Dans l'univers chaque grain de sable est une Montagne.
France
Joined February 2015
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Vincent B retweeted
Tant que c'est bien cuit. Le risque c'est les gens qui pensent que séchées il n'y a plus de danger et qui du coup ajoutent le champignon en dernière minute.
Vincent B retweeted
🎬 Il quittait cette terre un 9 novembre.
Yves Montant 🕯️ 1921 - 1991
Une pensée pour lui avec cette scène terrible, où "le Papet" comprend que Jean de Florette était son fils.
🎬 - Manon des sources - 1986
Vincent B retweeted
A wild donkey in the Arizona desert will dig a well six feet deep with its front hooves, and for half a century the United States government has been shooting it as a threat to the desert.
August on a dry wash in the Sonoran. The creek has been gone since May. The sand is hot enough to cook on and every animal for miles is standing in what shade it can find, waiting for a rain that is not coming. A burro walks down the wash, stops at a bend for no reason anyone else can see, puts its head down and smells. Then it starts digging. Front feet, one after the other, like a dog after a bone, until it is in up to its shoulders and the bottom of the hole goes dark and wet.
It drinks and walks off.
Within the hour there is a queue. Mule deer. Javelina. A bobcat. A scrub jay standing on the rim. In 2021 a biologist called Erick Lundgren published the count in Science: 59 species of vertebrate drinking at donkey wells, 64% more species than at the dry stretches of the same streams, and in the driest months the donkeys were raising the amount of open water in the desert by 300% on average and by up to 1,450%. When the wells were abandoned, cottonwood and willow seedlings came up in them. The donkey had been planting the riverbank.
Asked about his methodology, the donkey had another drink and left.
When a beaver builds a pond, a film crew is sent. When a donkey digs a well, the Park Service sends a marksman. The burros came up from Mexico with the Spanish and the prospectors, carried the ore out of every mine in the West, and were turned loose when the mines closed. Then they were reclassified. In 1979 the National Park Service planned to shoot all 577 in the Grand Canyon. A writer called Cleveland Amory raised more than $500,000 and lifted 582 of them out by helicopter, slung underneath, the most expensive taxi ride a donkey has ever taken. Death Valley shot 400 between 1987 and 1994.
Lundgren said that when he started, people did not think a donkey digging a hole was worthy of scientific attention.
The animal was listed as a threat to the desert's water.
It was the one bringing the water up.
Fifty-nine species knew.
The ones with the rifles had never sat by the hole.
Vincent B retweeted
A Cave Sealed for 23,000 Years Was Hiding Something Extraordinary
Deep beneath the limestone cliffs of southern France, there is a cave where time seems to have stopped. The Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc Cave was sealed by a rockslide roughly 23,000 years ago, leaving its hidden chambers untouched for thousands of years. When the cave was finally discovered, researchers found something almost impossible to believe: walls covered with artwork created around 32,000–36,000 years ago.
Inside, Ice Age animals seem to come alive from the darkness. Lions, woolly rhinoceroses, bison and other powerful creatures were drawn using charcoal and ochre, with careful shading and clever use of the natural curves of the rock. The artists did not simply draw flat figures—they used the shape of the cave itself to create depth, movement and the feeling that the animals were almost stepping out of the stone.
But perhaps the most mysterious part is not how old the paintings are. It is what they tell us about the people who made them. These were humans living in a harsh Ice Age world, yet they found time to enter deep darkness and create something beautiful, detailed and deeply meaningful.
For tens of thousands of years, their voices were silent. Their footprints disappeared. Their lives were forgotten. But their paintings remained, waiting in the darkness.
Vincent B retweeted
L'Hiver arrive, si vous posez des boules pour les oiseaux, pensez s'il vous plaît à retirer les filets. Ce sont de dangereux pièges pour les oiseaux. Les espèces plus grosses que celle sur la photo peuvent également s'étouffer avec.
Vincent B retweeted
Le père d'Astérix est mort pendant un test d'effort, chez son cardiologue. René Goscinny avait 51 ans. C'était le 5 novembre 1977.
Il laissait un album inachevé : Astérix chez les Belges.
Il naît à Paris en 1926 et grandit à Buenos Aires, en Argentine.
Il ne dessine pas. Il écrit les histoires, les jeux de mots, les noms qui finissent en « ix ».
Astérix avec Albert Uderzo. Lucky Luke avec Morris. Le Petit Nicolas avec Sempé. Iznogoud avec Tabary.
Il meurt sans avoir vu les dernières pages des Belges dessinées.
Uderzo les termine seul.
Dans la dernière case, au milieu du banquet, il glisse un petit lapin triste.
Il regarde vers la signature de Goscinny.
Vincent B retweeted
Le duc d'Aumale venait d'être chassé de France. Il lui a quand même offert Chantilly, son château, ses tableaux, ses livres. À une condition : que rien ne bouge, jamais.
Aucun tableau n'a le droit d'être vendu, ni prêté, ni même changé de place.
Il est le fils de Louis-Philippe, le dernier roi des Français.
Toute sa vie, il collectionne. Raphaël, Poussin, Ingres. Des manuscrits peints à la main. Des livres rares.
En 1884, il rédige son testament. Tout ira à l'Institut de France, la maison de l'Académie française.
Deux ans plus tard, une loi frappe les anciennes familles royales. Il est banni de son propre pays.
Il pourrait tout reprendre. Il fait l'inverse.
Depuis l'exil, il transforme son testament en don, sans attendre sa mort. Il ne garde que le droit d'en profiter.
Ses conditions tiennent en deux lignes. Rien ne sort. Rien ne bouge.
Il meurt en 1897. Le musée Condé ouvre l'année suivante.
800 peintures, dont 500 accrochées en permanence. Et les Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry, un livre de prières peint au XVe siècle.
Plus d'un siècle après, les tableaux sont toujours accrochés là où il l'a voulu.
Pour les voir, il faut aller à Chantilly. Il n'existe aucun autre moyen.
Vincent B retweeted
All the aura to the winner of the New Mexico governorship with those outfits. Deb Haaland, the first Native American woman to govern a state in United States history.
Vincent B retweeted
It's 1942. You're 21 years old in the German Sixth Army, and you're in Stalingrad.
When you got here in late summer, everyone said it would be over in weeks. The city was already in ruins from the bombing. All you had to do was take what was left.
It didn't work out like that.
Now you fight for single buildings. Single floors. Single rooms. The Russians are in the next room, or the floor above you, or the cellar below. You can hear them talking through the walls. A staircase can change hands three times in a day. The soldiers call it Rattenkrieg. Rat war.
You fight with grenades, shovels, knives, whatever works. Snipers are everywhere. Stick your head up for a second too long and you're dead. Men learn to never stand in front of a window, never light a cigarette at night, never walk the same path twice.
The Russians stay close on purpose. So close that the Luftwaffe can't bomb them without hitting you.
At night the Soviet rocket launchers open up. You hear them before they hit, a long howling scream from dozens of rockets fired at once. Then the ground explodes all around you.
Then, in November, the news comes that the Russians have broken through on both sides of the city. The whole army is surrounded. Around a quarter million men, trapped.
Everyone is told to hold on. Göring has promised the air force will fly in everything you need. It never comes close. Some days a few planes make it. Most days not enough.
Then winter comes.
It drops to 30 below. You don't have proper winter clothes. Men wrap themselves in blankets, rags, anything they can take off the dead. Frostbite turns fingers and toes black. Men lose feet. The ground is frozen too hard to bury anyone, so the bodies just stay where they fall.
The food runs out. Your bread ration gets smaller and smaller until it's a slice a day. The army eats its horses. Then there are no more horses. Men are so weak they can barely lift a rifle. Some just sit down in the snow and don't get up.
Everyone is covered in lice. You can't wash. You can't get warm. Wounds don't heal. Dysentery and typhus spread through the bunkers.
The airfields become the only way out. Wounded men drag themselves there hoping to get on a plane. When one lands, there's a crush to get aboard. Some men hang on to the outside of the plane as it takes off.
Christmas comes. Men sing in the bunkers and write letters home, knowing it might be the last thing their families ever hear from them. For a lot of them, it was.
By January the pocket is shrinking every day. The airfields fall. There's no ammunition left, no medicine, no food. The wounded are left in cellars where nobody can help them.
At the end of January 1943, the army surrenders.
Around 91,000 Germans were marched off into Soviet captivity. Most were sick, starving, and frozen when they started. Many died in the first weeks.
Only about 5,000 of them ever made it back to Germany. The last ones didn't come home until 1955.
Vincent B retweeted
Pour l’abolition de la chasse à courre : pétition citoyenne sur le site de l’Assemblée Nationale 👇
petitions.assemblee-national…
