![]() We did all manner of things to change our fortune. Seeds went into it only to fester and wither. No one had any grain to grind and so our barter was based on “next harvest.” Last year, the lord had released the vassals from obligation and we had all walked the furrows of the tilled earth many times, seeking a scrap thought useless before, even chaff, something to put into our mouths. When I looked upon the mill wheel a fortnight ago, a cobweb stretched from the hub to the teeth. The lord’s mill, which Jost ran, hadn’t been in use for years. ![]() But soon enough we ate all of those and there were no longer claw marks leading us along their little paths. What game there was starved too, their ribs plain as kindling. It had been a poor year for grain, like the year before, and the blasted field was now covered with snow. The fleas froze in the straw beds, bodies swollen with chilled blood. So cold the birds froze midcall and our little fire couldn’t keep ice from burrowing into bed with us. ![]() It was a winter to make bitter all souls. ![]() In the second year of no harvest, 1507 Tierkinddorf, Germany ![]()
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