Reblogged from Medieval Wanderings:

Despite so many aspects of life virtually grinding to a halt this year, one thing I have observed advancing unaffected over these past six months is the growing crops. From vast expanses of golden wheat to fields of delicate purple flax flowers, it’s been quietly reassuring to see at least something progressing normally. And now it’s harvest time again, when the crops are reaped and fruits gathered as the waning summer breaths its last.

Nowadays we barely notice the harvest going on. We might see the great combines zipping up and down the fields as we drive past on our way to buy constantly available produce from a globally-supplied supermarket, but other than a few token harvest festivals in schools and churches we’re largely detached from the farming year. But back in the Middle Ages life revolved around the agricultural cycle, and a successful harvest could mean the difference between survival and starvation. August and September were, therefore, vitally important months to medieval folk, so it’s not surprising that this was a time steeped in customs and superstition, and even a bit of fun along with the relentless hard graft.

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