Throughout the year, “as the seasons rolled on . . . and the many days were brought in their course,” the Greeks looked to the stars to faithfully measure the passage of time.1 In the eighth century BC, Homer mentioned the major segments of the year as seasons and months. Later astronomers defined the “twelve signs of the Zodiac” that “mark the great year—the season to plow and sow the fallow field and the season to plant the tree.”2
Ancient farmers depended on these and other celestial signposts while working to feed their families. Star and constellation risings and settings told them when to plow and plant, and when to prune the grapevines. They told them when to harvest and winnow the grain, and when to gather the grapes.
Anxious eyes turned toward the skies and closely scanned the eastern horizon before the light of morning. As dimmer stars disappeared with the approach of dawn, observers focused all the more closely. They watched and waited for certain bright stars to make their heliacal rising—their first annual appearance in the east ahead of the sun.3
As farmers became more familiar with the patterns of stars and constellations, they learned to predict specific risings. They knew, for example, that the star called Herald of the Dog (Procyon) rose eight days ahead of the Dog Star (Sirius). They knew that by noting a star’s position in its constellation, they could predict the star’s approach as the constellation inched higher into the eastern sky each morning. Likewise, if a star could not be seen because it was “dark with clouds or hidden behind a hill,” they could use surrounding stars to surmise its location.4
Farmers soon became proficient at assigning principal stars and constellations to certain seasons. In ancient times, the winter months closely matched our modern calendar dates of December 27 to March 28.5 During this three-month period, the Greeks discerned that the sun passed through the three zodiacal constellations associated with water—Goat Horn (Capricornus), Water Bearer (Aquarius), and Fishes (Pisces). These marked the cold and rainy season, when fields remained mostly unattended. During this time, farm families sat by the fire and busied themselves with indoor chores, such as repairing and replenishing tools and furnishings.
The wood for these had been chopped in autumn—at the end of the harvest of grapes and olives—when trees had entered dormancy and dropped their leaves. Autumn was also the time to fashion new plows, if needed. One was for the fall plowing at hand. A second served as a spare in case the first should break. The sturdy wood of the holm oak tree produced the best plows—with a hand-width trunk for a running board and an angled branch for a handle.6
Other toolmaking could wait for winter, when farmers stayed inside fashioning handles, sharpening iron, and attaching the two together to make the tools. The tools included mattocks for digging and forming furrows, hoes for weeding and working the soil, sickles for harvesting stalks of grain, and knives for pruning vines and shoots. Some farmers crafted two-wheeled carts for toting tools, fodder, and fertilizer. At harvest, the carts hauled hefty loads of grain, grapes, and olives. Farmers who owned no grinding stone might also make a wooden mortar and pestle—for pounding parched grain into meal.7 Carving, shaping, and smoothing tools and furnishings kept families busy through the long winter months.
Finally, by February 25, “sixty wintry days after the solstice,” the coldest months had come and gone. Now, after sunset, farmers stared into the eastern sky, anticipating the appearance of the star they called Bear Guard (Arcturus). They knew that it would soon rise over the sparkling sea, “shining brightly just at dusk, leaving behind the holy stream of Oceanus.”8 On the day following the star’s first appearance, they left their cozy hearths and homes, and headed for the fields with freshly sharpened knives and mattocks.9
The time had arrived to prune the vineyards and plant the fruit trees—figs, apples, pears, and olives.10 For planting, the farmer first selected a site free of saturation. Too much water would rot the roots. Then he dug a hole no more than two feet wide and two and a half feet deep.
He left a loose layer of loam in the bottom to give the roots ample room to grow and roam. As he planted the tree and filled the hole, he firmly packed soil around the sapling. This blocked the sun from baking the earth and wilting the roots, and barred the rain from forming a bog.11
Although the star named Bear Guard promised the approach of spring, the skies might still bring fitful bursts of wet or wintry weather. For farmers, weather made the difference in survival or starvation. So they learned to read the signs of coming rain or drought; or scorching heat; or frost and freeze; or heavy winds and storms. Across the generations, they amassed a wealth of weather lore.
They noted that a soft, rosy dawn brought an interval of calm. But when the morning sky shone fiery red or waterfowl wheeled overhead and fled the sea, then one was wise to watch for a coming storm. For further signs of rain, they observed the nervous chatter of sparrows at early light or swarms of bees and wasps throughout the day. Or they noticed wandering toads and salamanders; or the shrill songs of frogs; or the sputter and spark of an oil lamp that proved hard to light.12
On March 28, a month after the sighting of Bear Guard, the sun entered the constellation of the Ram (Aries) to mark the start of spring. This was vernal equinox, when days and nights were equal in duration. Farmers now found their way into the fields to hoe and chop the weeds; and thin the overcrowded stalks of grain; and cover roots exposed by wind and rain.13
According to ancient Greek legend, the time had come for poor Persephone to return from six somber months among the dead—from the dark, dreadful halls of Hades. For six more months to follow, she happily rejoined her mother—Demeter—the goddess of farming and harvest. With Demeter’s sorrow for her daughter set aside, winter changed to spring; the gloomy earth turned green; and swallows arrived to fill the air with their sweet, lisping lilts and graceful aerobatics.14
In the hearts and minds of Greeks, swallows represented spring and figured foremost among their feathered friends. According to Aelian: “A swallow is a sign that the best season of the year is at hand. And it is friendly to man and takes pleasure in sharing the same roof. . . . Men welcome it in accordance with the law of hospitality laid down by Homer, who bids us cherish a guest while he is with us, and speed him on his way when he wishes to leave.”15 Kites and other migratory birds also served as heralds of spring, in the same manner that their departure would later mark the coming winter.16
Several days into spring, on April 5, farmers beheld the heliacal setting of the Pleiades. As they stood in the deepening dusk, they watched the last appearance of the shining asterism as it followed the setting sun beyond the western horizon. After this cosmic event, they counted forty days while waiting for the Pleiades to return. To pass the time, they sharpened tools in preparation for the toilsome tasks ahead—the reaping, threshing, and winnowing of barley and wheat.
At last, on May 16, the Pleiades appeared in the dim light of dawn—making a heliacal rising ahead of the morning sun. Now, all those who could hold a sickle in hand headed for the field to start the harvest.17 With backs turned to the wind, to shield the eyes from dust and debris, the strenuous task of cutting stalks of grain began. If the reaper saw that the grain stalk was short, he cut it low. If the stalk was tall, he cut it high. This provided the same length of stalk for fodder, but not so much that it hampered threshing and winnowing.
The stubble that stayed in the field was later burned to enrich the soil or tossed upon a pile for compost. Otherwise, the farmer stacked portable pens to allow livestock to graze the stubble. In return, the animals left a rich layer of manure that fertilized the field.
After cutting stalks of grain, reapers bundled and hauled them to the threshing floor. When fields yielded large crops, the harvest could continue for more than a month. Farmers hoped to gather all the grain by the time the star named Betelgeuse, in the constellation of Orion, made its heliacal rising on June 29. This also marked the time that the Crab (Cancer) aligned with the sun on summer solstice.
Orion’s arrival ushered in the season for threshing and winnowing. Laborers now laid their stalks of grain on a patch of hard-packed earth, “in a well-aired place . . . on a well-rolled threshing floor.”18 At the center of the floor stood a stout vertical post. To this they tied a yoked pair of oxen, horses, mules, or donkeys. In response to shouts and prods, the beasts walked in slow circles around the post, treading the stalks with hard hooves to separate husks from seeds. As the animals lumbered along, threshers watched for untouched stalks and threw them under their trampling feet.19
Threshing took place on a site exposed to the breeze so that grain could be winnowed on the same spot.20 After leading the weary livestock away, the workers removed the larger scraps of stalk from the ground. Then, beginning on the downwind half of the threshing floor, they turned their backs to the wind and tossed the trampled plants into the air.
As the wind blew the chaff away, the heavier seed fell to the floor. Swiftly the winnowers swept the precious grain and placed it into pots or baskets. Then they repeated the process on the upwind half of the floor. At last, with the seed safely stored, they bundled the stalks for fodder.21
Each morning, as the workers watched Orion rising higher in the sky ahead of the sun, they rushed to complete their tasks on time. Often the threshing and winnowing continued from dawn to dusk. They knew that a delay might drag the labor into the sweltering heat of summer, when itchy chaff stuck to sweaty skin, and fatigue began to take its toll.
When the star called Herald of the Dog (Procyon) appeared on the morning of July 20, farmers knew that the Dog Star (Sirius) could not be far away. Sure enough, after a wait of eight days, this brightest star in the sky rose at dawn to announce the scorching Dog Days of summer. Following close behind, the sun entered the constellation of the Lion (Leo).
The Dog Star shone so bright that many believed its intense light made the Earth hotter for the following fifty days. The Greeks recalled how their ancestors had prayed to Zeus for relief from the sweltering heat. Zeus, in turn, commanded the northern (Etesian) winds to blow for forty days each year to make the summers somewhat less severe.22
Still, the Dog Days remained too hot for heavy labor. Even the ancient Greek poet Hesiod—the hardworking farmer—advised a rest. He urged that when the cicada “pours forth its voice in the most dread heat,” then is the time to sit in the shade and drink wine mixed with cold spring water, while nibbling bread, cheese, and meat.23
At last, as the blazing Dog Days came to a close, the grape harvest loomed ahead as a highlight of the year. Over the past several months, farmers had tended their vineyards whenever time allowed, from the late-winter pruning until now. Xenophon noted how Nature herself had taught men the means of assisting the vines throughout the year.
For example, Nature showed humans that vines liked to climb, so gardeners indulged them by erecting trellises. Later, when young and tender clusters of infant grapes emerged, the vines promptly pampered them by spreading leaves to save them from the scorching sun. Responding in kind, workers added man-made shades to keep them safe. At last, when the grapes grew large and longed to ripen in the sun, the vines started to shed their leaves. So farmers assisted by stripping remaining foliage.24
On September 13, the star called Herald of the Vintage (Vindemiatrix) rose at dawn to announce the long-anticipated time to gather the grapes. The Bear Guard (Arcturus) followed eight days later to hasten all remaining hands to the harvest. During these first delightful days of fall, the favored fruit was happily picked to the lively tune of the flute.
The best vineyards grew “clusters of all sorts . . . which ripened one by one at separate times.” Such was the case at the lovely farm of Laertes—the father of Odysseus—on the fertile island of Ithaca.25 With vineyards like these, the pickers made multiple passes to pluck the fruit as soon as it ripened.26
Now came the time to follow Hesiod’s method of making wine: “Pluck off all the grapes and take them home. Set them out in the sun for ten days and ten nights, then cover them up in the shade for five, and on the sixth, draw out the gift of much-cheering Dionysus [god of wine and revelry] into storage-vessels.”27
Owners of large vineyards paid pickers to stomp the grapes in vats, again to the rhythm of flutes. Families with smaller harvests often pressed their grapes by hand. With the work at an end, and the wine safely stored in pottery or leather skins, farmers ceremoniously sampled the vintage. Meanwhile, autumn arrived as the sun entered the constellation of the Claws (Libra), on September 30—at autumnal equinox.
By now, the olive harvest beckoned. It began earlier or later in some locales, depending on climate, desired degree of ripeness, and other considerations. Harvesters picked the olives by hand from the lower branches and knocked down those above with the gentle rap of a reed. Some they kept for eating. Others, they pressed to make oil for cooking and lighting lamps.
As the olive harvest progressed, the Pleiades dipped lower each night toward the west. Finally, the shimmering asterism reached its apparent cosmical setting—its last appearance on the western horizon just before the eastern sunrise. This celestial event, on November 3, marked the time for plowing and sowing the grain-fields, before the onset of winter.
Following the Pleiades, the Hyades and Orion also set in the west, on November 11 and 25. Together, these provided three celestial warnings for farmers to finish their plowing before foul weather arrived.28 If you wait too long, warned Hesiod, and “plow the divine earth first at the winter solstice, you will harvest sitting down . . . grasping only a little with your hand.”29
Other signs of nature also urged farmers forward. They knew that when the mastic tree bore fruit, the field awaited plowing. And, when wasps swarmed all around, winter cold was coming.30
But the behavior of migrating birds served as the best barometer. Birds with a short range of flight, like quail, began their southern journey early in the fall. Stronger birds with a longer range, such as cranes, left later. From this, farmers could follow the flights of separate species and predict the approach of winter.31
They knew that, when the migratory season seemed short and swift, with cranes leaving early in large flocks that filled the sky, then winter weather was rushing down upon them. But when the cranes dallied, and departed in small, scattered groups, then cold weather was slow in coming. As a general rule, when one could hear the crying flocks of cranes, the time drew near to plow and sow the field.32
As farmers prepared for this major event in the annual agrarian cycle, they hauled their plows, tools, and teams of oxen or equines into place. They laid the yoke atop their beasts of burden and tied it to their necks or horns. Then, with leather straps, they attached the yoke to the plow by means of a pole.33
Farmers prized, most of all, a well-matched team of oxen for plowing, threshing, and dropping manure to fertilize the fields.34 Hesiod declared that a pair of nine-year-old oxen and a forty-year-old man made the best match for plowing. This stood to reason because, being mature, they paid attention to their work, without being too old for the toil.35
Plowing took place when the soil held sufficient moisture for sowing seeds.36 Ideally, the ground proved damp enough for planting when the Pleiades set in the west. If not, the farmer waited for rain, as patiently as possible, while he watched the Hyades and Orion slowly descend toward the western horizon.37 If the rains came late, he could only hope for a delay of winter weather as well.
When at last the time was right, the plowman prodded his team to form the first furrow. In one hand, he held the handle of the plow. In the other he brandished a stick for prompting the animals ahead and for scraping the moist soil from the plowshare. Behind the plowman walked a worker who used a mattock or hoe to shape the furrows and to break up bulky clods.
The sower followed last in line to scatter the seeds—either thinly spread in thin or weaker soil, or thickly dispensed in thick or richer soil. The sower knew what the soil could bear and had the knack for steadily spreading seeds. As Xenophon said, “Sowers, no less than lyre players, need practice.”38
With a rhythmic kick of the soil, the sower also covered the seeds. This kept the birds from filling their craws and decreasing the size of the crop. For further protection, farmers called on dogs to harass hungry flocks of birds. In later months, dogs also defended the tender shoots of barley and wheat from hares and other grazing animals.39
With winter grains now in the ground, germination and slow growth began. In mild winters, the plants continued to grow below the soil. But in bitter cold, the life cycle remained on hold until warmer days arrived. Meanwhile, winter weather delivered moisture that made the grain grow strong and promised a healthy harvest.
Thus proceeded the annual agrarian pattern—from plowing and sowing in November, to the harvest of grains, grapes, and olives from May to the next November. Most farmers in the Mediterranean basin followed the same cycle.40
While a farmer subjected one field to plowing, planting, hoeing, and harvest, a second field—that was worked the previous year—now remained at rest and fallow. This ensured the lasting fertility of the fields. Without allowing for fallow fields, soils lost their nutrients and fell into fatigue, followed by crop failure. Hesiod observed that, “Fallow land is an averter of death; a soother of children,” because it keeps food on the table in future years.41
In spring, whenever time allowed, the farmer plowed the fallow field or broke it with a mattock. This killed the weeds before they sprouted seeds and turned them under to make a fertile mulch. In summer, the farmer furrowed the field again to uproot weeds and leave them withering in the sun.42 When autumn arrived, the farmer plowed and planted the fallow field while allowing the recently harvested field to rest through the coming year.
Hesiod urged that autumn plowing and sowing be completed as early as possible—well before the arrival of winter. In much the same way, he urged an early start to every day. A person is better off, he said, “getting up at sunrise, so that your means of life will be sufficient. For . . . dawn gives you a head start on the road; gives you a head start on your work too.” Thus, the diligent person could avoid the afternoon heat of summer and the evening wind and rain during the wetter winter months.43
By the time the star called Eagle (Altair)—or Storm Bird—reached its heliacal rising, on December 13, winter was afoot, in full force and fury. A half month later, on December 27, the sun entered the constellation called Goat Horn (Capricornus) to mark the winter solstice. This denoted the shortest day of the year and heralded colder months ahead. After solstice, sixty wintry days would pass before the Bear Guard (Arcturus) once again arrived to announce the time of grapevine pruning, tree planting, and the approach of spring.
Farm families relied on these risings and settings of stars to grow successful crops and to survive. The rhythm of their lives reflected the seasonal cycle conveyed in the constellations. For these heavenly lights, and the gifts of grain, grapes, and olives, the Greeks gave thanks to the gods.44
Shepherds shared the same sentiment and followed the same celestial calendar. They also observed the migrating birds as signs of changing seasons. When the swallows and kites arrived, shepherds knew it was “time to sheer the sheep’s spring wool.”45 From then until the Pleiades appeared in the morning sky, these mobile people packed their paltry possessions and marched their flocks to distant pastures.46
There they might reside for several months, “from spring to the rising of Arcturus” on September 21. Afterward, they brought the flocks back home for the fall and winter. As snowstorms descended, shepherds drove their sheep and goats into caves or cozy shelters.47
Like farmers, shepherds spent their lives outdoors and learned to predict the weather in practical ways. They lived long days and months with their sheep and goats. Thus, they knew each one of them well—by appearance and personality—and learned to determine the weather based on their behavior.
Shepherds surmised fair weather when lambs and kids grew frisky, and frolicked and played. They watched for rain when goats, let loose from shelter, rushed to feed on their fodder, then hurried to return again to the pen. They knew to expect a storm when sheep dug at the ground with their hooves, or goats huddled close together.48
Shepherds also enjoyed a fond familiarity with the stars and constellations. As they spent countless lonely nights beneath the skies, they cherished the stars as comforting signs. Most of all, they revered Hesperos—the evening star—and called it “the herdsmen’s star.” This is because it appeared in the western sky with the approach of night and led shepherds safely to their shelters.49 Sappho—the famed poetess of Lesbos—praised Hesperos as the “fairest of all stars,” that reunites “everything that shining Dawn scattered.” She said of the star, “You bring the sheep; you bring the goat; you bring back the child to its mother.”50
Shepherds, as reclusive and reflective people, often gained a reputation for reverent humility and devotion to the gods. Many Greeks believed that shepherds—in their natural surroundings—enjoyed closer communion with deities and spirits, and sometimes gained the gift of divine inspiration. Such was the case with Hesiod, the rustic shepherd and farmer, who achieved wide renown as a poet and philosopher.
The site where Hesiod received his inspiration—on the lonely slopes of Mount Helicon—also attained lasting fame. Through the ages, the place was known as the home of the Muses. In time, the Muses’ mountain became home to the world’s first museum—the Mouseion—where throngs of devout pilgrims erected altars, sculptures, porticos, and theaters to honor the nine daughters of Zeus.51
Hesiod and his fellow shepherds seemed to enjoy a close connection with heaven. Homer expressed this sentiment, felt by many countrymen, when he described a pastoral scene in the Iliad: “In the sky about the gleaming moon the stars shine clear when the air is windless, and into view come all mountain peaks and high headlands and glades, and from heaven breaks open the infinite air, and all the stars are seen, and the shepherd rejoices in his heart.”52
Seafarers enjoyed a similar close relation with the stars and constellations. Their celestial observations also served the practical purpose of defining safe seasons for sailing. Some sailed in spring, at the rising of the Pleiades. Theocritus said that such was the case with the Argonauts, who took advantage of a wind from the south—a remnant of the prevailing winter pattern—to sail northeast toward the Hellespont.53 But most mariners awaited the safe sailing season marked by the summer solstice.
Hesiod noted that “sailing is in good season for mortals for fifty days after the solstice [from June 30 to August 19], when the summer goes to its end, during the toilsome season. You will not wreck your boat then, nor will the sea drown your men.”54 The winds remained mostly moderate and steady through this time. Still, Eudoxus warned that the arrival of the brisk Etesian winds, on July 30, made sailing somewhat tricky.
Conditions declined as autumn winds approached. As the Pleiades set in the west on November 3, the sailing season came to a close. Hesiod warned: “When the Pleiades, fleeing Orion’s mighty strength, fall into the murky sea, at that time blasts of all sorts of winds rage; do not keep your boat any longer in the wine-dark sea.”55
Orion—pursuing the Pleiades—plunged below the western horizon twenty-two days later and served as a second sign to seek a harbor ahead of autumn storms. Any crew that continued sailing after this late date had best beware. The formidable winds of fall and winter sometimes shredded sails, or mangled masts and ripped them away from their stays, leaving the ship adrift on the dreadful sea.56
By the time the star called Storm Bird rose, on the morning of December 13, furious winter weather roared across the white-capped waters. Fourteen days later, winter solstice sent a final warning to run the ship ashore. Aratus recalled the wrathful winter tempests: “Then is the frost from heaven hard on the benumbed sailor. . . . The sea ever grows dark beneath the keels, and, like to diving seagulls, we often sit, spying out the deep from our ship, with faces turned to the shore,” longing for a safe harbor.57
Most sailors had already stored their boats for the season, long before the arrival of winter solstice. In doing this, they heeded the words of Hesiod:
Draw up your boat onto the land and prop it up with stones, surrounding it on all sides, so that they can resist the strength of the winds that blow moist; and draw out the bilge-plug, so that Zeus’ rain does not rot it. Lay up all the gear well prepared in your house after you have folded the sea-crossing boat’s wings [sails] in good order; and hang up the well-worked rudder above the smoke.58
Like the farmer and shepherd, the sailor now sat at home, warming his hands at the hearth and waiting out the raging winter storms. To pass the time, he tended to indoor chores and dreamed of the coming spring.