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www3.nhk.or.jp Some dairy farms in Fukushima Prefecture have resumed shipping milk after radiation levels in the milk cleared the government's safety standards.

The shipments are the first since the Japanese government lifted a ban last Friday on milk from 7 cities and towns in the prefecture. www3.nhk.or.jp

2.bp.blogspot.com The 2:46 Quakebook project started with a tweet and is on the verge of something great, a way that we can help all those hit by the the March 11th, 2011 earthquake and its aftermath.

Led by OurManInAbiko, a call went out across Twitter for contributors to create a book to raise funds for Red Cross Japan. The idea was to share the stories and experiences of people actually on the ground during the earthquake, whilst raising funds for the Red Cross. www.quakebook.org

www.japantimes.co.jp Japan's seismic nerve center
Those tasked with warning the nation of quakes and tsunami can never drop their guard The Earthquake Phenomena Observation System, located inside the Japan Meteorological Agency in Tokyo's central Otemachi district, is usually operated by five teams of seven who work in rotating shifts that span every minute of the year. But at 2:46 p.m. on March 11 this year, all that changed. In an atmosphere that even one of Japan's famously reserved bureaucrats — an agency staffer — admitted was "extremely intense," everyone who physically could report for duty did, and some didn't go home for the next 72 hours.


Shock and awe: Data from meters all over Japan, as seen at right, helped computers create this constantly updated map of shaking during the March 11 megaquake (above). JAPAN METEOROLOGICAL AGENCY

During the first three days after the Great Eastern Japan Earthquake struck, the EPOS operators in Tokyo detected and monitored what was literally a nonstop barrage of aftershocks. In that 72-hour period, they recorded more than 250 quakes of magnitude 5 or higher — that's an average of one every 17 minutes. At least 45 of those exceeded magnitude 6, and three topped magnitude 7. search.japantimes.co.jp

www.japantimes.co.jp MINAMISOMA, Fukushima Prefecture — There's a repellent stench coming from the cowshed. It's a mixture of manure, hay and something more difficult to pinpoint — something dank, musty, unworldly.

At the back, penned behind large wooden troughs, two cows stumble back and forth, searching for food and water. Two others are lying on their sides, eyes vacant, their bodies bloated. They, too, had waited to be fed, but in vain.

There is no water — the taps are dry — and there's nothing to feed them with, though even if there was, there's no one to put it out for them. The farmer has fled, along with all the other residents of this small community, who were told to leave following the disaster that began on March 11 a short distance down the road.

They obviously left in a hurry — doors of homes are left ajar, partially finished cups of tea lie abandoned on a table. The only beings here — dead, or barely living — are parched and famished farm animals and pets that roam the streets aimlessly in a chilling scene reminiscent of an Alfred Hitchcock film. search.japantimes.co.jp