Song and Turned Earth

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For the last twenty days I have been seizing hold of the plow by its wooden handle, stepping up all my weight upon the metal plowshare at the field edge as the dzo team pulls it forward. The share bites maybe two hand’s breadth deep into winter-packed earth, and I work its tall wooden shol, now bent over, now holding upright, all just to catch the next eight or twelve inches of unbroken earth and see it lift deep brown and break open like a wave.


Abi Tsewang, Acho Konchok, and a team of dzo hooked up with the shol

This is called tong tangches (giving the plow), and whoever plays this role also sings praise to the dzo. The other tool of motivation is held in the offhand, a freshly cut smoothly green-barked willow switch. Some guys who plow (it’s men only) use the switch and barely sing. Others give delightful song and even can plow singing at a jog behind the team. On big days it’s good to have them at the helm. I’m slower than that, and I’m told I have a light hand. Plowing slowly and carefully means less breaking — you get caught under a giant alfalfa root and break the tong chung, a small specially-carved piece of willow wood that connects the plowshare and the shol. It’s a part of the system designed to be the weak link that breaks — saving strain on the rest of the shol — and is easily replaced.

My view of Acho Stondus fixing a new tong chung

I find I can use voice and body language and I only rarely need the lash. It’s still often fear that’s motivating them, though, and in my heart I would like that to be different. Many people have been feeding me delicious words of need and praise for me to feed in turn to the dzo as we plow, burying the seed and manure to bring forth the barley once again.

Norbu nyis ka
you two golden ones

Tse-bo-ring shik
a long life to you

Lha kar tonpo la ging cha men a dzubi
On high white passes, won’t you dzo stand proudly?

Ri stod tonpo la serchen mentok hamza salkan skyod ley
Respectfully journey to the mountaintop as grazers of the great golden flower

Drong la nyima laney boot dug lay….Gyat chu rolbo nam kyong chen lay
In the high wilds the sun falls easily….when will we bring another eighty rows?

Ama Balangi bu-stakh sengey nyis ka
Mother Cow’s two sons like lions

For more, you can see last year’s post on plowing