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Against or with nature February 14th, 2021 by

Ask any tourist what comes to mind when they think of the Netherlands and there is a good chance they will say “windmills”. Ask any agricultural professional what the Netherlands is known for and they may mention “water management” and “dairy” (you know, the big round cheeses). Few people may realize how these are all intricately interwoven, and how their interaction over time has created an environmental disaster.

In his thought-provoking book Against the Grain, James Scott draws on earlier work of anthropologists and archaeologists to provide some insights into how early humans changed their environment to source food from closer to home. Through controlled fires, certain plants and wildlife species were favoured, while cooking enabled our ancestors to extract more nutrients from plants and animals than was previously possible. The very act of domesticating plants, animals and fire, in a sense also domesticated us as a species. While modern cows and many of our crops can no longer survive without us, we can no longer survive without them. Besides fire, people also relied heavily on water. In fact, everywhere in the world, ancient peoples first settled near rivers or at the fringes of wetlands which, along with the nearby forests, provided a rich variety of food.

Agricultural technology was fairly stable for centuries, but slowly began to change in medieval times, which brings us back to the windmill. While fixed windmills were found in Flanders by the 11th century, they were mainly used to grind grain. In the 1600s a Dutchman, Cornelis Corneliszoon van Uitgeest, added a crankshaft, an Arab invention, to convert the rotating movement of a windmill into an up-and-down one. Windmills could now also be used to saw wood, and to pump water. Soon the landscape was dotted with thousands of windmills. The now so typical Dutch landscape of peat grasslands and ditches is a manmade ecosystem shaped through drainage by windmills. The new pastures with lowered groundwater tables were especially apt for dairy farming, serving what became the world-renown Dutch dairy sector.

The drainage of the wetlands sounds like a great agronomic achievement, but a Dutch veterinarian Katrien van ‘t Hooft, director of Dutch Farm Experience, recently showed me the other side of the coin. The continuous drainage of surface water and lowered groundwater table, combined with modern dairy farming and use of tractors, has caused a drop in the peatland. The land has been sinking several centimeters per year for a long time, faster than the rise in sea level. Projections are that under current management the peat soils will further sink 2 meters before 2050, and become a major threat to the country. Although the Dutch government is taking urgent measures to restore the groundwater table, the challenges do not stop there.

As drained peat releases CO2, the Dutch government has set up a scheme to reward farmers who help raise the groundwater table. But wet pastures require a very different management, as farmers are now beginning to learn. When collecting hay on wet pasture, overloaded machines risk getting stuck. Maize cannot be grown, because this water-loving crop lowers the groundwater level in the peat land. The typical Holstein-Friesian cow, commonly used in the Netherlands for its high milk production, requires maize and concentrated feed. In the peat lands it is therefore now being crossed with ‘old fashioned’ local cattle breeds, such as Blister Head (Blaarkop) and MRY (Maas-Rijn-Ijssel breed). These so-called dual purpose cows yield milk and meat, perform well on plant-rich pastures and have the benefit that they can produce milk with minimal use of concentrated feed.

However, as the peat pastures need to become wetter again, these cows are increasingly suffering from some ‘old diseases’, including intestinal worms and the liver fluke, which spends part of its life cycle in mud snails. Farmers are using anthelmintics (anti-worm chemicals) to control this, but the anthelmintics to control liver fluke are forbidden in adult cows, for milk safety reasons. Moreover, just as with antibiotics, the internal parasites are quickly building up resistance against anthelminitics, and the dairy sector is forced to rethink its position of always trying to control nature.

Now here comes a twist in the story. As Katrien explained to me, these common animal diseases used to be managed by appropriate grassland management, use of resilient cattle breeds and strategic use of (herbal) medicines.  But most of this traditional knowledge has been lost over the past decades. With a group of passionate veterinary doctors and dairy farmers, Katrien has established a network with colleagues in the Netherlands, Ethiopia, Uganda and India to promote natural livestock farming. Inspired by ethnoveterinary doctors from India, Dutch veterinary doctors and dairy farmers have gained an interest in looking at herbs, both for animal medicine and for enriching grassland pastures to boost the animals’ immune system. Together they have developed the so-called NLF 5-layer approach to reduce the use of antibiotics, anthelmintics and other chemicals in dairy farming.

Resistance to chemical drugs used in livestock, whether against bacteria, fungi, ticks or intestinal worms, will have a dramatic effect on people. For example, the bacteria that gain resistance to antibiotics in animals become ‘superbugs’, that are also resistant to antibiotics in human patients. The abuse of antibiotics in livestock can ruin these life-saving drugs for people.

James Scott describes in his book that when we started intensifying our food production thousands of years ago, we lost an encyclopaedia of knowledge based on living with and from nature. In the same vein, traditional knowledge of agriculture has been eroding since the mid twentieth century, with intensification brought on by machinery and chemicals, like the Dutch dairy farmers who lost most of their folk knowledge about plants and the ‘old’ cattle diseases.

While the challenges are rising, it is fortunate that the 21st century humans are able to learn from each other’s experiences at a scale and speed unseen in history. Dutch dairy farmers are not the only ones to have lost traditional knowledge. It has happened across the globe, and more efforts are needed to help make such worthwhile initiatives of knowledge-sharing go viral (as a matter of speaking).

Credit

Katrien van ‘t Hooft kindly reviewed earlier drafts of this blog and provided photographs.

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Further information

James C. Scott. 2017. Against The Grain: A Deep History of the Earliest States. New Haven: Yale University Press, pp. 312.

The Foundation for Natural Livestock Farming. https://www.naturallivestockfarming.com/

Dutch Farm Experience – Lessons learnt in Dutch Dairy Farming https://www.dutchfarmexperience.com/

Groen Kennisnet wiki: Herbs and herbal medicines for livestock (in Dutch) https://wiki.groenkennisnet.nl/display/KGM/Kruiden+voor+landbouwhuisdieren

https://www.natuurlijkeveehouderij.nl/kennisbank/

Watch Access Agriculture videos on herbal medicine in animal healthcare

Keeping sheep healthy

Deworming goats and sheep with herbal medicines

Herbal treatment for diarrhoea

Herbal medicine against fever in livestock

Herbal medicine against mastitis

Natural ways to manage bloat in livestock

Managing cattle ticks

Keeping milk free from antibiotics

A lost Alpine agriculture January 10th, 2021 by

As more youth move to cities, in Africa, but also in South Asia and Latin America, development experts worry about the future of rural communities. So, we can learn a lesson by taking a glimpse at a region where most youth left agriculture some three generations ago.

An American anthropologist, Brien Meilleur, studied farming in Les Allues, a village in the French Alps, in the mid-1980s. Meilleur was especially well-qualified for the topic, as decades earlier, his own father had left Les Allues for the USA.

Meilleur interviewed elderly farmers at length about the days of their youth, roughly back in the 1940s. Now retired, they painted a picture of an agriculture in balance with nature, where farm families worked in synchrony. They had large cereal fields, divided into many individual plots. Each year they agreed upon a time to plow, and each household would plow their own small plot, within the big field. By plowing and planting at the same time they avoided trampling each other’s grain crop.  The big fields were on a three-year rotation, beginning with rye, then barley and finally fallow-plus-pulses.

Folks made wine and hard apple cider from fruit they grew themselves. They wintered cows, sheep and goats in stables, moving them in the spring to montagnettes, cabins above the hamlets where the families made their own cheese. Then every year on 11 June, in a grand procession, the whole village would move their livestock to the high Alpine pastures, with cowbells ringing and dogs barking. The animals would graze communally, on named pastures, moving uphill as summer progressed to ever-higher grazing, until they were brought back down on 14 September. Outside specialists were hired to come turn the milk into cheese, mostly a fine gruyere, which they sold.

Barnyard manure provided all the fertilizer the farms needed. To save on firewood, neighbors baked their bread on the same day in ovens in the hamlet square. About 80 or 90% of what people ate came from Les Allues itself. The roots of this rural economy went back to at least the 1300s, if not earlier. But, as Meilleur explains, this farming system had collapsed about 1950, at least in Les Allues. He mourns the loss of this way of life, and as I read his moving account, I couldn’t help but share in his sadness.

The collapse came about in part because of emigration. Young people were leaving Les Allues for the cities as early as the 19th century. But there were other reasons for abandoning agriculture. After the World War II, the villagers sold much of their farmland to the Méribel Ski Resort, established just above the highest of the village’s hamlets. There were now lots of jobs for local people, on the ski slopes, and in the busy hotels, shops and restaurants. The vacationers even visited the beautiful village in the summer, for golf, tennis and mountain biking, so there was employment year-round. The youth of Les Allues no longer had to leave home to find work; the jobs had come to them.

The old agricultural landscape changed quickly, as the pastures became pistes de ski, and the fields grew wild with brush. The livestock were sold off and the apple trees were strangled by mistletoe, as people abandoned a way of living that (in today’s jargon) was sustainable and carbon neutral, and the bedrock of their community.

It is easy to romanticize a healthy rural lifestyle, but the good old days had some rough times, too. The farmers of Les Allues managed erosion in their cereal fields by hand-carrying the earth from the bottom furrow to the top of the field every year, the most back-breaking soil conservation method I’ve ever heard of. For six weeks in July and August, people cut hay for six days a week from 5 AM to 10 PM, to feed their animals over the winter. To save on fuel, the families would spend winter evenings sitting in the barn, where the cows gave off enough heat to keep everyone warm. People ate meat once a week, maybe twice.

Given the amount of hard work, and the low pay, it is understandable that the young people of Les Allues left farming. It happened all over Europe. In England during the Industrial Revolution, many farm workers took factory jobs. While some moved to the cities, others commuted on the train, and stayed in their village (The Common Stream). Northern Portuguese farm laborers, who described their lives as “misery,” did not have the options of working in industry or in tourism. So, after 1964 they left Portugal to take construction jobs in France. The farmers who remained bought tractors to replace their vanished workers.

Just as previous generations of rural Europeans sought paid work off farm, the youth in places like West Africa and South America are now moving to the cities, and quite quickly. Many development experts bemoan this mass migration, even though it is a pro-active way for young people to take their destiny into their own hands, especially if they attend university in the city, before looking for work.

If past experience is any guide, some of the young Africans and South Americans who are now moving to town would stay in their villages, if they could make a decent living, and if they had electricity and other amenities. Life in the countryside will have to provide people with opportunities, or many will simply pack up and leave.

Further reading

Meilleur, Brien A. 1986 Alluetain Ethnoecology and Traditional Economy: The Procurement and Production of Plant Resources in the Northern French Alps. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Washington.

My own mentor, Bob Netting, wrote a classic ethnography of the Swiss Alps. Like Meilleur, Netting was also impressed with the ecological balance of traditional farming.

Netting, Robert McC. 1981 Balancing on an Alp: Ecological Change and Continuity in a Swiss Mountain Community. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

For the changes in Portuguese agriculture, see:

Bentley, Jeffery W. 1992 Today There Is No Misery: The Ethnography of Farming in Northwest Portugal. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

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Photo credits

Photos courtesy of Eric Boa.

Can Andean farmers predict the weather accurately? January 3rd, 2021 by

Vea la versión en español a continuación

In the Peruvian Andes, in the southern hemisphere’s summer of 1990-91, a researcher named Ricardo Claverías wondered if local people really could predict the weather. In 1990, before the crops were planted, Claverías interviewed a random sample of 32 farmers living near the shores of Lake Titicaca. As they do every year, these farmers observed the stars, the birds, animals, cactus and other plants to predict the agricultural season.

Each individual farmer looked at several “indicators” or signs of nature, and some people were better observers than others, but 59% of Claverías’ sample predicted a normal or a dry year. However, 16% had still not formed an opinion, so 70% of those who had made their forecast at the time of the study told Claverías it would be a normal year, although perhaps a little dry.

Even though 70% of the sampled farmers is a clear majority, the prediction was not unanimous. In effect, it did turn out to be a slightly dry year, but it was complicated. The rains were below average, but there was little frost, so the main crops and animals thrived (potatoes, quinoa, llamas and sheep). In general, the study reconfirmed farmers’ predictions.

A few years later, Claverías had an excellent opportunity to compare scientific and peasant forecasts for an agricultural season.

In July of 1997, weather experts met in Lima, to discuss the upcoming El Niño event, which they could foresee by the rise in ocean temperatures off the Peruvian coast. The experts predicted massive flooding in the Amazon Basin, and along the Pacific Coast, but in Peru’s section of the Altiplano, the high plains in the south, there would be a devastating drought, an opinion seconded by a meeting of international meteorologists in Lima in October of that year.

In 1997, Claverías didn’t have time to do as complete a study as he had done seven years earlier, but he did ask some farmers on the Altiplano how the upcoming summer season of 1997-98 would unfold. He also asked agronomists who were in close contact with farmers. These folk forecasts were mainly for a good year. Farmers especially noticed the various species of birds that nested in the totora, a plant in the shallow waters of Titicaca.

Every year the lake waters rise and fall with changes in the rainfall. The birds build their nests in the totora above the water, in the dry season. If the birds sense a wet year, they make their nests high on the totora plants. If the birds feel a dry year coming on, they build their nests low, close to the water. In 1997, the bird nests were fairly high, and the farmers did not believe there would be a drought.

It turns out that the scientific predictions were right, on the coast, which was drenched in floods. But on the Altiplano the drought never came. The rains were a bit below normal during the September-to-May growing season, but certainly within the normal range. The harvests were good, and with the devastation brought on other regions, prices were high and the farmers were able to make money by selling any surplus they had.

Claverías argued for more and better studies to verify local weather prediction. I’m not sure that there have been many follow-up studies in the 20 years since he wrote his unpublished paper. Such research would take a bit of time and effort, but it could be done in a year or two, ideal for a thesis project, and the method is straightforward. Besides, such a study could be done in other parts of the world, not just in the Andes.

Method to verify local weather prediction knowledge

1. Compile the indicators that farmers in your study area use to predict the weather.

2. Ask a few dozen farmers for their forecasts before the agricultural season begins.

3. Compile weather data and farm production figures as the year unfolds.

A few such studies would reject or confirm the hypothesis that folk meteorology can predict the weather for a whole season at a time—a task that normal science still cannot do, El Niño years aside. The practical results would be of value for the whole agricultural sector.

Claverías’ paper has been cited 35 times (well, now 36), which is respectable for a publication, but outstanding for a manuscript that was never published. Any future weather paper would no doubt appeal to a large audience.

Further reading

Claverías, Ricardo 2000 Conocimientos de los Campesinos Andinos sobre los Predictores Climáticos: Elementos para su Verificación. Paper read at the Seminary-Workshop organized by the NOAA Project (Missouri). Chucuito, Puno, Perú.

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¿LA GENTE ANDINA RURAL PUEDE PRONOSTICAR EL TIEMPO DE VERDAD?

Por Jeff Bentley, 3 de enero del 2021

En los Andes peruanos, en el verano de 1990-91, un investigador llamado Ricardo Claverías se preguntó si la gente local realmente podía pronosticar el clima. En 1990, antes de que se sembraran sus chacras, Claverías se entrevistó con una muestra al azar de 32 agricultores que vivían cerca del lago Titicaca. Como lo hacen todos los años, estos agricultores observaron las estrellas, los pájaros, los animales, los cactus y otras plantas para predecir el tiempo duranta la campaña agrícola.

Cada agricultor individual observó varios “indicadores” o signos de la naturaleza, y algunas personas fueron mejores observadores que otras, pero el 59% de la muestra de Claverías predijo un año normal o seco. Sin embargo, el 16% aún no se había formado una opinión, por lo que el 70% de los que habían hecho su pronóstico en el momento del estudio le dijeron a Claverías que sería un año normal, aunque tal vez un poco seco.

Aunque el 70% de los agricultores de la muestra es una clara mayoría, la predicción no fue unánime. En efecto, resultó ser un año ligeramente seco, pero era complicado. Las lluvias eran un poco inferiores al promedio, pero hubo pocas heladas, por lo que hubo una buena producción de los principales cultivos y animales (papas, quinua, llamas y ovejas). En general, el estudio reconfirmó las predicciones de los agricultores.

Unos años más tarde, Claverías tuvo una excelente oportunidad de comparar los pronósticos científicos y campesinos para una temporada agrícola.

En julio del 1997, los meteorólogos se reunieron en Lima, para discutir el próximo evento de El Niño, que podían prever por el aumento de las temperaturas del mar en la costa peruana. Los expertos predijeron inundaciones masivas en la cuenca amazónica y a lo largo de la costa del Pacífico, pero en Altiplano del Perú, las altas llanuras del sur, habría una sequía devastadora, opinión que fue secundada por una reunión de meteorólogos internacionales en Lima en octubre de ese año.

En 1997, Claverías no tuvo tiempo de hacer un estudio tan completo como el que había hecho siete años antes, pero sí preguntó a algunos agricultores del Altiplano cómo se desarrollaría la próxima temporada del verano de 1997-98. También preguntó a los agrónomos que estaban en estrecho contacto con los agricultores. Estas predicciones populares eran principalmente para un buen año. Los agricultores se fijaron especialmente en las diversas especies de aves que anidaban en la totora, una planta de las aguas poco profundas del Titicaca.

Cada año las aguas del lago suben y bajan con los cambios en la lluvia. Los pájaros construyen sus nidos en las totoras, sobre el agua, durante la época seca. Si las aves perciben un año lluvioso, hacen sus nidos en lo alto de las totoras. Si sienten que viene un año seco, construyen sus nidos bajo, cerca del nivel del agua. En 1997, los nidos de las aves estaban bastante altos, y la gente rural no creían que habría una sequía.

Resulta que las predicciones científicas eran correctas, en la costa, que estaba devastada por las inundaciones. Pero en el Altiplano, la sequía nunca llegó. Las lluvias estuvieron un poco por debajo de lo normal durante la campaña agrícola de septiembre a mayo, pero siempre dentro del rango normal. Las cosechas fueron buenas, y con la destrucción causada en otras regiones, los precios de los alimentos fueron altos y los agricultores ganaban dinero vendiendo cualquier excedente que tuvieran.

Claverías abogó por más y mejores estudios para verificar el pronóstico meteorológico local. Dudo que haya habido muchos estudios de seguimiento en los 20 años desde que escribió su trabajo. Tal investigación tomaría un poco de tiempo y esfuerzo, pero podría hacerse en un año o dos, ideal para un proyecto de tesis, y el método es claro. Además, se podría hacer el estudio en otras partes del mundo, no sólo en los Andes.

Método para verificar el conocimiento meteorológico local

1. Compile los indicadores que los agricultores de su zona usan para pronosticar el tiempo.

2. Pida diagnósticos a unas docenas de personas rurales antes de que empiece la campaña agrícola.

3. Compile los datos meteorológicos y de producción agrícola a medida que pase el año.

Unos pocos estudios de este tipo rechazarían o confirmarían la hipótesis de que la meteorología popular puede pronosticar el tiempo para todo un año en un momento dado, una tarea que la ciencia normal todavía no puede hacer, excepto tal vez en años de El Niño. Los resultados prácticos serían valiosos para todo el sector agrícola.

El trabajo de Claverías ha sido citado 35 veces (bueno, ahora 36), lo que es respetable para una publicación, pero es mucho para un manuscrito inédito. Cualquier futura publicación científica sobre la meteorología popular sin duda atraería a un buen público.

Further reading

Claverías, Ricardo 2000 Conocimientos de los Campesinos Andinos sobre los Predictores Climáticos: Elementos para su Verificación. Trabajo presentado en el Seminario-Taller organizado por el Proyecto NOAA (Missouri). Chucuito, Puno, Perú.

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Old know-how, early warning November 22nd, 2020 by

Vea la versión en español a continuación

In the Bolivian Andes, some officials are starting using local knowledge to improve their early warning systems for natural disasters.

For centuries, local farmers have used the signs of nature (clouds, stars, the behavior of plants and animals) to predict disasters like hail, floods and droughts, and to forecast the welcome rains that make crops grow.

Then, starting in 2004, Prosuco (a Bolivian organization) began to organize farmers with an interest in weather and organic farming. These expert farmers, called Yapuchiris, were encouraged to teach other farmers.

In southwest Bolivia, high on the Altiplano, the local government and the Technical University in Oruro are collaborating with some of these organized Yapuchiris to provide early warning, as Professor Gunnar Guzmán explained in a recent webinar. As he put it: the Yapuchiris, using local knowledge of nature, are excellent at making long-term predictions, three to four months in advance. Meteorologists cannot make such predictions, although they are quite accurate at about 4 days in the future.

Olson Paravicini of the Risk Management Unit of the government of Oruro added that the Yapuchiris’ knowledge is local, so that each one forecasts the weather for his or her own community. This matters in a place as big as Oruro. At 53,558 square kilometers, Oruro is about the size of New York state, bigger than the Netherlands. To apply local knowledge of weather over such a large area, Paravicini and colleagues are collaborating with groups of Yapuchiris, gathering their predictions to compile a departmental level forecast to provide early warnings of floods and other nasty weather.

One of the Yapuchiris, Bernabé Choquetopa, also had a slot on the webinar, explaining several of the signs he looks for. For example, when the leque leque (Andean lapwing) migrates back into Oruro in September, don Bernabé looks at its wing. If the patch on the bird’s wing is green, the rains will be good. Green eggs also mean good rain, and dark eggs mean drought. The signs reinforce each other, so after explaining that the ayrampu cactus was bearing lots of fruit and that the foxes had healthy coats, don Bernabé predicted that this would be a good, normal year for rains in his part of Oruro.

Professional weather observers are now paying attention to the Yapuchiris, who are increasingly organized and well respected. Guzmán thinks that some of the local signs of nature are 90% accurate, a probability that increases as several are used together.

Plants and animals that have evolved in a harsh landscape may have behaviors that reflect the coming weather. Observant local people have the wisdom to pay attention to the local patterns of life. I’m optimistic when I see local scientists who have respect for this knowledge. That alone is a good sign for the future.

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Scientific names

Ayrampu: Opuntia soehrensii

Andean lapwing: Vanellus resplendens

Andean fox: Lycalopex culpaeus

Further reading

Unfortunately, I can’t find a recording of the webinar (16 November 2020), but the seminar, the speakers and the titles of their presentations were:

Seminario Virtual Saberes Ancestrales de Bioindicadores Naturales para la Reducción de Riesgos Agropecuarios

Ing. Naida Rufino Challa, SEDAG-GAD ORU (Servicio Departamental de Agricultura y Ganadería, Gobierno Autónomo Departamental de Oruro). Mejoramiento del sistema de alerta temprana del sector agropecuario en el departamento de Oruro.

M.Sc. Ing. Gunnar D. Guzmán Vega, FCAN-UTO (Facultad de Ciencias Agrarias y Naturales, Universidad Técnica de Oruro). Efectividad de los indicadores naturales en la predicción climática en las comunidades.

Bernabé Choquetopa Rodríguez. Informante local. Pronósticos locales 2020-2021 del sur de Oruro.

Ing. Olson C. Paravicini Figueredo, UGR-GAD ORU (Unidad de Gestión de Riesgos, Gobierno Autónomo Departamental de Oruro). Bioindicadores y tecnología informática como sistema integrado de alerta temprana.

SABERES ANTIGUOS, ALERTA TEMPRANA

Por Jeff Bentley, 22 de noviembre del 2020

En los Andes bolivianos, algunas autoridades han empezado a usar los conocimientos locales para mejorar sus sistemas de alerta temprana de desastres naturales.

Durante siglos, los agricultores locales han leído los signos de la naturaleza (las nubes, las estrellas, el comportamiento de las plantas y los animales) para predecir desastres como la granizada, las riadas y las sequías, y para pronosticar las queridas lluvias que nutren a los cultivos.

Luego, a partir de 2004, Prosuco (una organización boliviana) comenzó a organizar a los agricultores interesados en el clima y la agricultura orgánica. Se les alentó a estos agricultores expertos, llamados Yapuchiris, a que enseñaran a los demás.

En el Altiplano del sudoeste de Bolivia, el gobierno local y la Universidad Técnica de Oruro están colaborando con algunos de estos Yapuchiris organizados para dar una alerta temprana, como explicó el Ingeniero Gunnar Guzmán hace poco en un webinar. Según él, los Yapuchiris, con su conocimiento local de la naturaleza, hacen acertadas predicciones a largo plazo, con tres o cuatro meses de anticipación. A cambio, los meteorólogos no pueden hacer eso, aunque hacen buenos pronósticos a unos 4 días en el futuro.

Olson Paravicini, de la Unidad de Gestión de Riesgos del Gobierno Autónomo Departamental de Oruro, añadió que el conocimiento de los Yapuchiris es local, de modo que cada uno pronostica el tiempo para su propia comunidad. Esto es importante en un lugar tan grande como Oruro. Con 53.558 kilómetros cuadrados, Oruro es el tamaño del Costa Rica, más grande que los Países Bajos. Para aplicar el conocimiento local del tiempo en una zona tan grande, Paravicini y sus colegas están colaborando con grupos de Yapuchiris, aprendiendo sus pronósticos para compilar un sistema de alerta temprana a nivel departamental para predecir riadas y otros desastres climáticos.

Uno de los Yapuchiris, Bernabé Choquetopa, también habló en el webinar, explicando varias de los indicadores que él busca. Por ejemplo, cuando el leque rebinar vuelve a Oruro en septiembre, don Bernabé mira su ala. Si es verduzca, las lluvias serán buenas. Los huevos verdes también significan buena lluvia, pero los huevos oscuros significan sequía. Los signos se refuerzan mutuamente, así que después de explicar que el cactus ayrampu estaban cargados de frutos y que los zorros tenían buen pelaje, don Bernabé predijo que este año sería bueno y normal para las lluvias en su sector de Oruro.

Ahora algunos meteorólogos profesionales prestan atención a los Yapuchiris, que son cada vez más organizados y respetados. Guzmán cree que algunos de los signos locales de la naturaleza tienen una precisión del 90%, probabilidad que aumenta a medida que se usan varios indicadores juntos.

Las plantas y los animales que han evolucionado en una tierra inhóspita pueden tener comportamientos que reflejan el tiempo y el clima. La gente local tiene la sabiduría de observar cuidadosamente a los patrones locales de vida. Soy optimista cuando veo que los científicos locales ganan respeto por este conocimiento. Eso sí es una buena señal para el futuro.

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Nombres científicos

Ayrampu: Opuntia soehrensii

Leque leque: Vanellus resplendens

Zorro andino: Lycalopex culpaeus

Lectura adicional

Infelizmente, no ubico una grabación del webinar (16 de noviembre del 2020), pero el seminario virtual, los discursantes y sus presentaciones eran:

Seminario Virtual Saberes Ancestrales de Bioindicadores Naturales para la Reducción de Riesgos Agropecuarios

Ing. Naida Rufino Challa, SEDAG-GAD ORU (Servicio Departamental de Agricultura y Ganadería, Gobierno Autónomo Departamental de Oruro). Mejoramiento del sistema de alerta temprana del sector agropecuario en el departamento de Oruro.

M.Sc. Ing. Gunnar D. Guzmán Vega, FCAN-UTO (Facultad de Ciencias Agrarias y Naturales, Universidad Técnica de Oruro). Efectividad de los indicadores naturales en la predicción climática en las comunidades.

Bernabé Choquetopa Rodríguez. Informante local. Pronósticos locales 2020-2021 del sur de Oruro.

Ing. Olson C. Paravicini Figueredo, UGR-GAD ORU (Unidad de Gestión de Riesgos, Gobierno Autónomo Departamental de Oruro). Bioindicadores y tecnología informática como sistema integrado de alerta temprana.

The wine rose November 15th, 2020 by

When experts say that a wine tastes of berries or has a floral scent, I believe them. When I hear of “toffee notes” or a “cigar nose” I grow slightly skeptical. But when I read of a wine that comes on like “a street-walker,” I give up. Is there any objective truth to such descriptions?

A nifty set of experiments by Ilja Crojmans and colleagues suggests that naming a wine does not help to remember its smell. In one experiment, wine experts were distracted by being asked to remember some numbers while smelling different wines. Ten minutes later they were asked to sniff a larger set of wines containing the original varieties. When the experts were not given a memory task, their minds were free to give each wine a mental label, but they did not remember the wines any better than when their minds were distracted.

This study suggests that experts do not use language to recognize the aroma of wines. Yet, in an earlier experiment, Crojmans and Asifa Majid showed that wine experts can describe the odor of wine more accurately and consistently than novices, but only marginally so, suggesting that one can learn to recognize different flavors in wine and describe them.

This reminded me of my days as a volunteer novice in a wine tasting experiment in Tucson, Arizona, in 1983. Linguist Adrienne Lehrer invited me and 11 other graduate students, colleagues and friends into her living room to taste different wines. We were chosen because we liked wine, but didn’t know much about it. We each got four glasses holding 50 ml (just enough for a taste), and a set of cards to write a short description of each wine.

A few weeks later Professor Lehrer asked us to come over again. We sat around the same tables as before with the same unlabeled wines we’d tasted previously. Each wine had a letter, which we were asked to match with the description we had written earlier. I recall reading my cards while sipping the wines and feeling no real connection between what I had written and what I was now savoring. Yet one person in four did correctly match each of their own descriptions with all the different wines. Just as important, those people were certain at the time that they were right. Wine can be described, if you have the knack for it.

Wine really is complex, with over 800 volatiles affecting its smell and taste, but one’s skills at recognizing and describing these subtle differences may improve with training and practice. Lehrer points out in her book, Wine and Conversation, that the more florid descriptions are commonly found in wine magazines, and most new metaphors are only used once. (The Economist says that “gravel” and “wet tennis balls” are recent offerings). Flamboyant descriptions are mostly word play. Wine scientists (vinologists) use fewer, but more accurate descriptors, like “vanilla”.

Culture influences how we drink and talk about wine. There is the ritual of clear, stemmed glasses, only half full, accompanied by sniffing, sipping and pronouncing on the merits of the wine. But you can drink wine in completely different ways, as I learned while living among smallholders in Portugal, whose ancestors had been making and drinking wine for centuries. They had their own evolved wine etiquette and ritual.

Wine had to accompany food, and was usually poured into white, ceramic bowls, sometimes as large as half a liter. At a large lunch, sometimes two or four people would share a bowl of wine, refilling it from a ceramic pitcher on the table, replenished from a 500-liter wooden keg.

No work party was complete without wine, to thank the neighbors who had gathered to help with the big farm jobs. When we took a break in the field, we would hold a snack in one hand, and chug a bowl of wine as fast as possible. Other people were waiting to use the bowl, and they didn’t have all day. There were potatoes to harvest.

When these hardworking folks talked about wine it wasn’t the flavor, but the color that caught their imagination. Speaking of a wine that they had made themselves, the farmers would say with pride and deliberate emphasis “it leaves a rose in the bottom of the bowl.”

Why should a roundish red stain be so important? In northwest Portugal, farmers made vinho verde, a fresh, light wine. This community in Entre-Douro-e-Minho was on the edge of the designated zone, where it was difficult to make a superb wine. The dissolved solids in wine (and alcohol) make up what we call “body”. The crimson stain in the bowl said “a full-bodied wine”.

There are many ways to imagine and discuss wine, some earthy, some refined and some pretentious. You can do worse than to drink wine from a bowl in the shade of a grape arbor, sitting on the ground with fellow workers, washing down a roasted sardine and a chunk of sourdough corn bread.

Related blog story

The pleasure of bread

Further reading

Bentley, Jeffery W. 1992 Today There Is No Misery: The Ethnography of Farming in Northwest Portugal. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Croijmans, Ilja and Asifa Majid 2016. Not all flavor expertise is equal: The language of wine and coffee experts. PLoS ONE. e0155845.

Croijmans, Ilja, Artin Arshamian, Laura J. Speed, and Asifa Majid 2020. Wine Experts’ Recognition of Wine Odors Is Not Verbally Mediated. Journal of Experimental Psychology: General. http://dx.doi.org/10.1037/xge0000949.

Lehrer, Adrienne. 2007. Can wines be brawny? Reflections on wine vocabulary, Chapter six. In, Barry C. Smith (Ed.) Questions of Taste: The Philosophy of Wine. Oxford. Signal books.

Lehrer, Adrienne. 2009. Wine and Conversation. Oxford, UK: University of Oxford Press. Second Edition. See page 169 for the tasting and writing experiment.

Wine and bottles. The Economist. 17 October 2020.

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