deepundergroundpoetry.com
Village Threshing-Rock
Right up close
on the south side of our house
lies the village threshing-rock
held in common, owned by no-one -
though no longer used
for its original purpose,
it carries unknown histories
dating back centuries
holding stories of a stage
in making bread.
Vertical integration. From farm to table.
Three hours ago it had a heap of my lenha* on it
so I got up early to wheelbarrow and stack it under cover
before it outstayed its welcome
before it got too hot to work
before the forecast rain came (which it might not).
Then I brushed the rock clean of bark and bits
as a ritual to honour its longevity.
I took the photo ten minutes ago
and sat down in the garden to write this.
It’s 10.45 a.m. Time for breakfast now.
The bread will taste different today.
Published 22nd Apr 2019
| Edited 9th Mar 2024
Author's Note
NaPo Day-22 contribution. * ‘Lenha’ is the Portuguese word for wood, cut & split ready for the wood-burning stoves.
(photo credit: Joshua Bond)
(photo credit: Joshua Bond)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 8
reading list entries 1
comments 24
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
22nd Apr 2019 1:38pm
Thank you, Josh, for sharing the history of such an object, I love the telling. I wish I could have a taste of that bread,
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Thank you for commenting, and the RL, Jade; glad you liked it. Breakfast bread was 'home-made' but not as past generations would have meant by 'home-made'. :))
Most villages have a threshing-rock, since we live in a granite area and it outcrops all over the place, also with huge boulders perched precariously on hill-sides. The firestorm of Oct 2017 has made them a lot more visible with all the burnt trees cut down now.
Most villages have a threshing-rock, since we live in a granite area and it outcrops all over the place, also with huge boulders perched precariously on hill-sides. The firestorm of Oct 2017 has made them a lot more visible with all the burnt trees cut down now.
22nd Apr 2019 2:30pm
Mmmm, just uttering the words “breakfast bread” ... it’s like receiving a warm embrace.
22nd Apr 2019 2:48pm
Maybe we somehow associate the onomatopoeic element with the smell of bread which then triggers a sense of home, of belonging.
22nd Apr 2019 1:56pm
22nd Apr 2019 2:34pm
That's an interesting question. Having just looked up what a 'plague stone' is, the answer is I've no idea. Next time I see him, I'll ask the local history guy (who happens to be Dutch, not Portuguese) and who charts the ancient monoliths, quoits and other significant such places in the area. You got me intrigued.
22nd Apr 2019 6:12pm
There are all sorts of things from the past under our noses; they're fascinating when pointed out (as your poem did).
Tenter hooks in Yorkshire, communal bread ovens in villages, village wells in the gardens of houses where the public still has access rights to the well. ....
Tenter hooks in Yorkshire, communal bread ovens in villages, village wells in the gardens of houses where the public still has access rights to the well. ....
22nd Apr 2019 2:04pm
22nd Apr 2019 2:36pm
Thank you SweetOblivion for reading and commenting. I think I was inspired by some other NaPo contributors writing about their locality.
Anonymous
22nd Apr 2019 3:13pm
I love the history behind it and how you respect that, honour it with both action and word. Beautiful
22nd Apr 2019 3:33pm
Thank you Willow; your comment has just inspired me to add a line (the first of the 3 'before's). I had a feeling something was still missing and I realised I felt a little uncomfortable with a pile of wood 'unceremoniously' dumped on the threshing-rock on Saturday but it is by far the most convenient place to put it regarding getting it into the covered wood-store at the back of the house. Dealing with it wasn't only about sun & rain. I guess of course the rock doesn't/didn't mind, but I have my sensitivities regarding Nature. :))
22nd Apr 2019 3:20pm
22nd Apr 2019 3:33pm
Anonymous
- Edited 8th May 2020 8:45pm
22nd Apr 2019 8:02pm
<< post removed >>
22nd Apr 2019 8:21pm
Thank you for the compliment, hrshykss. We are a bit of an oasis for birds (deliberately intended), so much so they now feel quite at home nesting in our roof, squawking and squabbling in the early morning - way more effective than an alarm-clock. :))
Anonymous
- Edited 8th May 2020 8:45pm
22nd Apr 2019 8:24pm
<< post removed >>
22nd Apr 2019 8:52pm
Josh, I enjoy your story telling, especially when you add mystery and wonder as "It carries unknown histories dating back centuries".
22nd Apr 2019 9:01pm
Thank you Wallyroo - the various responses to this poem are teaching me something I need to hear.
Bravo, Josh! What a fascinating, magically historical thing to have near your property. The whispers of ancient industry must be heard when doing like labor on that stone.
23rd Apr 2019 10:53am
Thank you - before moving to Portugal we lived in Cornwall 10 years and the nearness of ancient quoits, standing-stones, stone-circles, holy wells etc has always had a 'pull' for me.
23rd Apr 2019 2:52pm
What a fascinating, mystcal, occasionally time to live amongst those who stood those stones on end, Druids etc. I watched an intriguing Nova documentary about the theories of how the Moai were carved and erected in Rapa Nui. Portugal seems like a beautiful place to live. I lived in Spain for a time and loved it.
23rd Apr 2019 3:06pm
We live in mid-north Portugal, half-way between Coimbra (the old capital) and the more modern city of Viseu (though still with its old centre on the hill-top). It's been raining like hell this month, thankfully refilling the wells - and is one reason why this zone is still called "The Green Heart of Portugal" despite the catastrophic fires in recent years.
Anonymous
- Edited 22nd Feb 2020 6:45am
7th May 2019 8:25pm
<< post removed >>
7th May 2019 8:38pm
Thank you MysticalRose for following my link to check out this poem. When living in Cornwall before moving to Portugal, we were surrounded with stone circles, standing-stones, quoits and the feel of old Celt. I always sensed them as power-places to inspire and renew faith in life when feeling down. The threshing rock, although not man-made, feels a bit similar - so to have it on our doorstep is quite magical.
