In Colombia, seven decades of armed conflict and a protracted “war on drugs” have created unsustainable social and environmental conditions for scientists and rural communities in their attempt to promote non‐illicit crops and care for forests. In Vital Decomposition: Soil Practitioners + Life Politics, anthropologist Kristina Lyons presents an ethnography of the relationship between humans and soil in the rural southern region of the country, where the Amazon meets the Andes. While not minimizing the significance of protracted violence, aero‐fumigation, and widespread toxicity, she invites readers to see how rural farmers cultivate regenerative “ethico‐ecological imaginaries” that are grounded in alternative agro‐life processes rather than standard science or textbook practices The book will be of great interest to the agronomy, crop, and soil community interested in the interdisciplinary assessment of Earth's critical living surface. Lyons’ book offers a unique perspective on Vadose Zone Journal’s goal of integrating research and assessment to facilitate the sustainable management of the vadose zone.

Over four years, Lyons engaged in long‐term field work in Colombia, shadowing soil scientists, microbiologists, chemists, agronomists, and small‐scale farmers through their everyday lives in soil laboratories, society and governmental meetings, forests, rural farms, and greenhouses. She observed that differing notions of productivity, development, and sustainability informed how they understood and related to an often ignored and undervalued resource—soils. Specifically, Lyons focuses on the practices and beliefs of rural farmers who value the transformation of hojarasca or litter layers that help sustain life in the Andean‐Amazon forests near Colombia's border with Ecuador and Peru. Instead of looking solely at what it means for rural farming communities to live in regions described as the epicenter for violence and crime, she focuses on what makes life possible in such regions. Lyons raises the fundamental question of how do people keep caring for plants, places, and each other when, at any moment, their land may be bombarded with herbicides due to geopolitical strategy outside of their control?

Through her research, Lyons weaves poetry and storytelling into a novel analysis of soils. From the perspective of the rural farmers she came to know, Lyons vividly describes the urgent need to “think with Amazonian soils” rather than external systems. She describes rural communities’ connection to the regenerative layers of decomposing leaves, stalks, and fruit, and how they experience selva (forest or jungle) not as something that needs to be cleared or weeded but as the food and “remedy.” She highlights how the farmers do not view their land as merely a piece of property to be worked and extracted for profit and sustenance but rather as something “to endure” (aguantar). This enduring involves a constant, delicate dance of simultaneously living within and opposing the violence of their reality, all the while seeding transformative alternatives to support the flourishing of their lives and their ecology.

Lyons offers a fresh view of the challenges and opportunities for soil scientists to identify new ways to understand soils and their relationship with the communities in which they are located. Rather than viewing soil as an object, she takes up her interlocutors’ injunction to view soil as a locus of relationships that include people. The book encourages readers to consider the “ontological differences between treating soils as artificial strata, or at best as a natural body that can be routinely chemically manipulated, and interacting with soils as living worlds that are inextricable from their ecological relationalities.” The analytic emphasis on relation leads her to treat both soil and people as emergent, or always in the process of becoming through relationships with human and nonhuman others. This calls into question the binary relationship that is often presumed to exist between life and death, lively (bio‐) and inert (geo‐), or nature and culture, which obliges the human to view soil as resource with singular function such as the economic or environmental service it is able to provide. The farmers argue that Amazonian soils cannot be controlled and scientifically managed as they are for industrial applications elsewhere, but flourish when treated as an actor in its own right, with its own emplaced history. As her main protagonist in the book repeatedly remarks, “you cannot tame the selva” of the Amazon.

One of the most valuable contributions of the book—and of particular relevance to this journal's readership—is its exploration of the different kinds of knowledge and knowledge practices through which soil is understood and comes to matter to differently positioned people. Lyons identifies a deep disconnect between soil scientists, who make soil abstract (generalizable, comparable, and categorical) by transforming it into equations such as soil water retention curves and classifications based on texture and material composition, on the one hand, and the farmers who emphasize the embeddedness of soils in particular sociocultural–environmental–geographic relationships, on the other. As Lyons points out, scientific understanding is driven by funding cycles from government or private corporations, with soil oftentimes transported from rural communities and tested in the safe environments of laboratories. On the contrary, rural communities in Colombia practice under the daily violence of the socio‐political situation in which they find themselves, such as “land‐mined gardens, forests, and pastures.” But Lyons does not simply reduce this issue to a simplistic dynamic of powerful scientists vs. disempowered rural farmers, and she warns her readers against interpreting the ethnography as evidence of dominant and subordinate forms of knowledge. Instead, she looks at how both the rural farmers and the soil scientists “negotiate the boundaries of science and propel their knowledges and practices into political life . . . to transform the material conditions of different beings . . . that share the contingencies of life and death during protracted years of war.”. Her ethnography raises the question of how—in a place where the complexity of such violence means that farmers do not have guarantees of where and for how long they can belong to a densly interconnected web of placed‐based people, soils, and plants—sociotechnical interventions from soil scientists might help or hinder their ability to lead lives they value.

These different ways of knowing soil do come to matter because they inform wider development priorities. Through interactions with soil scientists and farmers, she describes work by the Colombian soil scientist Abdón Cortés, who is credited with institutionalizing the USDA soil classification system in Colombia and then was one of the first scientists to subsequently question the relevance of the system to Amazonian soils. Attempting to fit Amazonian soil into that system renders it a “disappointing soil at the bottom of a hierarchy that almost negates its existence.” Although this classification system judges Amazonian soil as not conducive to the monocrops favored by large‐scale development schemes, it fails to make visible the multiple ways in which it does support the flourishing of human and nonhuman life. What emerges from the ethnography is a clear portrait of the disconnect between the everyday practices of scientists and the rural farmers who seek alternative and locally appropriate sustainable agriculture systems.

Lyons encourages greater curiosity on the part of soil scientists by amplifying her interlocutors’ calls for the same. Halfway through the book, a key question is raised by one of the alternative agriculture leaders, Heraldo, as he grapples with the idea of converting his land to large‐scale coffee crops, which could allow for economic sustainability (in the form of greater access to cash) at the cost of ecological sustainability (and direct nourishment from the diverse plants he cultivates): “Why do we usually think that only outside experts can give us technical support?” Heraldo himself synthesizes mainstream scientific knowledge with his own embodied, place‐based knowledge of Amazonian soils. He continues, drawing out the ways in which nonhuman actors, such as soils and plants, also know: “Why do we think only human minds know?“ He continues, “The farms talk, the plants know, and the human family replies.” Lyons provocatively asks her readers, “How might a greater number of soil scientists and agricultural extension agents learn from selvacinos (people who are “of” the selva), alternative agricultural practitioners, and rural communities if the latter are not required to first perform the scientific equivalence of their practices and know‐how?”

What joins the rural people in this part of Colombia, Lyons argues, is the “desire to create alternative ethical‐material landscapes with their corresponding economic, political and ecological . . . possibilities.” While celebrating their efforts to do so, she also clearly points out the challenges they face, such as the long history of chemical treatment and extraction of Amazonian soils, development policies that favor monoculture‐style agribusiness, the ascendance of proprietary seeds, and the widespread use of chemical pesticides and fertilizers. Rural communities say that the soils and plants retain the violence but that the soils “seem almost too resilient and hospitable for their own good,” leading her to draw parallels with feminist critiques of labor. She describes how so many soil practitioners see soil as merely a laborer or “exploited worker” and are therefore unable to understand the life in it even as they campaign for improving soil health.

In Vital Decomposition, Lyons brings to light themes that transcend the specific conditions of Amazonian soils and challenges the reader to question narratives of soil objectification that obscure the interdependent relationship between soils and people. Her analysis of decay, germination, and life challenges binary models of understanding and encourages us to think more of what can come to be. Death can make different forms of life possible. Farmers can be inventors. Scientists can develop “ojos para ella” or eyes for la selva. Different soil practices can create different kinds of humans, ethics, and intertwined ecologies.

在哥伦比亚，长达七十年的武装冲突和旷日持久的“禁毒战争”，为科学家和农村社区促进非农作物和森林保护的努力创造了不可持续的社会和环境条件。在重要的分解中：土壤从业者+生命政治，人类学家克里斯蒂娜·里昂（Kristina Lyons）展示了人种志，描述了该国南部农村地区（亚马逊河与安第斯山脉相遇的地方）人与土壤之间的关系。她并没有最小化旷日持久的暴力，航空熏蒸和广泛的毒性的重要性，但她邀请读者来看看农村农民如何培养基于替代农业生活过程而不是标准科学或教科书实践的可再生的“生态生态学假想”。该书将对对地球的关键生命表面进行跨学科评估感兴趣的农学，作物和土壤界非常感兴趣。Lyons的书对Vadose Zone Journal的研究与评估相结合的目标提供了独特的见解，以促进对Vadose Zone的可持续管理。

在过去的四年中，里昂在哥伦比亚从事长期的野外工作，在土壤实验室，社会和政府会议，森林，农村农场和温室中的日常生活中蒙蔽了土壤科学家，微生物学家，化学家，农艺师和小规模农民。她观察到，生产力，发展和可持续性的不同观念为他们如何理解和与经常被忽视和低估的资源（土壤）建立了联系。具体而言，里昂关注重视霍加拉斯卡（Hojarasca）转型的农村农民的做法和信念或杂物层，有助于维持哥伦比亚与厄瓜多尔和秘鲁接壤的边界附近的安第斯-亚马逊森林中的生命。她不仅仅关注农村农业社区生活在被描述为暴力和犯罪中心的地区的意义，而是关注使这些地区的生活成为可能的事物。里昂提出了一个基本问题，即人们在任何时候由于其无法控制的地缘政治策略而可能用除草剂轰炸他们的土地时，人们如何继续照顾植物，地点和彼此？

通过她的研究，里昂将诗歌和讲故事编织成对土壤的新颖分析。从她认识的农村农民的角度出发，里昂生动地描述了迫切需要“思考亚马逊河的土壤”而不是外部系统。她描述了农村社区与腐烂的叶子，茎杆和水果的再生层之间的联系，以及他们如何体验奴隶制（森林或丛林）而不是需要清除或除草的东西，而是食物和“补救措施”。她着重强调了农民如何将他们的土地不仅仅视为为了获取利润和维持生计而进行耕作和开采的财产，而是视为“经久不衰”的东西（阿瓜塔尔）。这种持久的舞蹈包含着不断细腻的舞蹈，它同时生活在现实中并与现实的暴力作对，同时还为支持他们的生活和生态繁荣发展注入了变革性的选择。

里昂为土壤科学家提供了一种新的挑战和机遇，以寻找新的方法来了解土壤及其与土壤社区的关系。她没有将对话视为事物，而是接受了对话者的禁令，将土壤视为包括人与人之间关系的场所。该书鼓励读者考虑“在将土壤视为人工地层或至多作为可以进行常规化学处理的自然体以及与土壤作为与它们的生态关系密不可分的生活世界进行交互之间的本体论差异”。对关系的分析强调使她将土壤和人都视为新兴事物，或者始终处于通过与人和非人他人建立关系的过程中。这使人们怀疑生与死，活泼的（生物的）和惰性的（地理的）或自然与文化之间通常存在的二元关系，这迫使人类将土壤视为具有奇异功能的资源，例如能够提供的经济或环境服务。农民们争辩说，亚马逊河的土壤无法像在其他地方的工业应用那样受到控制和科学管理，而是当被视为具有自身历史和历史的行为者时，会蓬勃发展。正如她在书中的主要主角反复指出的那样，“你不能驯服亚马逊河”。它迫使人类将土壤视为具有独特功能的资源，例如其能够提供的经济或环境服务。农民们争辩说，亚马逊河的土壤无法像在其他地方的工业应用那样受到控制和科学管理，而是当被视为具有自身历史和历史的行为者时，会蓬勃发展。正如她在书中的主要主角反复指出的那样，“你不能驯服亚马逊河”。它迫使人类将土壤视为具有独特功能的资源，例如其能够提供的经济或环境服务。农民们争辩说，亚马逊河的土壤无法像在其他地方的工业应用那样受到控制和科学管理，而是当被视为具有自身历史和历史的行为者时，会蓬勃发展。正如她在书中的主要人物反复说的那样，“你不能驯服亚马逊河”。

这本书最有价值的贡献之一，尤其是与该期刊的读者群有关，是它探索了各种知识和知识实践的基础，通过这种知识和知识实践，土壤被理解并定位于不同位置的人们。里昂（Lyons）指出，土壤科学家与土壤农民之间存在着深远的联系，他们通过将土壤转化为方程式（例如，土壤保水曲线和基于质地和材料成分的分类）来使土壤抽象（可概括，可比较和分类），另一方面，强调土壤​​的嵌入性，特别是社会文化-环境-地理的关系。正如里昂所指出的那样，科学的理解是由政府或私人公司的融资周期驱动的，土壤通常是从农村社区运来的，并在实验室的安全环境中进行了测试。相反，哥伦比亚的农村社区在他们所处的社会政治局势的日常暴力下活动，例如“陆地花园，森林和牧场”。但是里昂并没有将这个问题简单地归结为强大的科学家与没有权力的农村农民之间的简单化动态，而且她警告读者不要将人种学解释为主要和次要知识形式的证据。取而代之的是，她着眼于农村农民和土壤科学家如何“协商科学的边界，并将他们的知识和实践带入政治生活”。。。改变不同生物的物质条件。。。在旷日持久的战争中生死存亡。”。她的人种志提出了一个问题：在这样一个暴力复杂的地方，农民无法保证他们可以属于一个紧密相连的，以人为本的土壤，植物和植物的网，在何处以及可以持续多久？土壤科学家的干预可能会帮助或阻碍他们过着有价值的生活的能力。

了解土壤的这些不同方法确实很重要，因为它们为更广泛的发展重点提供了信息。通过与土壤科学家和农民的互动，她描述了哥伦比亚土壤科学家AbdónCortés的工作，他因将哥伦比亚农业部土壤分类系统制度化而功不可没，后来成为最早质疑该系统与亚马逊土壤相关性的科学家之一。 。试图将亚马逊河的土壤纳入该系统使其成为“几乎破坏了它的存在的令人失望的层次结构的土壤”。尽管该分类系统判断亚马逊河土壤不利于大规模开发计划青睐的单作作物，但它未能使支持人类和非人类生活蓬勃发展的多种方式可见。

里昂（Lyons）通过扩大对话者的呼吁，鼓励土壤科学家们提高好奇心。在本书中途，另一位替代农业领导人之一赫拉尔多提出了一个关键问题，他努力解决将土地转变为大规模咖啡作物的想法，这可以实现经济可持续性（以更大的获取机会的形式）。现金）以生态可持续性（以及他种植的多种植物的直接营养）为代价：“为什么我们通常认为只有外部专家才能为我们提供技术支持？” Heraldo自己将主流科学知识与自己对亚马逊土壤的具体化，基于地点的知识进行了综合。他继续指出了非人类行为者（例如土壤和植物）也知道的方式：“为什么我们认为只有人类的头脑知道？”他继续说，“农场说话，植物知道，人类家庭答复。” 里昂斯挑衅地问她的读者：“如果不要求后者先让塞尔瓦科诺人（来自“塞尔瓦”的人），替代农业从业人员和农村社区向更多的土壤科学家和农业推广人员学习，他们将如何学习？他们的实践和专有技术是否具有科学上的等效性？”

里昂认为，将哥伦比亚这一地区的农村人口与农民联系在一起的是“渴望用其相应的经济，政治和生态创造另类的伦理物质景观。。。可能性。” 在庆祝他们这样做的努力时，她还明确指出了他们面临的挑战，例如悠久的化学处理和亚马孙土壤的提取历史，有利于单一种植式农业综合企业的发展政策，专有种子的崛起以及广泛的种植。使用化学农药和化肥。农村社区说，土壤和植物保留着暴力，但土壤“似乎对自己的利益几乎太有弹性和好客”，这使她与女权主义的劳动批评相提并论。

在重要分解中，里昂提出了超越亚马逊土壤特殊条件的主题，并向读者提出质疑土壤客观化的叙述的想法，这些叙述掩盖了土壤与人与人之间相互依存的关系。她对衰变，发芽和生命的分析对理解的二元模型提出了挑战，并鼓励我们更多地思考可能发生的事情。死亡可以使不同形式的生活成为可能。农民可以是发明家。科学家可以开发“ OJOS对埃”或眼睛拉塞尔瓦。不同的土壤实践可以创造出不同种类的人类，伦理学和相互交织的生态。