3. Further Afield

Behind every loaf of bread is a wheat field. I would often go to watch the farmer ploughing the terraces set aside for wheat growing beyond the northern wall of our large garden. Looking over the terraces, I saw two oxen being yoked and the farmer hitching the plough to the yoke, ready to start his work. After an adjustment or two and some swinging around by the oxen, they began moving in my direction. I made my way to the terrace as the team was starting and made myself comfortable. I sat on the terrace wall with my knees under my chin, watching. The rounded sandstone terrace rocks were covered with moss and between the rocks the fleshy stems of cyclamen poked through clumps of dark green leaves producing a burst of soft colour.

The delicious smell of newly turned soil filled the air. Slowly, steadily, the two grunting oxen came towards me with the ploughman walking purposefully behind. As they came past me, filling my vision, my eyes were drawn to the shining top section of the plough blade as it exposed the richness of the soil in a slowly breaking wave.

Suddenly, right in front of me, the farmer stopped the oxen with a jerk. The plough was pulled and shaken out of its rut as the oxen backed up to allow the long blade to be pulled out of the wound in the soil. Using a stick with a flat steel end, the farmer twisted off a root intertwined with a few rocks and with a sigh of satisfaction threw the obstruction into the distance. Then, with a chorus of grunts from the team, the plough bit deep into the soil again and was pulled relentlessly on, guided by the strong hand of the ploughman.

Back and forth in front of me, furrow by furrow, the team laboured on until the whole terrace was cultivated. On to the next terrace! Systematically, parallel furrows were ploughed, turning the soil, slapping the dried grass and stalks under the curl. I was mesmerized by the relentless blade, the rhythm of the two oxen pulling together in yoke and the steady, heavy-handed strength of the ploughman. This dynamic display of power spoke to me of enormous security. Once or twice while I watched, the farmer used the other end of the stick he carried to prod the oxen’s flank. The end he used was sharp. The effect was to cause a minor adjustment left or right. When he goaded the younger and less experienced ox, it gave a kick aimed in the general direction of the stick, on the first prod. It’s tail twitched wildly on the second prod and it lunged forward to keep up with the older more experienced one. The pace did not slacken as the older one carried on pulling, keeping up the relentless forward movement. He sustained it in spite of the jerking and plunging of the younger one in the yoke. The older ox had already learned that it was good to submit to the farmer and bend his neck to the plough. He seemed able to respond and plodding along at the right speed, it accomplished the purpose for which it had been harnessed. The relationship with the ploughman showed trust. I could see that the farmer knew what he was doing. He had the whole picture in view: ploughing the field terrace by terrace, sowing the seed, waiting for growth, ripening, harvesting, threshing, winnowing; with everything happening in the right way and at the right time.

Sometimes, before the oxen really got into the ploughing process, the farmer would put the wooden yoke on them and adjust the long stakes through the top piece, which went on either side of their necks, to fit properly. He would check to see that the yoke did not cause too much discomfort to the oxen. Sometimes, for new oxen, the yoke would be too tight. In that case the farmer would take the yoke to the carpenter who worked near the butcher. He would shave, shape and adjust the stakes and yoke until it made the best fit possible. As an adult, when I read Jesus’ statement about his yoke being ‘easy’, I often wondered if he, as a carpenter, had been involved in shaving the yoke to fit a cows’ neck. It did make a difference to a cow that the yoke was custom fit. In fact, so many of Jesus’ parables and sayings were easy for me to understand, having seen it all in front of me.

Ploughing and sowing for winter wheat is done in autumn, anytime from the end of September to the beginning of October. In such seasons, in the late afternoon, I had sight of the farmer walking along the terraces throwing out the seed in such a way that it was evenly spread over the whole width of the terraces as he walked. The seed that he was throwing out so skillfully came from a bag round his neck. Once the last terrace was finished that was the day’s work done.

From the time of sowing onwards the seed grows, sprouts and produces a green stalk with a soft gradually filling out ear of wheat. When the ear is dry, it can be rubbed in the hands, producing a rasping sound, which tickles from the action of the bristles attached to each seed, to produce the hard wheat kernel. It is ripe and ready for harvesting in mid-March towards the beginning of spring.

Harvest is a time for the hard work of cutting the ripe wheat, putting it into sheaves ready to be cut up into pieces by the threshing sledge. What fun it was to be part of the threshing process as the oxen pulled the sledge round and round on the threshing floor. Many evenly spaced granite stones are embedded in the underside of the sledge such that they cut the wheat stalks and ears up very finely in a way that allowed most of the wheat kernels to filter down onto the threshing floor.

Once numerous sheaves had been processed like this, the straw was removed with a long-handled wooden winnowing fork exposing the thousands of wheat kernels all mixed in with a lot of chaff. With a good wind up, when this mix is thrown up into the air, the heavier kernels fall on the ground and the chaff blows away, leaving a mound of wheat seed which is then gathered together and taken away to be stored. Most will be ground up to produce flour for bread and pastry, while a set amount will be carefully stored up for the next year’s sowing.