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

Vea la versi√≥n en espa√Īol a continuaci√≥n

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 Guzm√°n 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. Guzm√°n 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.

Related blog stories

Cultivating pride in the Andes

Reading the mole hills

To see the future

Related videos

Recording the weather

Forecasting the weather with an app

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 organizaci√≥n boliviana) comenz√≥ a organizar a los agricultores interesados en el clima y la agricultura org√°nica. Se les alent√≥ a estos agricultores expertos, llamados Yapuchiris, a que ense√Īaran a los dem√°s.

En el Altiplano del sudoeste de Bolivia, el gobierno local y la Universidad T√©cnica de Oruro est√°n colaborando con algunos de estos Yapuchiris organizados para dar una alerta temprana, como explic√≥ el Ingeniero Gunnar Guzm√°n hace poco en un webinar. Seg√ļn √©l, los Yapuchiris, con su conocimiento local de la naturaleza, hacen acertadas predicciones a largo plazo, con tres o cuatro meses de anticipaci√≥n. A cambio, los meteor√≥logos no pueden hacer eso, aunque hacen buenos pron√≥sticos a unos 4 d√≠as en el futuro.

Olson Paravicini, de la Unidad de Gesti√≥n de Riesgos del Gobierno Aut√≥nomo Departamental de Oruro, a√Īadi√≥ 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 kil√≥metros cuadrados, Oruro es el tama√Īo del Costa Rica, m√°s grande que los Pa√≠ses Bajos. Para aplicar el conocimiento local del tiempo en una zona tan grande, Paravicini y sus colegas est√°n colaborando con grupos de Yapuchiris, aprendiendo sus pron√≥sticos para compilar un sistema de alerta temprana a nivel departamental para predecir riadas y otros desastres clim√°ticos.

Uno de los Yapuchiris, Bernab√© Choquetopa, tambi√©n habl√≥ en el webinar, explicando varias de los indicadores que √©l busca. Por ejemplo, cuando el leque rebinar vuelve a Oruro en septiembre, don Bernab√© mira su ala. Si es verduzca, las lluvias ser√°n buenas. Los huevos verdes tambi√©n significan buena lluvia, pero los huevos oscuros significan sequ√≠a. Los signos se refuerzan mutuamente, as√≠ que despu√©s de explicar que el cactus ayrampu estaban cargados de frutos y que los zorros ten√≠an buen pelaje, don Bernab√© predijo que este a√Īo ser√≠a 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 inh√≥spita pueden tener comportamientos que reflejan el tiempo y el clima. La gente local tiene la sabidur√≠a de observar cuidadosamente a los patrones locales de vida. Soy optimista cuando veo que los cient√≠ficos locales ganan respeto por este conocimiento. Eso s√≠ es una buena se√Īal para el futuro.

Related blog stories

Cultivando orgullo en los Andes

Leyendo el nido del topo

Conocer el futuro

Videos sobre el tema

Hacer un registro del clima

Pronosticar el clima con una aplicación

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 ‚Äútoffee notes‚ÄĚ or a ‚Äúcigar nose‚ÄĚ I grow slightly skeptical. But when I read of a wine that comes on like ‚Äúa street-walker,‚ÄĚ 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‚Äôs 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 ‚Äúgravel‚ÄĚ and ‚Äúwet tennis balls‚ÄĚ are recent offerings). Flamboyant descriptions are mostly word play. Wine scientists (vinologists) use fewer, but more accurate descriptors, like ‚Äúvanilla‚ÄĚ.

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‚Äôt 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 ‚Äúit leaves a rose in the bottom of the bowl.‚ÄĚ

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 ‚Äúbody‚ÄĚ. The crimson stain in the bowl said ‚Äúa full-bodied wine‚ÄĚ.

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.

Khipu: A story tied in knots September 27th, 2020 by

Vea la versi√≥n en espa√Īol a continuaci√≥n

Writing was linked to farming from the time of the first scribes, when Sumerian accountants made wedge-shaped marks in wet clay tablets to keep track of trade in grain and livestock. These numbers and symbols were first used around 5,000 BC as a simple notational system for counting sheep and jars of olive oil, eventually evolving into true writing by at least 3,500 BC as shown by recorded hymns and myths. Original writing systems were rare: only the Chinese and the Mesoamericans invented writing independently of the Sumerians.

All writing systems use a flat surface, and until factories made cheap paper in the nineteenth century, material to write on was a limitation. Clay was bulky. Stone was hard. Papyrus was expensive. Parchments from animal skins were so valuable that old ones were often scraped clean to write something new; the old text was often still visible and called a palimpsest. Buddhist monks in Sri Lanka took the trouble to write scriptures on palm leaves, painstakingly arranged in books, while rare Sanskrit manuscripts survive on birch bark.

High in the Andes, the Inka state was using its own system for recording data, based on a completely different medium: knotted twine, a technique that had been evolving since at least the time of the Wari Empire (450-1000 AD), long before the Inka (1400-1533). The multilingual empire of the Inka reached from Ecuador to Chile, with millions of subjects. Conquered communities paid tax to the empire, as textiles, and as maize and freeze-dried potatoes kept in storehouses (qollqa) and as a one-year labor turn every seven years (mit’a).

To tabulate all of these obligations, the empire used the khipu, knots on a string. The khipu maker (khipu kamayoq, or knot-master) started with long central cord, with secondary and tertiary twine fanning out from it like branches of a tree. Each string told a story. Meaning was distinguished by type of fiber (cotton vs llama hair), whether it was twisted left or right, by the type of knot, by a hundred different colors of twine and by the position of the knots.

Conquered nobles were forced to send their sons to live in the capital city, Cusco, where the boys took a four-year course on Inka myth and history, and on the official language (Quechua). Two years of their education were devoted to a study of the khipu.

The khipu was accurate enough to record the census data of a whole province, the soldiers of an army, or tax obligations. Knot-masters also used the khipus to help memorize and recite myths and narratives.

The Spanish conquistadores understood that khipus stored data accurately, and had them dictated and transcribed as sources of Inka history. Khipus were even allowed as evidence in colonial courts, where the litigants would argue over the ownership of land or titles, or sue for reimbursement for foodstuffs supplied to Spanish soldiers, as recorded in the knotted strings.

Knowledge of how to make a khipu died out a generation after the conquest, but Harvard anthropologist, Gary Urton, a specialist in the khipus, argues that they were not an adding machine (as some thought), nor were they true writing. They were however, a superb mnemonic device, perfectly accurate for recording exact numbers in the hundreds of thousands.

Moderately simple khipus could be interpreted on their own, without memorizing the content. The Inka organized a network of runners radiating out from Cusco across the realm. Each messenger (chaski) would run for about 20 km, before relaying his information to the next courier. A team could cover as much as 240 km a day, but perhaps 150 chaskis were needed to run from Quito to Cusco, some 2900 km. To avoid garbling their message entirely, each chaski handed the next one a khipu, which travelled independently of its maker, and must have been capable of bearing meaning alone.

I wonder what would have happened if the khipus had evolved for a much longer time? Given a few more centuries, would they have evolved into a full writing system to record human language, not with marks on a flat surface, but in three dimensions? It would have been a truly unique writing system, unlike any other the world has used.

Further reading

Urton¬īs study of the khipus is discussed at length in:

D’Altroy, Terence N. 2015. The Incas. New York: Wiley Blackwell. 547 pp.

Photo credit

Khipu on display at the Museo Larco, in Lima. Photo by Claus Ableiter.

Related blog stories

Stored crops of the Inka

Feeding the ancient Andean state

Feeding the Inca empire

Inka Raqay, up to the underworld

DESENREDANDO LA HISTORIA DEL KHIPU

Por Jeff Bentley, 27 de septiembre del 2020

La escritura estuvo vinculada a la agricultura desde los tiempos de los primeros escribas, cuando los contadores sumerios hac√≠an marcas en forma de cu√Īa en tablillas de arcilla h√ļmeda para llevar la cuenta del comercio de granos y ganado. Estos n√ļmeros y s√≠mbolos se usaron por primera vez alrededor del 5.000 a.C. como un simple sistema de anotaci√≥n para contar ovejas y c√°ntaros de aceite de oliva, que con el tiempo evolucion√≥ hasta convertirse en escritura verdadera por lo menos para el 3.500 a.C., como lo demuestran los himnos y mitos registrados. Los sistemas de escritura originales eran pocos: s√≥lo los chinos y los mesoamericanos inventaron la escritura independientemente de los sumerios.

Todos los sistemas de escritura usan una superficie plana, y hasta que las fábricas hacían papel barato en el siglo XIX, el material para escribir era una limitación. La arcilla era voluminosa. La piedra era dura. El papiro era caro. Los pergaminos de pieles de animales eran tan valiosos que los viejos a menudo se raspaban para escribir algo nuevo; el texto antiguo era a menudo todavía visible y se llamaba palimpsesto. Los monjes budistas de Sri Lanka se tomaban la molestia de escribir escrituras en hojas de palma, cuidadosamente dispuestas en libros, mientras que raros manuscritos sánscritos sobreviven en corteza de abedul.

En las alturas de los Andes, el estado Inca usaba su propio sistema de registro de datos, basado en un medio completamente diferente: el hilo anudado, una t√©cnica que hab√≠a estado evolucionando desde por lo menos la √©poca del Imperio Wari (450-1000 d.C.), mucho antes del Inka (1400-1533). El imperio multiling√ľe del Inca lleg√≥ desde Ecuador hasta Chile, con millones de s√ļbditos. Las comunidades conquistadas pagaban impuestos al imperio, en forma de textiles, ma√≠z y chu√Īo guardados en almacenes (qollqa) y como un turno de trabajo de un a√Īo cada siete a√Īos (mit’a).

Para tabular todas estas obligaciones, el imperio usaba el khipu, nudos en una cuerda. El entendido en la materia, el khipu kamayoq, o maestro de nudos, comenzó con un largo cordón central, con cuerdas secundarias y terciarias que se abrían en abanico como las ramas de un árbol. Cada cuerda contaba una historia. El significado se distinguía por el tipo de fibra (algodón vs pelo de llama), si se retorcía a la izquierda o a la derecha, por el tipo de nudo, por cien colores diferentes de hilo y por la posición de los nudos.

Los nobles conquistados eran obligados a enviar a sus hijos a vivir en la ciudad capital, Cusco, donde los muchachos tomaban un curso de cuatro a√Īos sobre el mito y la historia del Inca, y sobre el idioma oficial (el quechua). Dos a√Īos de su educaci√≥n se dedicaron al estudio del khipu.

El khipu era lo suficientemente preciso como para registrar los datos del censo de toda una provincia, los soldados de un ejército, o los impuestos. Los maestros de nudos también usaban los khipus para ayudar a memorizar y recitar mitos e historias.

Los conquistadores espa√Īoles entendieron que los khipus guardaban datos con precisi√≥n, y los hicieron dictar para transcribirlos como fuentes de la historia de los incas. Los khipus fueron incluso permitidos como evidencia en las cortes coloniales, donde los litigantes discut√≠an qui√©n era el due√Īo de tal terreno o t√≠tulo, o demandaban el reembolso de los alimentos suministrados a los soldados espa√Īoles, seg√ļn lo registrado en las cuerdas anudadas.

El conocimiento de c√≥mo hacer un khipu se extingui√≥ una generaci√≥n despu√©s de la conquista, pero el antrop√≥logo de Harvard, Gary Urton, especialista en los khipus, argumenta que no eran una m√°quina de sumar (como algunos pensaban), ni tampoco eran redacci√≥n. Sin embargo, eran un magn√≠fico dispositivo mnemot√©cnico, perfectamente preciso para registrar n√ļmeros exactos en los cientos de miles.

Los khipus moderadamente simples podían ser interpretados por sí mismos, sin memorizar el contenido. Los Incas organizaron una red de corredores que irradiaban desde Cusco a través del reino. Cada mensajero (chaski) correría durante unos 20 km, antes de transmitir su información al siguiente mensajero. Un equipo podía cubrir hasta 240 km al día, pero tal vez se necesitaban 150 chaskis para correr de Quito a Cusco, unos 2900 km. Para evitar tergiversar su mensaje por completo, cada chaski entregó al siguiente un khipu, que viajó solito, sin su creador, y debe haber sido capaz de llevar el significado por sí solo.

Me pregunto qu√© habr√≠a pasado si los khipus hubieran evolucionado durante mucho m√°s tiempo. Dados unos pocos siglos m√°s ¬Ņhabr√≠a evolucionado hacia un sistema de escritura completo para registrar el lenguaje humano, no con marcas en una superficie plana, sino en tres dimensiones? Habr√≠a sido un sistema de escritura verdaderamente √ļnico, como ning√ļn otro que el mundo haya usado.

Para leer m√°s

El estudio de Urton de los khipus est√° ampliamente descrito en:

D’Altroy, Terence N. 2015. The Incas. Nueva York: Wiley Blackwell. 547 pp.

Crédito de la foto

Khipu exhibido en el Museo Larco, en Lima. Foto por Claus Ableiter.

Relatos relacionados del blog

Stored crops of the Inka

Feeding the ancient Andean state

Alimentando al Imperio Incaico

Inka Raqay, up to the underworld

Validating local knowledge July 26th, 2020 by

Vea la versi√≥n en espa√Īol a continuaci√≥n

Paul and I have written earlier stories in this blog about the yapuchiris, expert farmer-researcher-extensionists on the semi-arid, high plains of Bolivia. At 4000 meters above sea level (over 13,000 feet), seasoned farmers know how to observe plants and animals, clouds and stars, to predict the weather, especially to answer the Big Question on their minds: when will the rains start, so I can plant my crop?

All of the yapuchiris know some traditional ways of predicting the weather. Some yapuchiris also write their observations on a special chart they have designed with their agronomist colleagues at Prosuco, an organization in La Paz. The chart, called a Pachagrama, allows the yapuchiris to record the weather each day of the year, just by penciling in a few dots, so they can see if their predictions come true, and how the rains, frosts and hail affect their crops.

It can be daunting to prove the value of local knowledge, but it is worth trying.

Eleodoro Baldivieso is an agronomist with Prosuco, which has spent much of the past year studying the results of the Pachagrama weather-tracking charts. As he explained to me recently, Prosuco took four complete Pachagramas (each one filled out over seven years) containing 42 cases; each case is a field observed over a single season by one of the yapuchiris. Comparing the predicted weather with the recorded weather allowed Prosuco to see if the Pachagramas had helped to manage risk, mainly by planting a couple of weeks early, on time, or two weeks late.

Frost, hail and unpredictable rainfall are the three main weather risks to the potato and quinoa crops on the Altiplano. In October, a little rain falls, hopefully enough to plant a crop, followed by more rain in the following months. Average annual rainfall is only 800 mm (about 30 inches) in the northern Altiplano, and a dry year can destroy the crop.

For the 42 cases the study compared the yapuchiri’s judgement on the harvest (poor, regular, or good) with extreme weather events (like frost), and the planting date (early, middle or late) to see if variations in the planting date (based on weather predictions) helped to avoid losses and bring in a harvest.

The study found that crops planted two weeks apart can suffer damage at different growth stages of the plant. For example, problems with rainfall are especially risky soon after potatoes are planted, affecting crops planted early and mid-season. Frost is more of a risk for early potatoes at the start of the season, and for late potatoes when they are flowering. Hail is devastating when it falls as the mid and late planted potatoes are flowering.

The yapuchiris are often able to accurately predict frost, hail, and rainfall patterns months in advance. Scientific meteorology does a good job predicting such weather a few days away, but not several months in advance. When you plant your potatoes, modern forecasts cannot tell you what the weather will be like when the crop is flowering. Forecasting the weather in a challenging environment is helpful, at least some of the time. Planting two weeks early or two weeks late may help farmers take best advantage of the rain, but then expose the crop to frost or hail. Changing the planting dates can help farmers avoid one risk, but not another.

The weather is so complicated that risk can never be completely managed. And because scientific meteorology cannot predict hail and frost months in advance, local knowledge fills a void that science may never replace.

Previous blog stories

Cultivating pride in the Andes

To see the future

Predicting the weather

Watch the video

Recording the weather

Watch the presentation by Eleodoro Baldivieso (in Spanish)

http://andescdp.org/cdp16/seminarios/seminario_4_respondiendo_amenazas_productivas/yapuchiris_Prosuco

Acknowledgement

This work with weather is funded by the McKnight Foundation’s Collaborative Crop Research Program (CCRP). Francisco Condori, Luciano Mamani, Félix Yana and Santos Quispe are the yapuchiris who participated in this research. Thanks to Eleodoro Baldivieso, María Quispe, and Sonia Laura of Prosuco for reading and commenting on a previous version of this story. The first two photos are courtesy of Prosuco.

VALIDANDO LOS CONOCIMIENTOS LOCALES

Por Jeff Bentley

26 de julio del 2020

Paul y yo hemos escrito historias anteriores en este blog sobre los Yapuchiris, expertos agricultores-investigadores y extensionistas en el Altiplano semi√°rido boliviano. A los 4000 metros sobre el nivel del mar, los agricultores experimentados saben c√≥mo observar plantas y animales, nubes y estrellas para predecir el clima, especialmente para responder a la Gran Pregunta en sus mentes ¬Ņcu√°ndo comenzar√°n las lluvias para yo pueda sembrar mi chacra?

Todos los Yapuchiris conocen algunas formas tradicionales de predecir el tiempo. Algunos Yapuchiris tambi√©n apuntan sus observaciones en un cuadro especial que han dise√Īado con sus colegas, los ingenieros agr√≥nomos de Prosuco, una organizaci√≥n en La Paz. El cuadro, llamado Pachagrama, permite a los Yapuchiris registrar el tiempo cada d√≠a del a√Īo, con s√≥lo dibujar algunos puntos, para que puedan ver si sus predicciones se hagan realidad y como las lluvias, heladas y granizadas afectan sus cultivos.

Puede ser difícil comprobar ese conocimiento local, pero vale la pena intentarlo.

El Ing. Eleodoro Baldivieso, de Prosuco, ha pasado gran parte del a√Īo pasado estudiando los resultados de los Pachagramas. C√≥mo √©l me explic√≥ hace poco, Prosuco tom√≥ cuatro Pachagramas completos (de siete campa√Īas agr√≠colas) y 42 casos; cada caso es una parcela observada durante una campa√Īa por uno de los yapuchiris. El comparar el tiempo previsto con el tiempo registrado permiti√≥ a Prosuco ver si los Pachagramas hab√≠an ayudado a manejar el riesgo, principalmente mediante la siembra temprana (dos semanas antes), intermedia y tard√≠a (dos semanas despu√©s).

Las heladas, el granizo y la lluvia impredecible son los tres principales riesgos meteorol√≥gicos para los cultivos de papa y quinua en el Altiplano. En octubre cae un poco de lluvia, con la esperanza de que sea suficiente para sembrar un cultivo, seguida hasta marzo por m√°s lluvia. La precipitaci√≥n media anual es s√≥lo 800 mm en el Altiplano Norte, y un a√Īo seco puede destruir la cosecha, lo mismo que un a√Īo con mucha lluvia.

Para los 42 casos el estudio comparó la evaluación del Yapchiri de la cosecha (malo, regular, o bueno) con eventos extremos de tiempo (como heladas), con las fechas de siembra (temprano, mediano, o tarde) para ver si el variar la fecha de siembra (basado en el pronóstico del Yapuchiri) ayudó a evitar pérdidas y lograr una cosecha.

El estudio hall√≥ que los cultivos sembrados a dos semanas de diferencia pueden sufrir da√Īo en diferentes etapas de crecimiento da las plantas. Por ejemplo, los problemas con las lluvias son especialmente arriesgados poco despu√©s de la siembra de la papa, afectando m√°s a la siembra tempran, a principios y mediados de la temporada. Las heladas son m√°s riesgosas para las papas tempranas al comienzo de la temporada, y para las papas tard√≠as justo en la √©poca de floraci√≥n. El granizo es devastador para las siembras intermedias y tard√≠as, si la papa est√° en flor.

Los Yapuchiris a menudo son capaces de predecir con certeza las heladas, el granizo y los patrones de lluvia, con meses de antelaci√≥n. La meteorolog√≠a cient√≠fica a menudo puede predecir ese tiempo a unos pocos d√≠as, pero con meses de anticipaci√≥n. Cuando siembras tu papa, el pron√≥stico moderno no te puede decir c√≥mo ser√° el tiempo cuando tu cultivo est√° en flor. Pronosticar el tiempo en un entorno desafiante es √ļtil, al menos parte del tiempo. Sembrar dos semanas antes o dos semanas despu√©s puede ayudar a los agricultores a aprovechar mejor la lluvia, pero se expone el cultivo a las heladas o granizo, cuando es m√°s vulnerable. Cambiar las fechas de siembra puede ayudar a los agricultores a evitar uno de los riesgos, pero no siempre a todos.

El clima es tan complicado que el riesgo nunca puede ser manejado completamente. Y debido a que la meteorología científica no puede predecir el granizo y las heladas con meses de anticipación, el conocimiento local llena un vacío que la ciencia tal vez nunca reemplace.

Historias previas del blog

Cultivando orgullo en los Andes

Conocer el futuro

Prediciendo el clima

Ver el video

Hacer un registro del clima

Vea la presentaci√≥n por Eleodoro Baldivieso (en espa√Īol)

http://andescdp.org/cdp16/seminarios/seminario_4_respondiendo_amenazas_productivas/yapuchiris_Prosuco

Agradecimiento

Este trabajo con el clima es financiado por el Programa Colaborativo de Investigación sobre Cultivos (CCRP) de la Fundación McKnight. Francisco Condori, Luciano Mamani, Félix Yana y Santos Quispe son los Yapuchiris que participaron en esta investigación. Gracias a Eleodoro Baldivieso, María Quispe, y Sonia Laura de Prosuco por leer y hacer comentaros sobre una versión previa de esta historia. Las primeras dos fotos son cortesía de Prosuco.

The pleasure of bread April 26th, 2020 by

No matter what you do for a living, money is not the only reason to enjoy your work.

Years ago, I was enlisted into a team of economists in Portugal, who looked at the profitability of every crop in every ‚Äúsystem‚ÄĚ (such as maize for grain, versus maize for silage). In their view, if a crop was not profitable, farmers would not grow it. Fair enough, but one day the we got onto the topic of rye, then grown in small amounts in northwest Portugal.

‚ÄúIt‚Äôs not profitable,‚ÄĚ the economists sneered, checking their numbers.

‚ÄúBut the farmers do grow it,‚ÄĚ I said.

‚ÄúWell, they won‚Äôt for long,‚ÄĚ the economists shrugged. Obviously if the crops were at odds with the numbers, the farmers were wrong, and the models were right.

I tried to explain that rye was an important ingredient in sourdough bread. The economists dismissed this idea out of hand. No doubt they thought that farmers should grow more profitable crops, and buy their bread at the store.

But not all bread does come from the store. In Pedralva, Portugal, I rented a room from three elderly farmers, sisters who had never married. Like every other farm family in Pedralva, they made bread once a week in a wood-fired, stone oven. To start, they would get out their sourdough starter, a fermented loaf of dough. The raw loaf of dough houses a colony of wild yeast and bacteria, kept from one week to the next in the kitchen. The farmer-bakers would mix the starter with an enormous amount of maize flour, this being one of the few parts of Europe where people eat much maize bread. But maize flour needs gluten to hold the loaf together. So, the farmers would add a generous helping of rye flour and a little paper bag of white flour, the only store-bought ingredient in their bread.

They shaped the dough into some eight large loaves, each one bigger than a dinner plate. Seven of these would fill the oven, but one loaf of dough would be put into the flour box, to ferment for a week, to start the next week’s bread.

One day I was watching one of the three sisters make bread. She slipped the last loaf into the oven, and closed it with a hand-carved stone door. To seal the door, she took some dung (still warm from the cow) and, with a practiced finger, packed it into the space around the oven door, to keep in the heat.

Then she looked at me and, with a comic-dramatical air, explained that an oven was unlike a person, because it had ‚Äúbread up its ass and shit in its mouth‚ÄĚ (p√£o no cu e merda na boca). The dung was an option, by the way; some of the neighbors sealed their oven with a bit of raw bread dough. The bread was a bit sour, dense, slightly smokey, crusty on the outside and moist on the inside, and full of flavor.

These farmers obviously enjoyed making bread and eating it. At every meal they crumbled into soup, and held in the hand to scoop up the food and to soak up the sauce.

For such a satisfying bread, folks were willing to grow and mill their own rye flour.

Few pleasures compare with eating a perfect, homemade bread. While more people are enjoying baking bread at home, during this coronavirus crisis, other changes may also be taking place in society. Industrial farming has dominated our food systems over the past few decades, but there is a growing appreciation of the art of farming, gardening and bread-baking, suggesting that the value of food cannot be reduced to a mere money value.

Further reading

Bentley, Jeffery W. 1989 “Bread Forests and New Fields: The Ecology of Reforestation and Forest Clearing Among Small-Woodland Owners in Portugal.” Journal of Forest History 33(4):188-195.

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

Watch documentary: ‚ÄúCereal – Renaissance in the field‚ÄĚ (Duration: 25 min) https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=7&v=FE23SDj19uU&feature

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