quarta-feira, 30 de setembro de 2009

English In The Classroom

The Largest Cashew In The World
The largest cashew in the world is in Pirangi do Norte, Rio Grande do Norte, Brazil. With a circumference of 500 meters, the tree covers an area of about 7.500 meters m2, making it 70 times the size of average cashew trees.
It was planted in 1888, by a fisherman called Oliveira. He died when he was 93, resting under the shadows of the tree.
The tree grew that much because of the combination of two genetic anomalies. First, the branches of the tree grow sidewards instead of upwards. They bend and touch the ground. Then, they do not simply rest on the floor, they create new roots and start to grow up again. It seems that there are several trees, not just one.
One of the most visited tourist attractions in Rio Grande do Norte, it continues to bear fruits at each crop. All registered in the Guinness Book of Records. It is estimated that, during the cropping season, the tree produces about 80 thousand "cajus". Visitors are free to pick the cashew, which are very rich vitamin C.
It originated in northeastern Brazil and was taken to the Philippines in 17th century. At present, cashew is cultivated in many tropical countries: the main producers are Brazil, India, Mozambique and Tanzania.

Um comentário:

  1. Dark nights washed by distant rippling trees
    and alien winds covering your eyelids, purifying
    like everything, move on with splendid ease
    leaving us a message: life will never cease
    its sleepy course in vain
    in order to attain
    rebirth, since Death is not and Life is dying.

    The heat around Time's corner waves a scent
    for creedence revival of some virtual vampire
    as deep inside. A force considered spent
    returns from utter non-existence that was meant
    to keep us out of breath -
    Is Life both Life and Death?
    Riddle of the Night! The Day be hot and dire.

    My Poetry Blog



    Adiós, mis vacas! Que pasa en esta temporada de tristeza?
    La soledad se cultiva en las ciudades;
    viva la muerte.
    Uno no debe imaginar que el hombre es bueno.
    El paisaje se despierta en un fiel espejo, pregunte.

    La noche ha porches de la siesta en ruinas con pistacho.
    Débiles enemigos se disipa amigos sin
    valor. La calle es corta.
    Hay falta de coherencia, la esperanza y la fe.
    Todas las puertas evitadas saludan: No pasarán.

    My tentatively spanish poetry blog;


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