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Ancient Roots, Modern Insights: New Study Reveals Age-Old Secrets of Camas Cultivation

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Saturday, June 1, 2024

Camas flowers in the Willamette Valley in Oregon. Credit: Jon Boeckenstedt, Oregon State University.Researchers at Oregon State University have discovered that Indigenous groups in the Pacific Northwest were selectively harvesting edible camas bulbs at their optimal growth stages as far back as 3,500 years ago. These findings, published in The Holocene, provide valuable insights into Traditional Ecological Knowledge and practices by demonstrating how these groups have been managing and nurturing natural resources for thousands of years.The Ecological and Cultural Significance of CamasCamas, a striking blue flower that grows throughout the Pacific Northwest, serves as an ecological and cultural keystone, supporting many different organisms playing a significant role in numerous cultural traditions.Molly Carney, the lead author of the study and an assistant professor of anthropology at Oregon State University, highlights its significance: “If you think about salmon as being a charismatic species that people are very familiar with, camas is kind of the plant equivalent,” she explained. “It is one of those species that really holds up greater ecosystems, a fundamental species which everything is related to.” Camas flowers. Credit: Oregon State UniversityCamas in Indigenous Culture and DietCamas is referred to in Indigenous calendars across the region, with the plant’s growth stages used to mark seasonal transitions. It is often included in traditional First Food ceremonies, in which tribal communities mark the coming of spring with the first salmon run or the first edible roots after a long winter, Carney said. Notably, Lewis and Clark also recorded consuming camas provided by Nez Perce tribal members in their diaries.Carney explains that camas bulbs require two to three days of baking to become edible and that, once softened, they have a taste similar to sweet potatoes. Historically, this baking occurred in underground ovens lined with heated rocks. During Carney’s research, she examined an archaeological record that included the remnants of one of these large pit ovens. The researchers discovered that after cooking, Indigenous peoples employed various methods to process and store camas, allowing them to be preserved for extended periods.Camas flowers. Credit: Oregon State UniversityArchaeological Insights into Camas HarvestingThe researchers analyzed camas bulbs from the Willamette Valley dating back 8,000 years. By counting the interior leaf scales, similar to reading tree rings, researchers can estimate the age of camas bulbs, which typically reach a harvestable size in three to five years depending on the soil conditions.Camas baking ovens from 4,400 years ago have been recorded at a Long Tom River archaeological site near Veneta, Oregon, but for several thousand years, the bulbs appeared to have been harvested somewhat indiscriminately. Carney found that around 3,500 years ago, the bulbs started being harvested more selectively at the point when the plants were four or five years old and had reached sexual maturity.Camas flowers. Credit: Oregon State UniversityEnvironmental Management Through Controlled BurnsThis timing in the Late Holocene period lines up with broader climatic shifts in the region, the researchers noted, coming around the same time as low-magnitude fires became more commonplace in the landscape. Carney also studied lake-core evidence from the floor of Beaver Lake, collected by Central Washington University researcher Megan Walsh, that gives credence to the theory that controlled burns were used intentionally to create optimal conditions for camas and other plants starting 3,000 to 4,000 years ago.Sustainable Practices and Cultural StewardshipBased on her research, Carney says it’s clear that Native communities at the time were not selectively harvesting for the biggest possible bulbs, but rather stewarding camas to be sustainable over time.“They were trying to maintain the age structure of these camas populations within a pretty narrow window,” she said. “When I had the opportunity to harvest alongside tribal communities, as they harvest, they replant the smaller bulbs as they go. They’re really sowing for future harvest, and that’s what I think was happening here.”The shift from haphazard harvesting to selective stewardship among tribal communities appears to have occurred at approximately the same time throughout the Pacific Northwest, Carney said. For the practice to be successful, it would have required community-wide agreement and cooperation to leave immature camas bulbs in the ground until the optimal harvest point, as well as to conduct the type of cultural burning necessary to maintain healthy growing spaces, the researchers note.“We have these records showing that people were taking active roles in creating landscapes that fit their needs, and that they’ve been doing so for 3,500 years at least, based on these two proxies of camas and fire,” Carney said. “That provides a powerful claim for restoring these practices.”Reference: “Scales of plant stewardship in the precontact Pacific Northwest, USA” by Molly Carney and Thomas Connolly, 5 May 2024, The Holocene.DOI: 10.1177/09596836241247307Co-author on the study was Thomas Connolly from the Museum of Natural and Cultural History at the University of Oregon. The project was approved by the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde Historic Preservation Office.

Researchers at Oregon State University have discovered that Indigenous groups in the Pacific Northwest were selectively harvesting edible camas bulbs at their optimal growth stages...

Camas Flowers in the Willamette Valley

Camas flowers in the Willamette Valley in Oregon. Credit: Jon Boeckenstedt, Oregon State University.

Researchers at Oregon State University have discovered that Indigenous groups in the Pacific Northwest were selectively harvesting edible camas bulbs at their optimal growth stages as far back as 3,500 years ago. These findings, published in The Holocene, provide valuable insights into Traditional Ecological Knowledge and practices by demonstrating how these groups have been managing and nurturing natural resources for thousands of years.

The Ecological and Cultural Significance of Camas

Camas, a striking blue flower that grows throughout the Pacific Northwest, serves as an ecological and cultural keystone, supporting many different organisms playing a significant role in numerous cultural traditions.

Molly Carney, the lead author of the study and an assistant professor of anthropology at Oregon State University, highlights its significance: “If you think about salmon as being a charismatic species that people are very familiar with, camas is kind of the plant equivalent,” she explained. “It is one of those species that really holds up greater ecosystems, a fundamental species which everything is related to.”

Close Up Photo of Camas Flowers

Camas flowers. Credit: Oregon State University

Camas in Indigenous Culture and Diet

Camas is referred to in Indigenous calendars across the region, with the plant’s growth stages used to mark seasonal transitions. It is often included in traditional First Food ceremonies, in which tribal communities mark the coming of spring with the first salmon run or the first edible roots after a long winter, Carney said. Notably, Lewis and Clark also recorded consuming camas provided by Nez Perce tribal members in their diaries.

Carney explains that camas bulbs require two to three days of baking to become edible and that, once softened, they have a taste similar to sweet potatoes. Historically, this baking occurred in underground ovens lined with heated rocks. During Carney’s research, she examined an archaeological record that included the remnants of one of these large pit ovens. The researchers discovered that after cooking, Indigenous peoples employed various methods to process and store camas, allowing them to be preserved for extended periods.

Camas Flowers

Camas flowers. Credit: Oregon State University

Archaeological Insights into Camas Harvesting

The researchers analyzed camas bulbs from the Willamette Valley dating back 8,000 years. By counting the interior leaf scales, similar to reading tree rings, researchers can estimate the age of camas bulbs, which typically reach a harvestable size in three to five years depending on the soil conditions.

Camas baking ovens from 4,400 years ago have been recorded at a Long Tom River archaeological site near Veneta, Oregon, but for several thousand years, the bulbs appeared to have been harvested somewhat indiscriminately. Carney found that around 3,500 years ago, the bulbs started being harvested more selectively at the point when the plants were four or five years old and had reached sexual maturity.

Camas Flowers in Field

Camas flowers. Credit: Oregon State University

Environmental Management Through Controlled Burns

This timing in the Late Holocene period lines up with broader climatic shifts in the region, the researchers noted, coming around the same time as low-magnitude fires became more commonplace in the landscape. Carney also studied lake-core evidence from the floor of Beaver Lake, collected by Central Washington University researcher Megan Walsh, that gives credence to the theory that controlled burns were used intentionally to create optimal conditions for camas and other plants starting 3,000 to 4,000 years ago.

Sustainable Practices and Cultural Stewardship

Based on her research, Carney says it’s clear that Native communities at the time were not selectively harvesting for the biggest possible bulbs, but rather stewarding camas to be sustainable over time.

“They were trying to maintain the age structure of these camas populations within a pretty narrow window,” she said. “When I had the opportunity to harvest alongside tribal communities, as they harvest, they replant the smaller bulbs as they go. They’re really sowing for future harvest, and that’s what I think was happening here.”

The shift from haphazard harvesting to selective stewardship among tribal communities appears to have occurred at approximately the same time throughout the Pacific Northwest, Carney said. For the practice to be successful, it would have required community-wide agreement and cooperation to leave immature camas bulbs in the ground until the optimal harvest point, as well as to conduct the type of cultural burning necessary to maintain healthy growing spaces, the researchers note.

“We have these records showing that people were taking active roles in creating landscapes that fit their needs, and that they’ve been doing so for 3,500 years at least, based on these two proxies of camas and fire,” Carney said. “That provides a powerful claim for restoring these practices.”

Reference: “Scales of plant stewardship in the precontact Pacific Northwest, USA” by Molly Carney and Thomas Connolly, 5 May 2024, The Holocene.
DOI: 10.1177/09596836241247307

Co-author on the study was Thomas Connolly from the Museum of Natural and Cultural History at the University of Oregon. The project was approved by the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde Historic Preservation Office.

Read the full story here.
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‘We’re still in the dark’: a missing land defender and the deadly toll of land conflict on Indigenous people

Julia Chuñil is one of 146 land defenders who were killed or went missing last year, a third of them from Indigenous communitiesOne day last November, Julia Chuñil called for her dog, Cholito, and they set off into the woods around her home to search for lost livestock. The animals returned but Chuñil, who was 72 at the time, and Cholito did not.More than 100 people joined her family in a search lasting weeks in the steep, wet and densely overgrown terrain of Chile’s ancient Valdivian forest. After a month, they even kept an eye on vultures for any grim signs. But they found no trace of Chuñil. Continue reading...

One day last November, Julia Chuñil called for her dog, Cholito, and they set off into the woods around her home to search for lost livestock. The animals returned but Chuñil, who was 72 at the time, and Cholito did not.More than 100 people joined her family in a search lasting weeks in the steep, wet and densely overgrown terrain of Chile’s ancient Valdivian forest. After a month, they even kept an eye on vultures for any grim signs. But they found no trace of Chuñil.Chuñil is one of 146 land and environmental defenders who were killed or disappeared around the world last year, according to a report by the campaign group Global Witness. About a third of those, like Chuñil, were from Indigenous communities – a heavy toll for groups who collectively make up just 6% of the global population.Chuñil, a leader of Chile’s indigenous Mapuche, was living on disputed land. Ten years ago she had moved on to Reserva Cora, a 900-hectare (2,200-acre) portion of the ancient Valdivian forest 500 miles south of Santiago, which her people claimed as an ancestral territory.She spent years campaigning to secure land rights over the site for her community. But the site’s nominal owner, the descendant of settlers, refused to relinquish control. He wanted the site for logging – Chile is a major supplier of wood to the US – and he wanted rid of Chuñil. Before she vanished, Chuñil told supporters: “If anything happens to me, you already know who did it.”Global Witness started documenting cases of killings and disappearances of land and environmental defenders in 2012. Since then it has collated a total of 2,253 cases. For the past decade, the most dangerous place has been Latin America. In 2024 it accounted for 82% of cases, including 45 Indigenous people.“Land conflict is at the heart of violence against defenders, and Indigenous peoples are paying the highest price,” said Javier Garate, a senior policy adviser at Global Witness. “Communities with ancestral connections to land often form the frontline of resistance when their territories come under threat from exploitation and encroachment. But despite their critical role, they are frequently denied recognition and justice, and subjected to serious danger for defending their rightful lands.”Chuñil’s was the only case recorded in her country last year, although it fitted a pattern of the targeting of Mapuche activists in Chile. Colombia recorded 48 cases, making it the deadliest country overall for environmental defenders, followed by Guatemala with 20, the deadliest country per capita. Mexico had 19 cases, putting it in third place overall.Under-reporting remains an issue, particularly in Asia and Africa, which registered 16 and nine cases respectively, Global Witness said. Overall, last year the fewest cases of killings and disappearances of environmental defenders were registered for a decade.Laura Furones, who led the research for Global Witness, said: “I would also like to be able to tell you that this implies a decrease in violence and an improvement in the conditions for defenders, but unfortunately that’s not the case. Human rights defenders face realities of violence that go far beyond murder. What violence often does is evolve, become more sophisticated, change its face.”skip past newsletter promotionThe planet's most important stories. Get all the week's environment news - the good, the bad and the essentialPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain information about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. If you do not have an account, we will create a guest account for you on theguardian.com to send you this newsletter. You can complete full registration at any time. For more information about how we use your data see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionChuñil’s family have continued to pursue justice but their advocacy has made them a target of threats and intimidation, too. In April, two animals from Chuñil’s home that they had planned to auction to fund legal costs were found killed, one shot and one poisoned. “It is, above all, a deliberate attempt to prevent us from fighting this case,” her son Pablo San Martín told Global Witness.The group’s report calls on governments to act to end the impunity of the killers of environmental defenders by addressing the lack of rights defenders have over land and territory, strengthening weak national legal systems, and ensuring defenders at risk are given adequate state protection.“All we are asking for is a full, fair investigation to take place,” San Martín said of his mother’s case. “It’s been almost a year since she disappeared and we’re still in the dark about what happened. We want those behind this to be identified and charged.”

Oregon Indigenous farm navigating uncertainty over federal grants

One federal grant awarded to the farm was recently restored but two others are still on hold.

A few miles south of Salem, the Elderberry Wisdom Farm uses generations of traditional knowledge to grow native plants, restore habitats and train Indigenous adults and other underrepresented students for careers in agriculture. The six-year-old farm has received much of its funding through state and federal grants — but a farm founded on principles of equity and sustainability is a target for cuts under the Trump administration. As she led U.S. Rep. Andrea Salinas, D-Oregon, on a tour of the farm Wednesday, founder Rose High Bear half-jokingly asked if she could still use the words “equity” and “climate,” both terms Trump and his team have disparaged and used as keywords to find disfavored programs and policies. One $750,000 grant, awarded to the farm and community partners to expand tree canopies, was temporarily frozen but restored as of last week, following a letter from Salinas. Two other federal grants meant for workforce development are still on hold. “We need to restore the planet, and this is one way to do it,” Salinas said. “I keep saying, let’s bring all solutions to the table. This is just one, but if I can write a letter and unfreeze funds, I’m going to do it.” High Bear, an Alaska Native of Deg Hitʼan and Inupiat descent, founded the farm in 2019 after retiring as executive director of Wisdom of the Elders, a Portland-based nonprofit dedicated to preserving and sharing Indigenous history. She said the work is spiritual, and that she trusts ancestors will help guide the farm’s workers to accomplish their task of restoring the earth and raising awareness of traditional ecological knowledge. “We have no doubt in our mind that what we’re doing is right,” High Bear said. “If a government doesn’t necessarily believe in it, that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop us from doing our work — no matter what, we’re going to accomplish it.”Right now, much of the work consists of developing a native tree nursery, with Willamette Valley ponderosa pines, as well as firs and other pines native to the region. About 1,000 of those trees, as well as companion shrubs and pollinator ground cover plants, will be planted in areas of Salem that lack tree canopies. The farm will work with local high school students, as well as its adult interns, on the project. Natural shade from tree canopies helps cool the air and reduce air pollution. Nearby trees also increase home values and help prevent stormwater runoff. The farm will also feature a garden planted with the “three sisters” — maize, beans and squash — growing together. Hopi corn will provide a natural trellis for the Cherokee Trail of Tears beans, which convert nitrogen in the air to soil nitrates. Leaves of the summer and winter squash that make up the lower level provide shade, suppress weeds and retain soil moisture. The farm doesn’t use pesticides. Instead, workers manually remove most pests — and are resigned to some others, including deer who wander through nibbling on plants. “This is our oldest grandmother here, Mother Earth, and we’re not going to put poison on her just to get rid of our new neighbors,” High Bear said. Dawn Lowe, an Indigenous traditional ecological knowledge instructor of Hawaiian, Apache, Cherokee, and Mohawk descent, told Salinas the farm could always use more grant money to expand its work. “There’s a lot that we want to be able to achieve in the crisis we’re living through,” Lowe said. Each day at the farm includes some classtime, with videos or reading, and a discussion about a different topic. On Wednesday, that topic was seeds — saving, germinating and choosing them. Then interns spend time working with plants, including transplanting native pines and planting an elderberry forest heading up the hill.For Joaquin Ocaña, interning at the Elderberry Wisdom Farm is part of connecting with his heritage. On his father’s side, Ocaña is descended from the Kaqchikel people, an Indigenous Maya group from the highlands of Guatemala. Trying to connect to that side of his identity over the past few years led Ocaña to farming and spirituality, but feeling that connection is still a work in progress, Ocaña said. “I’ve never actually been to the place where my people are from, so I think that part is kind of lacking for now,” he said. “I’m still very young and figuring it out, but there are some things that as an individual that you can pay attention to and feel. Those can be my family guiding me and helping me along the way.”Intern Amanda Puitiza, an Oregon State University graduate student completing her Ph.D. in animal sciences, said she learned more about ecology and traditional practices at the farm than she did through her classes or prior work. She grew up in New York, and on the East Coast she said there wasn’t as much discussion about traditional practices outside of specific communities. “I’m really happy to get another perspective on how we’re protecting the environment or the ecosystem, trying to make it healthier,” Puitiza said. “I think it makes me a better learner and teacher in general, just to have more perspectives.” C.J. Senn, an enrolled member of the Umatilla Tribe, pivoted from 13 years working as a pastry chef to finishing her double major in environmental studies and science at Portland State University. After graduation, she’ll join her tribe working on huckleberry genealogy. The most valuable thing Senn has learned through interning at the Elderberry Wisdom Farm, and that she hopes to continue working on, is how to relate to plants and animals. “It’s really just about being a part of it, rather than trying to manipulate it,” Senn said. -- Julia Shumway, Oregon Capital ChronicleThe Oregon Capital Chronicle, founded in 2021, is a nonprofit news organization that focuses on Oregon state government, politics and policy.

Indigenous river campaigner from Peru wins prestigious Goldman prize

Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari led a successful legal battle to protect the Marañon River in the Peruvian AmazonPrize recognises seven activists fighting corporate powerAn Indigenous campaigner and women’s leader from the Peruvian Amazon has been awarded the prestigious Goldman prize for environmental activists, after leading a successful legal campaign that led to the river where her people, the Kukama, live being granted legal personhood.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari, 57, from the village of Shapajila on the Marañon River, led the Huaynakana Kamatahuara Kana (HKK) women’s association, supported by lawyers from Peru’s Legal Defence Institute, in a campaign to protect the river. After three years, judges in Loreto, Peru’s largest Amazon region, ruled in March 2024 that the Marañon had the right to be free-flowing and free of contamination, respecting an Indigenous worldview that regards a river as a living entity. Continue reading...

An Indigenous campaigner and women’s leader from the Peruvian Amazon has been awarded the prestigious Goldman prize for environmental activists, after leading a successful legal campaign that led to the river where her people, the Kukama, live being granted legal personhood.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari, 57, from the village of Shapajila on the Marañon River, led the Huaynakana Kamatahuara Kana (HKK) women’s association, supported by lawyers from Peru’s Legal Defence Institute, in a campaign to protect the river. After three years, judges in Loreto, Peru’s largest Amazon region, ruled in March 2024 that the Marañon had the right to be free-flowing and free of contamination, respecting an Indigenous worldview that regards a river as a living entity.It was a landmark ruling in Peru. The court in Iquitos, Loreto’s capital city, found the Peruvian government had violated the river’s inherent rights, and ordered it to take immediate action to prevent future oil spills into the waterway. The court also ruled that the government must mandate the creation of a protection plan for the entire river basin and recognise the Kukama community as its stewards. The government appealed against the decision, but the court upheld the ruling in October 2024.“She is the ‘mother of rivers’, the Marañon is born in the Andes and flows downstream to become the Amazon River,” Canaquiri said. The Kukama believe the river is sacred and that their ancestors’ spirits reside in its bed. for four decades, however, the Kukama have endured scores of oil spills which destroy fish stocks, damage the ecosystem and contaminate the water with heavy metals.The village of Shapajila on the Marañon River. Photograph: Goldman Environmental PrizeThe Peruvian state oil company Petroperú began building the the Northern Peruvian pipeline in 1970s, and the region around the Marañon River has accounted for 40% of the county’s oil production since 2014 – with devastating effects. There have been more than 60 oil spills along the river since 1997, some of them catastrophic.“My grandparents taught me that there is a giant boa that lives in the river, Puragua, the ‘mother of the river’,”said Canaquiri. The spirit represents the health of the river and its personhood, according to the Kukama’s cosmovision.In practical terms, the Kukama depend on the river for transport, agriculture, water and fish, which is their main protein source. As a result of the the oil drilling, however, they have become highly vulnerable to water contamination.Local people have suffered from fevers, diarrhoea, skin rashes and miscarriages after oil spills, and elevated levels of lead, mercury, arsenic and cadmium were found in the blood of river community members in a 2021 study.Canaquiri, a mother of four with six grandchildren, remembers a blissful childhood with abundant fish and animals before the oil drilling began. “There was plenty of food. We shared everything, worked on each other’s farms and celebrated the festivals together,” she said.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari out on the river with members of her community. Photograph: Goldman Environmental PrizeDespite the ruling, the river is not out of danger and Canaquiri and the HKK are asking the Peruvian government to implement the court’s ruling. The fight continues.skip past newsletter promotionThe planet's most important stories. Get all the week's environment news - the good, the bad and the essentialPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionPeru’s congress passed an anti-NGO law last month, which the country’s president, Dina Boluarte, approved last week. The law prevents civil society organisations from taking legal action or even giving legal counsel in cases against the state over human rights abuses.Canaquiri says the law could cripple their legal battle. “It is worrying because it means lawyers cannot take our cases to enforce our fundamental rights,” she said.“It is not just for us, it is also for the country and the world. Who can live without breathing? If it wasn’t for the Amazon, the forest, the rivers, we wouldn’t have clean air to breathe. How would we get food to eat every day, our fruits, our vegetables, our animals, our fish?”She says she and the HKK are motivated by the future of their children and grandchildren,: “The government needs to understand that it should not kill nature but protect it. Otherwise, what hope will our children, the next generation, have?

Brazil's Indigenous Leader Raoni Says He Is Against Drilling for Oil in Amazon Region

By Lais MoraisBRASILIA (Reuters) -Brazil should not explore oil reserves in the Amazon region, because of the dangerous impact on local communities...

BRASILIA (Reuters) -Brazil should not explore oil reserves in the Amazon region, because of the dangerous impact on local communities, Indigenous leader Raoni Metuktire, of the Kayapo people, told Reuters during the country's largest Indigenous gathering last week.Raoni's comments at the gathering, called Acampamento Terra Livre, come as debate heats up around Brazil's state-run oil firm Petrobras' bid to drill for oil off the coast of the Amazonian state of Amapa, in the sensitive Foz do Amazonas basin."I'm against this oil project," said Raoni, days after he met with Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva. "I personally told President Lula that I am against it, I do not accept this oil in the Amazon."Though Lula has sought to be recognized as a champion of the world's tropical forests and Brazil's Indigenous peoples, he has also said that the country should be able to drill in the environmentally sensitive Foz do Amazonas basin. He has criticized the country's environmental agency Ibama for its delay in giving Petrobras a license to do so.Raoni, who has been an internationally recognized environmental campaigner for decades, was one of the few people invited by Lula to stand by him when he was sworn in for his third term as president in January 2023. In May 2023, Ibama denied Petrobras' request for an offshore drilling license for Foz do Amazonas, citing environmental concerns. It later also highlighted concerns over the effects the drilling could have on Amapa's Indigenous communities. The oil company appealed, but a final Ibama decision is pending.The Foz do Amazonas basin is in Brazil's Equatorial Margin, considered the country's most promising oil frontier, sharing geology with nearby Guyana, where Exxon Mobil is developing huge oil fields. (Reporting by Lais Morais in Brasilia, writing by Fabio Teixeira, editing by Manuela Andreoni and Aurora Ellis)Copyright 2025 Thomson Reuters.

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