personally. I’d fictionalised him as a King Lear type, writing his Cordelia out of his will and leaving everything to his Goneril and Reagan.Recent theoretical studies argue that Acker’s appropriation and deconstruction constitute a feminist politics as “fragmentation” (June 2) and as “agency” (Pitchford 22). As Acker puts it. “And then it’s like a kid: suddenly a toy shop opens up and the toy shop was called culture.” (Acker Hannibal Lecter 11).We don’t easily fit in a system that wasn’t ever designed to meet our needs.(6)By writing about the most private parts of women’s lives, I’ve tried to show how far there is to go before women and men are equal on a personal level. The River Ophelia is about a young woman whose public life might seem a success from the outside (she is a student doing an honours year at university in receipt of a scholarship), but whose private life is insufferable (she knows nothing about dealing with misogyny on an intimate level and she has no real relationship-survival skills, partly as a result of her family history, partly because the only survival skills she has have been inscribed by patriarchy and leave her vulnerable to more abuse). When Justine-the-character learns how to get around sexism of the personal variety (by re-inventing her life through parodies of classic texts about oedipal society) she not only changes her life, but she passes on her new-found survival skills to the reader.A disturbing tale about a young university student who loses herself in a destructive relationship, The River Ophelia is a postmodern novel about domestic violence and sexual harassment in the academy, contrary to its marketing campaign at the time. It’s protagonist, Justine, loves Sade but Sade is only interested in sex; indeed, he’s a brutish sex addict. Despite this, Justine can’t seem to leave: for all her education, she’s looking for love and commitment in all the wrong places. While the feminist lore of previous generations seems to work well in theory, Justine can’t seem to make it work in practise. Owning her power and experimenting with her own sexuality only leaves her feeling more despairing than before. Unconventional, compelling and controversial, The River Ophelia became an instant best-seller and is credited with beginning the Australian literary movement known as grunge/dirty realism.But there is always the possibility, given the rich intertextuality and self referentiality, that The River Ophelia is Justine’s honours thesis in creative writing. In this case, Sade, Juliette, Ophelia, Hamlet, Bataille, Simone, Marcelle and Leopold become hybrids made up from appropriated canonical characters, fragments of Justine’s turbulent student’s world and invented sections. But The River Ophelia is also a feminist novel that partly began as a dialogue with Ellis whose scandalous American Psycho it parodies even as it reinvents. This creative activity, which also involves the reader by inviting her to participate in the textual play, eventually empowers Justine over the canon and over her perpetrator, Sade.Another hotel room. This one, just out of Zürich, is tiny. I place my suitcase on the rack beneath the window overlooking the narrow street and start to unpack.“Hasn’t this all been said before, about The River Ophelia?” The writer says, trying out the bed. I’m in the middle of an email about self-publishing a new edition of TRO.Some of it. While the grunge label has been refuted, Acker’s influence has been underplayed.Acker often named her protagonists after herself, so losing the Acker part of my textual filiation plays into the whole grunge/dirty realism marketing campaign. I’ve talked about how I always name protagonists after famous women but not linked this to Acker. Bohemia Beach has a protagonist named after Cathy as in Wuthering Heights. Justine of The River Ophelia was doubly an Acker trait: firstly, she was named Justine after De Sade’s character and is a deconstruction of that character, and secondly she was named Justine self-reflexively after me, as a tribute to Kathy as in Kathy Goes to Haiti.The other context for The River Ophelia that has been lost is to do with the early work of Mary Gaitskill, and Catherine Texier. The narcissists were so destructive and so powerful they left no time for the relatively more subtle Gaitskill or Texier. Prototypes for Sex in the City, the 1990s was also a time when Downtown New York women writers explored the idea that gender equality meant women could do anything men did sexually, that they deserved the full gamut of libertine sexual freedoms. Twenty years on it should also be said that women who push the envelope by writing women protagonists who are every bit as sexually transgressive as men, every bit as addictively self-destructive as male protagonists deserve not to be shamed for that experimentation. They deserve to be celebrated and read.AfterwordI’d like to remember Kathy as I knew her briefly in Sydney. A bottle-blonde with a number two haircut, a leopard-skin bikini and a totally tattooed body, she swam a surprisingly genteel breast-stroke in the next lane in one of the world’s most macho lap-swimming pools.ReferencesA Simple Favour. Dir. Paul Feig. Lionsgate, 2018.Acker, Kathy. Don Quixote. London: Collins, 1986.———. Empire of the Senseless. New York: Grove, 1988.———. Hannibal Lecter, My Father. New York: Semiotext(e), 1991.———. Kathy Goes to Haiti. New York: Grove Press/Atlantic Monthly, 1994.——— and McKenzie Wark. I’m Very into You: Correspondence 1995-1996. New York: Semiotext(e), 2015.Basic Instinct. Dir. Paul Verhoeven. TriStar Pictures, 1992.Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. New York: Norton and Co, 2003.Bushnell, Candace. Sex in the City. United States: Grand Central Publishing, 1996.Cooke, Rachel. “Review of After Kathy Acker: A Biography by Chris Kraus—Baffling Life Study.” The Guardian 4 Sep. 2017. 4 Dec. 2018 <https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/sep/04/after-kathy-acker-a-biography-chris-kraus-review>.Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987.Ellis, Bret Easton. American Psycho. New York: Vintage, 1991.Ettler, Justine. Bohemia Beach. Melbourne: Transit Lounge. 2018.———. “Kathy Acker: King of the Pussies.” Review of Pussy, King of the Pirates, by Kathy Acker. Rolling Stone. Nov. 1995: 60-61.———. Marilyn’s Almost Terminal New York Adventure. Sydney: Picador, 1996.———. “La Trobe University Essay: Bret Easton Ellis’s Glamorama, and Catherine Texier’s Break Up.” Australian Book Review, 1995.———. The Best Ellis for Business: A Re-Examination of the Mass Media Feminist Critique of “American Psycho.” PhD. Sydney: University of Sydney, 2013.———. The River Ophelia. Sydney: Picador, 1995.Faludi, Susan. Backlash: The Undeclared War against American Women. New York: Crown, 1991.Friedman, Ellen G. “A Conversation with Kathy Acker.” The Review of Contemporary Fiction 9.3 (Fall 1989): 20-21.Gaitskill, Mary. Bad Behaviour. New York: Random House, 1988.I Love Dick. Dir. Jill Soloway. Amazon Video, 2017.June, Pamela B. The Fragmented Female Body and Identity: The Postmodern Feminist and Multiethnic Writings of Toni Morrison, Therese Huk, Kyung Cha, Phyllis Alesia Perry, Gayl Jones, Emma Perez, Paula Gunn Allen, and Kathy Acker. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2010.Killing Eve. Dir. Phoebe Waller-Bridge. BBC America, 2018.Kraus, Chris. After Kathy Acker: A Biography. London: Penguin, 2017.———. I Love Dick. London: Serpent’s Tail, 2016.Laing, Olivia. Crudo. London: Picador, 2018.Lee, Bandy. The Case of Donald Trump: 27 Psychiatrists and Mental Health Experts Assess a President. New York: St Martin’s Press. 2017.Lombard, Nancy, and Lesley McMillan. “Introduction.” Violence against Women. Eds. Nancy Lombard and Lesley McMillan. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2013.Pitchford, Nicola. Tactical Readings: Feminist Postmodernism in the Novels of Kathy Acker and Angela Carter. London: Associated Uni Press, 2002.Schiffrin, André. The Business of Books: How International Conglomerates Took Over Publishing and Changed the Way We Read. London and New York: Verso, 2000.Shakespeare, William. King Lear. London: Penguin Classics, 2015.Siegle, Robert. Suburban Ambush: Downtown Writing and the Fiction of Insurgency. United States: John Hopkins Press, 1989.Single White Female. Dir. Barbet Schroeder. Columbia Pictures, 1992.Texier, Catherine. Panic Blood. London: Collins, 1991.Thelma and Louise. Dir. Ridley Scott. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1991.Ward, Deborah. “Sense and Sensitivity: The Highly Sensitive Person and the Narcissist.” Psychology Today (16 Jan. 2012). 4 Dec. 2018 <https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/sense-and-sensitivity/201201/the-highly-sensitive-person-and-the-narcissist>.

IntroductionTwo writers, stuck in our university offices, decide to take our thoughts “for a walk” across the page. Writing from Middlesbrough, United Kingdom, and Auckland, New Zealand, we are separated by 18,000 kilometres and 11 hours, and yet here, on the page, our paths meet. How does walking, imaginary or real, affect our thinking? How do the environments through which we move, and the things we see along the way, influence our writing? What role do rhythm and pace play in the process? We invite you to join us on two short walks that reflect on our shared challenges as writers from two different strands of writing studies. Perhaps our paths will intersect, or even overlap, with yours somewhere? Ultimately, we aim to find out what happens when we leave our academic baggage behind, side-stepping dense theoretical arguments and comprehensive literature reviews for a creative-critical exploration. Evija: Let’s admit it, Sophie—I’m stuck. I’ve spent half a day in front of this computer but have hardly typed a line. It’s not just writing. It’s my thinking. I feel like my mind is weighed down by the clutter of thoughts that lead nowhere.Look at my surroundings. My office is crammed with stuff. So many thoughts buried under piles of paper, insisting on their place in the work in which they so obviously do not belong. I also can’t help but feel the magnetic pull of others’ ideas from all the books around me. Each thought, each reference, fights for its place in my work. What an unbearable intertextual mess...Sophie: I think that everyone who has ever tried to write knows exactly what these moments feel like. We can feel so lost, so stuck and blocked. Have you ever noticed that the words that we use about these feelings are intensely visceral? Perhaps that’s why, when the words won’t come, so many of us find it helpful to get up and move our bodies. Evija, shall we leave our desks behind for a while and go for a walk? Would you like to join me?E: Most certainly! Apparently, Friedrich Nietzsche loved to take his mind for a walk (Gros). Ideas, born among books, says Frédéric Gros, “exude the stuffy odour of libraries” (18). Gros describes such books as “grey”: “overloaded with quotations, references, footnotes, explicatory prudence, indefinite refutations” (19). They fail to say anything new and are “crammed”, “stuffed”, and “weighed down”; they are “born of a compilation of the other books” (Gros 19) so also bear their weight. Essentially, we are told, we should think of the books we are writing as “expression[s] of [our] physiology” (Gros 19). If we are shrivelled, stuck, stooped, tense, and tired, so also are our thoughts. Therefore, in order to make your thoughts breathe, walk, and even “dance”, says Nietzsche, you should go outdoors, go up in the mountains.S: As I read what you’ve written here, Evija, I feel as if I’m walking amongst your thoughts, both here on the screen and in my imagination. Sometimes, I’m in perfect step with you. At other times, I want to interrupt, tug on your sleeve and point, and say “Look! Have you seen this, just up ahead?”E: That’s the value of companionship on the road. A shared conversation on the move can lead to a transformation of thought, a conversion, as in the Biblical stories of the roads to Emmaus and Damascus. In fact, we tested the power of walking and talking in rural settings in a series of experimental events organised for academics in Auckland, New Zealand, throughout 2017 (see our blog post on Writing, Writing Everywhere website). It appeared to work very well for writers who had either been “stuck” or in the early stages of drafting. Those who were looking to structure existing thoughts were better off staying put. But walking and talking is an entire other topic (see Anderson) that we should discuss in more depth some other time.Anyway, you’ve brought us to what looks like a forest. Is this where you want us to go?A Walk “into the Woods,” or Getting in the Thick of Free-Writing S: Yes, just follow me. I often walk in the woods close to where I live. Of course, going “into the woods” is itself a metaphor, rich with fairy-tale connotations about creativity. The woods are full of darkness and danger, grandmother’s cottage, wild beasts, witches, poisonous fruits. The woods are where traps are laid, where children wander and get lost, where enchantments befall us. But humans have always been seduced by the woods and what lies in wait there (Maitland). In Jungian terms, losing oneself in darkness is a rite of initiation. By stepping into the woods, we surrender to not knowing, to walking off the path and into the depths of our imagination. I dare you to do that, right now! E: Letting go is not always easy. I keep wanting to respond to your claim by adding scholarly references to important work on the topic. I want to mention the father of the essay, Michel de Montaigne, for whom this form of writing was but “an attempt” (from Old French, “essai”) to place himself in this world, a philosophical and literary adventure that stood very far from the rigidly structured academic essay of the present day (Sturm). We’ve forgotten that writing is a risky undertaking, an exploration of uncharted terrains (Sturm). S: Yes, and in academic thinking, we’re always afraid to ramble. But perhaps rambling is exactly what we need to do. Perhaps we need to start walking without knowing where we’re going ... and see where it takes us. E: Indeed. Instead of going on writing retreats, academics should be sent “into the woods”, where their main task would be to get lost before they even start to think.S: Into the Woods, a reality TV show for academics? But seriously, maybe there is something about walking into the woods—or a landscape different from our habitual one—that symbolises a shift in feeling-state. When I walk into the woods, I purposely place myself in a different world. My senses are heightened. I become acutely aware of each tiny sound—the ticking of the leaves, the wind, the birdsong, the crunch of my feet, the pounding of the blood in my ears. I become less aware of all the difficult parts of myself, my troubles, my stuckness, what weighs on me so heavily. It seems to me that there is a parallel here with a state of consciousness or awareness famously described by the psychologist of optimal experience, Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi, as “flow”. In flow, “the loss of a sense of self separate from the world around it is sometimes accompanied by a feeling of union with the environment” (Csikszentmihalyi 63), together with pleasure in movement and in the sensory experience of seeing the world. So flow might be one way of thinking about my lived experience of walking in the woods. But this shift has also been described by the psychotherapist Marion Milner as a shift from “narrow thinking” into a “wider” way of looking, listening, feeling, and moving—a feeling state that Milner called the “fat feeling”. She identified this “fat feeling” as characteristic of moments when she experienced intense delight (Milner 15) and she began to experiment with ways in which she could practice it more purposefully.In this sense, walking is a kind of “trick” that I can play upon myself. The shift from office to woods, from sitting at my desk to moving through the world, triggers a shift from preoccupation with the “head stuff” of academic work and into a more felt, bodily way of experiencing. Walking helps me to “get out of my head.”E: So wandering through this thicket becomes a kind of free writing?S: Yes, free writing is like “taking a line for a walk” on the page, words that the Swiss-German artist Paul Klee famously attributed to drawing (Klee 105; see also Raymond). It’s what we’re doing here, wouldn’t you say?Two Lines of Walking: A drawing by Evija. E: Yes—and we don’t know where this walk will lead us. I’m thinking of the many times I have propelled myself into meaningful writing by simply letting the hand do its work and produce written characters on the screen or page. Initially, it looks like nonsense. Then, meaning and order start to emerge.S: Yes, my suggestion is that walking—like writing—frees us up, connects us with the bodily, felt, and pleasurable aspects of the writing process. We need this opportunity to meander, go off at tangents...E: So what qualities do free writing and walking have in common? What is helpful about each of these activities?S: A first guess might be that free writing and walking make use of rhythm. Linguist and psychoanalyst Julia Kristeva calls the sound, rhythm, and texture of language the “semiotic”. For Kristeva, the “semiotic” (the realm of bodily drives and affects, rhythms, pre-verbal babble) and the “symbolic” (the realm of prescribed language, linguistic structure, grammar, and judgment) do not exist in rigid opposition to one another. Instead, they form a continuum which she calls “signifiance” or signification (Kristeva 22), a “dialectic” (24) of making meaning. According to Kristeva, even the smallest element of symbolic meaning, the phoneme, is involved in “rhythmic, intonational repetitions” (103) so that, as we order phonemes into words and words into sentences, our language pulses with the operations of our bodily, instinctual drives. Kristeva thinks in terms of an “explosion of the semiotic in the symbolic” (69). E: An explosion. I like that!S: Me too.My theory is that, by letting go into that rhythm a little, we’re enabling ourselves to access some of the pre-verbal force that Kristeva talks about. E: So the rhythm of walking helps us to connect with the rhythmic qualities of the semiotic?S: Exactly. We might say that a lot of academic writing tends to privilege the symbolic—both in terms of the style we choose and the way that we structure our arguments. E: And academic convention requires that we make more references here. For example, as we’re discussing “free writing”, we could cite Ken Macrorie or Peter Elbow, the two grandfathers of the method. Or we might scaffold our talks about collaborative writing as a means of scholarly inquiry, with the work of Laurel Richardson or another authority in the field.S: Yes, and all of this is an important part of academic practice, of course. But perhaps when we give ourselves permission to ramble and meander, to loosen up the relationships between what we feel and what we say, we move along the continuum of meaning-making towards the more felt and bodily, and away from the received and prescribed. …S: And I’ve put an ellipsis there to mark that we are moving into another kind of space now. We’re coming to a clearing in the woods. Because at some point in our rambling, we might want to pause and make a few suggestions. Perhaps we come to a clearing, like this one here. We sit down for a while and collect our thoughts.E: Yes. Let’s sit down. And, while you’re resting, let me tell you what this “collecting of thoughts” reminds me of.I’m thinking that we don’t necessarily need to go anywhere to get away from our particular state of mind. A shared cup of coffee or a conversation can have the same effect. Much has already been said about the effects of alcohol, tobacco, and drugs on writing; all rather harmful ways of going “on a trip” (Laing; Klein). In our case, it’s the blank pages of a shared Google Doc that has brought us together, collecting our thoughts on walking and moving us into a different realm, a new world of exciting and strange ideas to be explored. And the idea of mapping out this space by gradually filling its pages with words sets our minds on a journey.S: That’s interesting. The choreographer Twyla Tharp talks about the power of ritual in creating this shift for us into a creative or flow state. It could be lighting a candle or drinking a glass of water. There is a moment when something “clicks”, and we enter the world of creativity.E: Yes, a thing can act as a portal or gateway. And, as I want to show you, the things in the landscape that we walk through can help us to enter imaginary realms.So can I take you for a little walk now? See that winding country road leading through open fields and rolling hills? That’s where we’re going to start.A publicity image, drawn by Evija, for Walking Talking Writing events for academics, organised at the University of Auckland in 2017.A Walk “through the Countryside”, or Traversing the Landscape of ThoughtsE: Sophie, you spoke earlier about the way that experiencing yourself in relation to the environment is important for opening up your imagination. For example, just allowing yourself to be in the woods and noticing how the space pulsates around you is enough to awaken your bodily awareness.But let’s take a stroll along this road and let me explain to you what’s happening for me. You see, I find the woods too distracting and stimulating. When I’m stuck, I crave openness and space like this landscape that we’re walking through right now. S: Too much detail, too many things, overwhelm you?E: Exactly. Here, where the landscape is simple and spacious, my thoughts can breathe. Ideas quietly graze as I move through them. The country road is under my feet and I know exactly where I’m heading – beyond that horizon line in the distance… I need to be able to look far into that hazy distance to get my sense of seeing things “in depth.” All this makes me think of a study by Mia Keinänen in which she surveyed nine Norwegian academics who habitually walk to think (Keinänen). Based on their personal observations, the resulting article provides interesting material about the importance of walking—its rhythm, environment, and so on—on one’s thinking. For one of the academics, being able to see landmarks and thoughts in perspective was the key to being able to see ideas in new ways. There is a “landscape of thinking”, in which thinking becomes a place and environment is a process.For another participant in the study, thoughts become objects populating the landscape. The thinker walks through these object-thoughts, mapping out their connections, pulling some ideas closer, pushing others further away, as if moving through a 3D computer game.S: Hmm. I too think that we tend to project not only thoughts but also the emotions that we ourselves might be experiencing onto the objects around us. The literary critic Suzanne Nalbantian describes this as the creation of “aesthetic objects”, a “mythopoetic” process by which material objects in the external world “change their status from real to ‘aesthetic’ objects” and begin to function as “anchors or receptacles for subjectivity” (Nalbantien 54).Nalbantian uses examples such as Proust’s madeleine or Woolf’s lighthouse to illustrate the ways in which authors of autobiographical fiction invest the objects around them with a particular psychic value or feeling-tone.For me, this might be a tree, or a fallen leaf on the path. For you, Evija, it could be the horizon, or an open field or a vague object, half-perceived in the distance. E: So there’s a kind of equivalence between what we’re feeling and what we’re noticing? S: Yes. And it works the other way around too. What we’re noticing affects our feelings and thoughts. And perhaps it’s really about finding and knowing what works best for us—the landscape that is the best fit for how we want to feel… E: Or how we want to think. Or write. S: That’s it. Of course, metaphor is another way of describing this process. When we create a metaphor, we bring together a feeling or memory inside us with an object in the outside world. The feeling that we carry within us right now finds perfect form in the shape of this particular hillside. A thought is this pebble. A memory is that cloud…E: That’s the method of loci, which Mia Keinänen also refers to (600) in her article about the walking-thinking Norwegian academics. By projecting one’s learnt knowledge onto a physical landscape, one is able to better navigate ideas.S: Although I can’t help thinking that’s all a little cerebral. For me, the process is more immediate and felt. But I’m sure we’re talking about something very similar...E: Well, the anthropologist Tim Ingold, who has written a great deal on walking, in his article “Ways of Mind-Walking: Reading, Writing, Painting” urges us to rethink what imagination might be and the ways that it might relate to the physical environment, our movement through it, and our vision. He quotes James Elkins’s suggestion (in Ingold 15-16) that true “seeing” involves workings of both the eye and the mind in bringing forth images. But Ingold questions the very notion of imagination as a place inhabited by images. From derelict houses, barren fields and crossroads, to trees, stray dogs, and other people, the images we see around us do not represent “the forms of things in the world” (Ingold 16). Instead, they are gateways and “place-holders” for the truer essence of things they seem to represent (16). S: There’s that idea of the thing acting as a gateway or portal again… E: Yes, images—like the ruins of that windmill over there—do not “stand for things” but help us experientially “find” those things (Ingold16). This is one of the purposes of art, which, instead of giving us representations of things in the world, offers us something which is like the things in the world (16)—i.e., experiences.But as we walk, and notice the objects around us, are there specific qualities about the objects themselves that make this process—what you call “projection”—more or less difficult for us?A drawing by Latvian artist Māris Subačs (2016). The text on the image says: “Clouds slowly moving.” Publicity image for Subačs’s exhibition “Baltā Istaba” (The White Room), taken from Latvijas Sabiedriskie Mediji, https://www.lsm.lv/. S: Well, let’s circle back now—on the road and on the page. We’ve talked about the way that you need wide, open spaces, whereas I find myself responding to a range of different environments in different ways. How do you feel now, as we pause here and begin to retrace our steps? E: How do I feel? I’m not sure. Right now, I’m thinking about the way that I respond to art. For example, I would say that life-like images of physical objects in this world (e.g., a realistic painting of a vase with flowers) are harder to perceive with my mind's eye than, let’s say, of an abstract painting. I don’t want to be too tied to the surface details and physicality of the world. What I see in a picture is not the representation of the vase and flowers; what I see are forms that the “inner life force”, to use Ingold’s term, has taken to express itself through (vaseness, flowerness). The more abstract the image, the more of the symbolic or the imaginary it can contain. (Consider the traditional Aboriginal art, as Ingold invites, or the line drawings of Latvian artist Māris Subačs, as I suggest, depicted above.) Things we can observe in this world, says Ingold, are but “outward, sensible forms” that “give shape to the inner generative impulse that is life itself” (17). (This comes from the underlying belief that the phenomenal world itself is all “figmented” (Ingold 17, referring to literary scholar Mary Carruthers).)S: And, interestingly, I don’t recognise this at all! My experiencing of the objects around me feels very different. That tree, this pine cone in my hand, the solidity of this physical form is very helpful in crystallising something that I’m feeling. I enjoy looking at abstract paintings too. I can imagine myself into them. But the thing-ness of things is also deeply satisfying, especially if I can also touch, taste, smell, hold the thing itself. The poet Selima Hill goes for a walk in order to gather objects in a Tupperware box: “a dead butterfly, a yellow pebble, a scrap of blue paper, an empty condom packet.” Later she places an object from these “Tupperware treasures” on her writing desk and uses it “to focus on the kernel of the poem”, concentrating on it “to select the fragments and images she needs” (Taylor). This resonates with me.E: So, to summarise, walking seems to have something to do with seeing, for both of us. S: Yes, and not just seeing but also feeling and experiencing, with all of our senses. E: OK. And walking like appreciating art or writing or reading, has the capacity to take us beyond what shows at surface level, and so a step closer to the “truer” expression of life, to paraphrase Ingold. S: Yes, and the expression that Ingold calls more “true” is what Kristeva would say is the semiotic, the other-than-meaning, the felt and bodily, always bubbling beneath the surface. E: True, true. And although Ingold here doesn’t say how walking facilitates this kind of seeing and experiencing, perhaps we can make some suggestions here.You focused on the rhythm of walking and thinking/writing earlier. But I’m equally intrigued by the effects of speed. S: That resonates for me too. I need to be able to slow down and really experience the world around me. E: Well, did you know that there are scientific studies that suggest a correlation between the speed of walking and the speed of thinking (Jabr; Oppezzo and Schwartz)? The pace of walking, as the movement of our bodies through space, sets a particular temporal relationship with the objects we move past. In turn, this affects our “thinking time”, and our thinking about abstract ideas (Cuelenaere 127, referring to George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s ideas).S: That makes sense to me. I noticed that when we were walking through the woods, we had slowed right down and then, as we reached the open road, you seemed to want to go much faster than me…E: Yes, at a steady pace. That’s perhaps not surprising. Because it seems that the speed of our walking is intimately connected with our vision. So if I’m moving through a landscape in which I’m fully immersed, I’m unable to take in everything around me. I choose to rest my eyes on a few select points of interest. S: Or on the horizon…E: Yes. The path that leads through an open field allows me to rest my eyes on the distant horizon. I register the patterns of fields and houses; and perhaps I catch sight of the trees in my peripheral vision. The detailed imagery, if any, gets reduced to geometrical figures and lines.The challenge is to find the right balance between the stimuli provided by the external world and the speed of movement through it.S: So the pace of walking can enable us to see things in a certain way. For you, this is moving quickly, seeing things vaguely, fragmentally and selectively. For me, it’s an opportunity to take my time, find my own rhythm, to slow down and weigh a thought or a thing. I think I’m probably the kind of walker who stops to pick up sticks and shells, and curious stones. I love the rhythm of moving but it isn’t necessarily fast movement. Perhaps you’re a speed walker and I’m a rambler? E: I think both the pace and the rhythm are of equal importance. The movement can be so monotonous that it becomes a meditative process, in which I lose myself. Then, what matters is no longer the destination but the journey itself. It’s like...S: Evija! Stop for a moment! Over here! Look at this! E: You know, that actually broke my train of thought. S: I’m sorry… I couldn’t resist. But Evija, we’ve arrived at the entrance to the woods again. E: And the light’s fading… I should get back to the office.S: Yes, but this time, we can choose which way to go: through the trees and into the half-dark of my creative subconscious or across the wide, open spaces of your imagination. E: And will we walk slowly—or at speed? There’s still so much to say. There are other landscapes and pathways—and pages—that we haven’t even explored yet.S: But I don’t want to stop. I want to keep walking with you.E: Indeed, Sophie, writing is a walk that never ends. ReferencesAnderson, Jon. “Talking whilst Walking: A Geographical Archaeology of Knowledge.” Area 36.3 (2004): 254-261. Csikszentmihalyi, Mihalyi. Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention. NewYork: Harper Perennial, 1997.Cuelenaere, Laurence. “Aymara Forms of Walking: A Linguistic Anthropological Reflection on the Relation between Language and Motion.” Language Sciences 33.1 (2011):126-137. Elbow, Peter. Writing without Teachers. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1998. Gros, Frédéric. The Philosophy of Walking. London: Verso, 2014.Ingold, Tim. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. Abingdon: Routledge, 2011.———. “Culture on the Ground: The World Perceived through the Feet.” Journal of Material Culture 9.3 (2004): 315-340.———. Lines: A Brief History. Abingdon: Routledge, 2007.———. “Ways of Mind-Walking: Reading, Writing, Painting.” Visual Studies 25.1 (2010):15-23.Ingold, Tim, and J.L. Vergunst, eds. Ways of Walking: Ethnography and Practice on Foot. London: Ashgate, 2008.Jabr, Ferris. “Why Walking Helps Us Think.” The New Yorker, 3 Sep. 2014. 10 Aug. 2018 <https://www.newyorker.com/tech/elements/walking-helps-us-think>.Keinänen, Mia. “Taking Your Mind for a Walk: A Qualitative Investigation of Walking and Thinking among Nine Norwegian Academics.” Higher Education 71.4 (2016): 593-605. Klee, Paul. Notebooks, Volume 1: The Thinking Eye. Ed. J. Spiller. Trans. R. Manheim. London: Lund Humphries, 1961. Klein, Richard. Cigarettes Are Sublime. London: Picador, 1995. Kristeva, Julia. Revolution in Poetic Language. Trans. Leon S. Roudiez. New York: Columbia UP, 1984.Laing, Olivia. The Trip to Echo Spring: Why Writers Drink. Edinburgh: Canongate 2013.Macrorie, Ken. Telling Writing. Rochelle Park, N.J.: Hayden Book Company, 1976.Maitland, Sarah. Gossip from the Forest: The Tangled Roots of Our Forests and Fairy-Tales. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2012. Milner, Marion (as Joanna Field). A Life of One’s Own. 1934. London: Virago, 1986.Nalbantien, Suzanne. Aesthetic Autobiography. London: Macmillan, 1994.Oppezzo, Marily, and Daniel L. Schwartz. “Give Your Ideas Some Legs: The Positive Effect of Walking on Creative Thinking.” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition 40.4 (2014): 1142-1152.Richardson, Laurel. “Writing: A Method of Inquiry.” Handbook of Qualitative Research. 2nd ed. Ed. N.K. Denzin and Y.S. Lincoln. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2007. 923-948. Sturm, Sean. “Terra (In)cognita: Mapping Academic Writing.” TEXT 16.2 (2012).Taylor, Debbie. “The Selima Hill Method.” Mslexia 6 (Summer/Autumn 2000). Tharp, Twyla. The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life. New York: Simon Schuster, 2003.Trofimova, Evija. “Academics Go Walking, Talking, Writing*.” Writing, Writing Everywhere, 8 Dec. 2017. 1 Oct. 2018 <http://www.writing.auckland.ac.nz/2017/12/08/academics-go-walking-talking-writing>.

IntroductionFood Studies is a relatively recent area of research enquiry in Australia and Magazine Studies is even newer (Le Masurier and Johinke), with the consequence that Australian culinary magazines are only just beginning to be investigated. Moreover, although many major libraries have not thought such popular magazines worthy of sustained collection (Fox and Sornil), considering these publications is important. As de Certeau argues, it can be of considerable consequence to identify and analyse everyday practices (such as producing and reading popular magazines) that seem so minor and insignificant as to be unworthy of notice, as these practices have the ability to affect our lives. It is important in this case as these publications were part of the post-war gastronomic environment in Australia in which national tastes in domestic cookery became radically internationalised (Santich). To further investigate Australian magazines, as well as suggesting how these cosmopolitan eating habits became more widely embraced, this article will survey the various ways in which the idea of “abroad” is expressed in one Australian culinary serial from the post-war period, Australian Wines & Food Quarterly magazine, which was published from 1956 to 1960. The methodological approach taken is an historically-informed content analysis (Krippendorff) of relevant material from these magazines combined with germane media data (Hodder). All issues in the serial’s print run have been considered.Australian Post-War Culinary PublishingTo date, studies of 1950s writing in Australia have largely focused on literary and popular fiction (Johnson-Wood; Webby) and literary criticism (Bird; Dixon; Lee). There have been far fewer studies of non-fiction writing of any kind, although some serial publications from this time have attracted some attention (Bell; Lindesay; Ross; Sheridan; Warner-Smith; White; White). In line with studies internationally, groundbreaking work in Australian food history has focused on cookbooks, and includes work by Supski, who notes that despite the fact that buying cookbooks was “regarded as a luxury in the 1950s” (87), such publications were an important information source in terms of “developing, consolidating and extending foodmaking knowledge” at that time (85).It is widely believed that changes to Australian foodways were brought about by significant post-war immigration and the recipes and dishes these immigrants shared with neighbours, friends, and work colleagues and more widely afield when they opened cafes and restaurants (Newton; Newton; Manfredi). Although these immigrants did bring new culinary flavours and habits with them, the overarching rhetoric guiding population policy at this time was assimilation, with migrants expected to abandon their culture, language, and habits in favour of the dominant British-influenced ways of living (Postiglione). While migrants often did retain their foodways (Risson), the relationship between such food habits and the increasingly cosmopolitan Australian food culture is much more complex than the dominant cultural narrative would have us believe. It has been pointed out, for example, that while the haute cuisine of countries such as France, Italy, and Germany was much admired in Australia and emulated in expensive dining (Brien and Vincent), migrants’ own preference for their own dishes instead of Anglo-Australian choices, was not understood (Postiglione). Duruz has added how individual diets are eclectic, “multi-layered and hybrid” (377), incorporating foods from both that person’s own background with others available for a range of reasons including availability, cost, taste, and fashion. In such an environment, popular culinary publishing, in terms of cookbooks, specialist magazines, and recipe and other food-related columns in general magazines and newspapers, can be posited to be another element contributing to this change.Australian Wines & Food QuarterlyAustralian Wines & Food Quarterly (AWFQ) is, as yet, a completely unexamined publication, and there appears to be only three complete sets of this magazine held in public collections. It is important to note that, at the time it was launched in the mid-1950s, food writing played a much less significant part in Australian popular publishing than it does today, with far fewer cookbooks released than today, and women’s magazines and the women’s pages of newspapers containing only small recipe sections. In this environment, a new specialist culinary magazine could be seen to be timely, an audacious gamble, or both.All issues of this magazine were produced and printed in, and distributed from, Melbourne, Australia. Although no sales or distribution figures are available, production was obviously a struggle, with only 15 issues published before the magazine folded at the end of 1960. The title of the magazine changed over this time, and issue release dates are erratic, as is the method in which volumes and issues are numbered. Although the number of pages varied from 32 up to 52, and then less once again, across the magazine’s life, the price was steadily reduced, ending up at less than half the original cover price. All issues were produced and edited by Donald Wallace, who also wrote much of the content, with contributions from family members, including his wife, Mollie Wallace, to write, illustrate, and produce photographs for the magazine.When considering the content of the magazine, most is quite familiar in culinary serials today, although AWFQ’s approach was radically innovative in Australia at this time when cookbooks, women’s magazines, and newspaper cookery sections focused on recipes, many of which were of cakes, biscuits, and other sweet baking (Bannerman). AWFQ not only featured many discursive essays and savory meals, it also featured much wine writing and review-style content as well as information about restaurant dining in each issue.Wine-Related ContentWine is certainly the most prominent of the content areas, with most issues of the magazine containing more wine-related content than any other. Moreover, in the early issues, most of the food content is about preparing dishes and/or meals that could be consumed alongside wines, although the proportion of food content increases as the magazine is published. This wine-related content takes a clearly international perspective on this topic. While many articles and advertisements, for example, narrate the long history of Australian wine growing—which goes back to early 19th century—these articles argue that Australia's vineyards and wineries measure up to international, and especially French, examples. In one such example, the author states that: “from the earliest times Australia’s wines have matched up to world standard” (“Wine” 25). This contest can be situated in Australia, where a leading restaurant (Caprice in Sydney) could be seen to not only “match up to” but also, indeed to, “challenge world standards” by serving Australian wines instead of imports (“Sydney” 33). So good, indeed, are Australian wines that when foreigners are surprised by their quality, this becomes newsworthy. This is evidenced in the following excerpt: “Nearly every English businessman who has come out to Australia in the last ten years … has diverted from his main discussion to comment on the high quality of Australian wine” (Seppelt, 3). In a similar nationalist vein, many articles feature overseas experts’ praise of Australian wines. Thus, visiting Italian violinist Giaconda de Vita shows a “keen appreciation of Australian wines” (“Violinist” 30), British actor Robert Speaight finds Grange Hermitage “an ideal wine” (“High Praise” 13), and the Swedish ambassador becomes their advocate (Ludbrook, “Advocate”).This competition could also be located overseas including when Australian wines are served at prestigious overseas events such as a dinner for members of the Overseas Press Club in New York (Australian Wines); sold from Seppelt’s new London cellars (Melbourne), or the equally new Australian Wine Centre in Soho (Australia Will); or, featured in exhibitions and promotions such as the Lausanne Trade Fair (Australia is Guest;“Wines at Lausanne), or the International Wine Fair in Yugoslavia (Australia Wins).Australia’s first Wine Festival was held in Melbourne in 1959 (Seppelt, “Wine Week”), the joint focus of which was the entertainment and instruction of the some 15,000 to 20,000 attendees who were expected. At its centre was a series of free wine tastings aiming to promote Australian wines to the “professional people of the community, as well as the general public and the housewife” (“Melbourne” 8), although admission had to be recommended by a wine retailer. These tastings were intended to build up the prestige of Australian wine when compared to international examples: “It is the high quality of our wines that we are proud of. That is the story to pass on—that Australian wine, at its best, is at least as good as any in the world and better than most” (“Melbourne” 8).There is also a focus on promoting wine drinking as a quotidian habit enjoyed abroad: “We have come a long way in less than twenty years […] An enormous number of husbands and wives look forward to a glass of sherry when the husband arrives home from work and before dinner, and a surprising number of ordinary people drink table wine quite un-selfconsciously” (Seppelt, “Advance” 3). However, despite an acknowledged increase in wine appreciation and drinking, there is also acknowledgement that this there was still some way to go in this aim as, for example, in the statement: “There is no reason why the enjoyment of table wines should not become an Australian custom” (Seppelt, “Advance” 4).The authority of European experts and European habits is drawn upon throughout the publication whether in philosophically-inflected treatises on wine drinking as a core part of civilised behaviour, or practically-focused articles about wine handling and serving (Keown; Seabrook; “Your Own”). Interestingly, a number of Australian experts are also quoted as stressing that these are guidelines, not strict rules: Crosby, for instance, states: “There is no ‘right wine.’ The wine to drink is the one you like, when and how you like it” (19), while the then-manager of Lindemans Wines is similarly reassuring in his guide to entertaining, stating that “strict adherence to the rules is not invariably wise” (Mackay 3). Tingey openly acknowledges that while the international-style of regularly drinking wine had “given more dignity and sophistication to the Australian way of life” (35), it should not be shrouded in snobbery.Food-Related ContentThe magazine’s cookery articles all feature international dishes, and certain foreign foods, recipes, and ways of eating and dining are clearly identified as “gourmet”. Cheese is certainly the most frequently mentioned “gourmet” food in the magazine, and is featured in every issue. These articles can be grouped into the following categories: understanding cheese (how it is made and the different varieties enjoyed internationally), how to consume cheese (in relation to other food and specific wines, and in which particular parts of a meal, again drawing on international practices), and cooking with cheese (mostly in what can be identified as “foreign” recipes).Some of this content is produced by Kraft Foods, a major advertiser in the magazine, and these articles and recipes generally focus on urging people to eat more, and varied international kinds of cheese, beyond the ubiquitous Australian cheddar. In terms of advertorials, both Kraft cheeses (as well as other advertisers) are mentioned by brand in recipes, while the companies are also profiled in adjacent articles. In the fourth issue, for instance, a full-page, infomercial-style advertisement, noting the different varieties of Kraft cheese and how to serve them, is published in the midst of a feature on cooking with various cheeses (“Cooking with Cheese”). This includes recipes for Swiss Cheese fondue and two pasta recipes: spaghetti and spicy tomato sauce, and a so-called Italian spaghetti with anchovies.Kraft’s company history states that in 1950, it was the first business in Australia to manufacture and market rindless cheese. Through these AWFQ advertisements and recipes, Kraft aggressively marketed this innovation, as well as its other new products as they were launched: mayonnaise, cheddar cheese portions, and Cracker Barrel Cheese in 1954; Philadelphia Cream Cheese, the first cream cheese to be produced commercially in Australia, in 1956; and, Coon Cheese in 1957. Not all Kraft products were seen, however, as “gourmet” enough for such a magazine. Kraft’s release of sliced Swiss Cheese in 1957, and processed cheese slices in 1959, for instance, both passed unremarked in either the magazine’s advertorial or recipes.An article by the Australian Dairy Produce Board urging consumers to “Be adventurous with Cheese” presented general consumer information including the “origin, characteristics and mode of serving” cheese accompanied by a recipe for a rich and exotic-sounding “Wine French Dressing with Blue Cheese” (Kennedy 18). This was followed in the next issue by an article discussing both now familiar and not-so familiar European cheese varieties: “Monterey, Tambo, Feta, Carraway, Samsoe, Taffel, Swiss, Edam, Mozzarella, Pecorino-Romano, Red Malling, Cacio Cavallo, Blue-Vein, Roman, Parmigiano, Kasseri, Ricotta and Pepato” (“Australia’s Natural” 23). Recipes for cheese fondues recur through the magazine, sometimes even multiple times in the same issue (see, for instance, “Cooking With Cheese”; “Cooking With Wine”; Pain). In comparison, butter, although used in many AWFQ’s recipes, was such a common local ingredient at this time that it was only granted one article over the entire run of the magazine, and this was largely about the much more unusual European-style unsalted butter (“An Expert”).Other international recipes that were repeated often include those for pasta (always spaghetti) as well as mayonnaise made with olive oil. Recurring sweets and desserts include sorbets and zabaglione from Italy, and flambéd crepes suzettes from France. While tabletop cooking is the epitome of sophistication and described as an international technique, baked Alaska (ice cream nestled on liquor-soaked cake, and baked in a meringue shell), hailing from America, is the most featured recipe in the magazine. Asian-inspired cuisine was rarely represented and even curry—long an Anglo-Australian staple—was mentioned only once in the magazine, in an article reprinted from the South African The National Hotelier, and which included a recipe alongside discussion of blending spices (“Curry”).Coffee was regularly featured in both articles and advertisements as a staple of the international gourmet kitchen (see, for example, Bancroft). Articles on the history, growing, marketing, blending, roasting, purchase, percolating and brewing, and serving of coffee were common during the magazine’s run, and are accompanied with advertisements for Bushell’s, Robert Timms’s and Masterfoods’s coffee ranges. AWFQ believed Australia’s growing coffee consumption was the result of increased participation in quality internationally-influenced dining experiences, whether in restaurants, the “scores of colourful coffee shops opening their doors to a new generation” (“Coffee” 39), or at home (Adams). Tea, traditionally the Australian hot drink of choice, is not mentioned once in the magazine (Brien).International Gourmet InnovationsAlso featured in the magazine are innovations in the Australian food world: new places to eat; new ways to cook, including a series of sometimes quite unusual appliances; and new ways to shop, with a profile of the first American-style supermarkets to open in Australia in this period. These are all seen as overseas innovations, but highly suited to Australia. The laws then controlling the service of alcohol are also much discussed, with many calls to relax the licensing laws which were seen as inhibiting civilised dining and drinking practices. The terms this was often couched in—most commonly in relation to the Olympic Games (held in Melbourne in 1956), but also in relation to tourism in general—are that these restrictive regulations were an embarrassment for Melbourne when considered in relation to international practices (see, for example, Ludbrook, “Present”). This was at a time when the nightly hotel closing time of 6.00 pm (and the performance of the notorious “six o’clock swill” in terms of drinking behaviour) was only repealed in Victoria in 1966 (Luckins).Embracing scientific approaches in the kitchen was largely seen to be an American habit. The promotion of the use of electricity in the kitchen, and the adoption of new electric appliances (Gas and Fuel; Gilbert “Striving”), was described not only as a “revolution that is being wrought in our homes”, but one that allowed increased levels of personal expression and fulfillment, in “increas[ing] the time and resources available to the housewife for the expression of her own personality in the management of her home” (Gilbert, “The Woman’s”). This mirrors the marketing of these modes of cooking and appliances in other media at this time, including in newspapers, radio, and other magazines. This included features on freezing food, however AWFQ introduced an international angle, by suggesting that recipe bases could be pre-prepared, frozen, and then defrosted to use in a range of international cookery (“Fresh”; “How to”; Kelvinator Australia). The then-new marvel of television—another American innovation—is also mentioned in the magazine ("Changing concepts"), although other nationalities are also invoked. The history of the French guild the Confrerie de la Chaine des Roitisseurs in 1248 is, for instance, used to promote an electric spit roaster that was part of a state-of-the-art gas stove (“Always”), and there are also advertisements for such appliances as the Gaggia expresso machine (“Lets”) which draw on both Italian historical antecedence and modern science.Supermarket and other forms of self-service shopping are identified as American-modern, with Australia’s first shopping mall lauded as the epitome of utopian progressiveness in terms of consumer practice. Judged to mark “a new era in Australian retailing” (“Regional” 12), the opening of Chadstone Regional Shopping Centre in suburban Melbourne on 4 October 1960, with its 83 tenants including “giant” supermarket Dickens, and free parking for 2,500 cars, was not only “one of the most up to date in the world” but “big even by American standards” (“Regional” 12, italics added), and was hailed as a step in Australia “catching up” with the United States in terms of mall shopping (“Regional” 12). This shopping centre featured international-styled dining options including Bistro Shiraz, an outdoor terrace restaurant that planned to operate as a bistro-snack bar by day and full-scale restaurant at night, and which was said to offer diners a “Persian flavor” (“Bistro”).ConclusionAustralian Wines & Food Quarterly was the first of a small number of culinary-focused Australian publications in the 1950s and 1960s which assisted in introducing a generation of readers to information about what were then seen as foreign foods and beverages only to be accessed and consumed abroad as well as a range of innovative international ideas regarding cookery and dining. For this reason, it can be posited that the magazine, although modest in the claims it made, marked a revolutionary moment in Australian culinary publishing. As yet, only slight traces can be found of its editor and publisher, Donald Wallace. The influence of AWFQ is, however, clearly evident in the two longer-lived magazines that were launched in the decade after AWFQ folded: Australian Gourmet Magazine and The Epicurean. Although these serials had a wider reach, an analysis of the 15 issues of AWFQ adds to an understanding of how ideas of foods, beverages, and culinary ideas and trends, imported from abroad were presented to an Australian readership in the 1950s, and contributed to how national foodways were beginning to change during that decade.ReferencesAdams, Jillian. “Australia’s American Coffee Culture.” Australian Journal of Popular Culture 2.1 (2012): 23–36.“Always to Roast on a Turning Spit.” The Magazine of Good Living: Australian Wines and Food 4.2 (1960): 17.“An Expert on Butter.” The Magazine of Good Living: The Australian Wine & Food 4.1 (1960): 11.“Australia Is Guest Nation at Lausanne.” The Magazine of Good Living: Australian Wines and Food 4.2 (1960): 18–19.“Australia’s Natural Cheeses.” The Magazine of Good Living: The Australian Wine & Food 4.1 (1960): 23.“Australia Will Be There.” The Magazine of Good Living: Australian Wines and Food 4.2 (1960): 14.“Australian Wines Served at New York Dinner.” Australian Wines & Food Quarterly 1.5 (1958): 16.“Australia Wins Six Gold Medals.” Australian Wines & Food: The Magazine of Good Living 2.11 (1959/1960): 3.Bancroft, P.A. “Let’s Make Some Coffee.” The Magazine of Good Living: The Australian Wine & Food 4.1 (1960): 10. 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