‘Mark too when from on high out of the clouds you shall have heard the voice of the crane uttering its yearly cry, which both brings the signal for ploughing and points the season of rainy winter, but gnaws the heart of the man that hath no oxen. Then truly feed the crumpled-horned oxen remaining within their stalls; for it is easy to say the word, “Lend me a yoke of oxen and a wain,” but easy is it to refuse, saying, “There is work for my oxen.” But when first the season of ploughing has appeared to mortals, even then rouse thyself. “Pray to the gods,” that they may load the ripe holy seed of Demeter, when first beginning thy ploughing, when thou hast taken in hand the goad at the extremity of the plough-tail, and touched the back of the oxen dragging the oaken peg of the pole with the leathern strap. And let the servant boy behind, carrying a mattock, cause trouble to birds whilst he covers over the seed. For good management is best to mortal man, and bad management worst. Thus, if the Olympian god himself afterwards give a prosperous end, will the ears bend to the ground with fulness; and thou wilt drive the cobwebs from the bins, and I hope that thou wilt rejoice, taking for thyself from substance existing within.’
He concludes by pointing out the right seasons, and says that even a late sower may reap plenteously, if at the first sound of the cuckoo in mid-spring there be three days’ steady rain.
In Kabylia I have seen ploughing as late as the middle of April, and followed by much wet, the labour was repaid with a heavy crop.
‘But if you shall have ploughed late, this would be your remedy: When the cuckoo sings first on the oak-foliage, and delights mortals over the boundless earth, then let Jove rain three days, and not cease, neither overtopping your ox’s hoof-print nor falling short of it; thus would a late plougher be equal with an early one. But duly observe all things in your mind, nor let either the spring becoming white with blossoms, or the showers returning at set seasons, escape your notice.’
In the valleys there are a great many cranes; being unmolested, they become very tame, and are often seen following the plough; the ploughman gives no heed as they stand gravely looking on, or demurely follow his steps.
So the Sicilian reaper sang at work of his love,
The wolf follows the she-goat, and the crane the plough,
But I am maddened after thee;
suggesting that he followed her furious when she fled from him, demurely, and in a state of expectancy for favours to turn up, when she disdainfully suffered his company.
These birds are white, the tips of the wings and tail black, the bill and legs orange. They fly with a flapping motion, and with outstretched necks, like wild duck. It is delightful to watch them settle; they descend with such a grand self-possessed sweep, suddenly they drop their long yellow legs, and stretch them a little forwards; at that instant they touch the ground, half a second later they are poised and calm, as if they had been standing an hour in meditation. There is sometimes a flock of cranes about a village, where they build on the gourbis or cane-roofed huts. Towards evening they sit in their nests, and make a peculiar rattling noise, by holding the neck back and rapidly clashing the raised bill: