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The Real Country: 1 Under the plough
By 1500, towns remained small throughout Europe. These days, a populated area with up to twenty thousand inhabitants is recognised as a small town or large village; France had only fourteen towns larger than that, and England had just one, London. The contrast between urban and rural life is illustrated well by some of the most remarkable frescoes from before the Renaissance, painted by Ambrogio Lorenzetti in the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena in 1338-39.
These frescoes for the Council Room are overt social and political commentary forming a lesson in civics. In six different scenes, he shows allegories and examples of good and bad government in the city and country. The Effects of Good Government in the City (1338-39) is modelled after Siena, and intended to illustrate peaceful prosperity resulting from wise politics. There are no beggars, no street crime. Life is peaceful and orderly, and the citizens are prosperous and healthy. During its golden age before the Black Death in 1348, Siena reached a population of fifty thousand, huge by the standards of the day, and similar to its present size.
Essential to the prosperity of the city were the Effects of Good Government in the Countryside (1338-39), where crops were grown and livestock farmed to feed the city and provide materials for its trade. This is a neat, almost manicured countryside with a patchwork of fields, and all the peasants fully occupied and working hard.
Almost all farms combined the rearing of livestock such as cattle with the production of cereals and vegetables, and few were able to specialise in either, or in a single crop. Almost all had the joint tasks of feeding locals at a subsistence level and trying to grow a surplus to sell into the city.
Key to the growing of crops was soil quality. The only fertiliser available to increase soil nutrients came from livestock, and the only way to prepare the soil to give the best yields was ploughing. Little land at this time had any form of drainage, so in many parts of Europe it was wet for much of the year. That made the soil heavy, particularly if it was clay, and ploughing was used to break the soil up into a fine tilth, and to build that into ridges and furrows to help it drain.
This is shown in the foreground of this copy, possibly painted by de Momper, of Brueghel’s Landscape with the Fall of Icarus from about 1558. Although its landscape is fictitious, the ploughman in the foreground appears true to life, and his plough typical of much of Europe at that time, as shown in the detail below.
At the very front of the plough is a small jockey wheel, behind which is a vertical metal blade, the coulter or skeith, whose task is to cut into the ground just ahead of the share, a wooden board that turns the surface of the earth to one side. The effect on the ground is to cut furrows into its surface and turn the soil onto ridges. When repeated five or more times over the course of the autumn and winter, this could build ridges high enough for the water to drain into the furrows, and coupled with the action of ground frost could break up even heavy clays into a tilth ready for sowing in the Spring.
An interesting detail revealed in Brueghel’s painting is how the course of the plough is curved, and swings wide to make the turn, as I explained in the introduction to this series last week.
Ploughing required considerable pulling power, usually delivered by a team of oxen, generally bullocks (castrated males), rather than horses. Where the soil was heavy going, a team of six or even eight were required. Even after the introduction of the heavy mould-board or turning plough in the eighteenth century, it wasn’t unusual to see large teams still in use.
Rosa Bonheur’s Ploughing in Nevers, painted in 1849, shows two teams of six oxen each drawing more modern mould-board ploughs through heavy soil to build high ridges.
Further improvements in plough design and possibly lighter soil enabled the reduced team seen in Eugène Burnand’s Ploughing in the Jorat in 1916, with a single horse leading a pair of oxen.
By 1931, when Grant Wood painted Fall Plowing, the recently-developed walking plough had a steel ploughshare, bringing a major advance in cultivating the prairie in Iowa. By this time many farms had started to replace their horses and oxen with tractors, a subject I’ll return to later in this series.
Ploughing was arduous work for all concerned, and working even relatively small areas of arable land was time-consuming. In more northerly latitudes, winter days are short, and it wasn’t easy to find sufficient daylight to plough enough land five times over for the following year’s crops. Arable farming demanded a great deal of time and effort year-round.
当我跑完步,我谈些什么 – 5
突然发现,长跑时,到了跑得很累,大家都开始坚持的那个阶段,其中一些人,会产生很强烈的精神涣散 or 注意力减退。平时在操场跑道、路况很好、或者很熟悉的线路上,还不明显;到了陌生的、情况复杂的地方,就格外明显。他们会忽略路面上的凸起,甚至下台阶的时候都会数错,各种被绊到;在行人众多的地方,也不能及时地发现和躲避,出现在他们轨迹前方的行人,经常直直地撞上去。于是一起跑步的我,需要分出一缕心神,不时地提醒对方。
这些状况,在我身上很少出现。即使跑的很累了,我也在眼观六路耳听八方。——我觉得这不是什么先天基因差异,而是相对后天的因素吧。和那些习惯了心无旁骛、而不需要关注周围环境的人相比,我更常有的状态,是意识到自己走在各种陌生的路上,于是每一秒都在警惕有什么状况会发生,从而不允许自己有太多涣散。
也未必一定要用「警惕」这样的视角。通常我在路上,也能比别人更细微地观察着各种角落,发现更多有趣的东西。所以「不涣散」也可以从这种正向的角度去解释。——当然,这几件事哪个是因,哪个是果,我也分不清楚。
另一方面,那些能够随便就让自己跑到精神涣散的人,成绩、训练效果、进步速度……比我要好一些。当然这里面也存在幸存者效应。其中一些人,在旁边没人照料的时候,动不动就扭到脚、撞到人,受伤休息几个月;甚至伤情更严重一些,永远告别跑步这项运动。但幸存的那些人,确实运动效果比我要好。也有人选择从来不在路况不好的地方跑步,就可以一直涣散着跑得很好。——这里面也能看出各种 privilege,对那些能够心里完全不去顾及其它纷扰,单纯地投入地去做事的人,表示羡慕。但(也可能是我的观察样本有问题)这样的人也更偏向「岁月静好」,在自己的世界里,理所当然地不去关心远方的苦难。
主宾谓
之前聊到,日文、藏文的语序结构,和我们习惯的中文、英文不同,是谓语动词放在句子最后的「主语-宾语-谓语」的形式。
- 中文、英文,是「主-谓-宾」。譬如:我-是-学生。我-想-你。
- 日文、藏文,是「主-宾-谓」。类似于:我-学生-是。我-你-想。
:(吐槽)所以人们常说的,日本人懂礼貌,会听人把话说完。其实是因为这样的结构,需要认真听到最后一个词,才知道整个句子要说「是」或「不是」啊。
:对于需要使用不同敬语的日本人,也方便他们先把宾语对象列出来,再根据其身份,决定用什么样的敬语去修饰动词。
另一个 blog 有时候写得少的原因,大概是在「文章是在写给谁?」这方面,无意识地发生了混乱。
除去一部分
- 技术贴
- 分享有趣的经历或见闻
- 对自己状态的描述、分析、展示
的篇目;其它很多文章,应该是(有意识或无意识地)有一个,潜在的写作对象的。他可能是
- 现实中特定的人,可能是情感相关,也可能只是隔空喊话。当然,对方未必会来看;
- 一个虚幻的,用来倾诉的对象;
- 想要吐槽的某些现象,所代表的人群;
- 预计会来看这个 blog 的读者们,不是特定的人,但有某种同温层特质;
- 也可能,这个对象还是我自己。
于是,经常写到一半,突然意识到这个对象的存在,然后陷入「我这样写,有什么意义吗」的沮丧,也就不写了。
又或者,吐槽吐到一半,突然意识到,我所吐槽的特质,其实和来看 blog 的人,并不相关。于是反而担心,会不会让读者们对号入座产生误解,或者觉得我这个对空掰扯道理的样子很爹味儿之类的。
——就像在「主-宾-谓」的句子里,谓语写一半了,才意识到,那个预设的宾语的存在。