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PACE OF LIFE I love the slow sound and tempo ofold, creaking carts with great wooden wheels, pulled by oxen. The carts are hand-hewn out ofoak, with a big singletree with a hook that clasps over the yoke, which is also hand-hewn. The yoke sits on the neck ofthe oxen against their horns, the bases ofwhich have been bound by leather to protect them from the rubbing. I have worked with my cousins in the fields, haying and planting corn and potatoes. The oxen pull the plow that cuts furrows in straight lines, following the contour ofthe land. In season, they are hitched to the massive cart that will carry the hay and crops to the protection ofa voluminous barn. Clouds are leaden, and the air is so heavy and dense that it threatens to rip violently apart. And finally, it does. The sky opens silently, and the rain comes down like a cloudburst. But by this time, the cart and its contents are inside and safe. My cousins have explained to me that the oxen are started in training when they are about four years old. The first time they are in yoke, they accept it as if it were their lot in life. When they are turned loose from the cart for a rest, they are still yoked together. Their 122 heads with wide, curving horns swing in unison even when they feed, as if they were born to that, too. It is like a symphony of movement. When the paysan walking beside the cart lays his wooden goad flat over the base of the horns, the oxen stop in their tracks. When the paysan lifts the goad, the oxen resume their forward movement. Watching them, one would think it was the paysan who is setting the pace. But actually it is the oxen who do, plodding ever forward unhurriedly. It is as though the pace oflife on a small Basque farm is geared to that ofits oxen. 123 ...

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