Keeping Time with the Romans

 

Modern societies rely on precise and standardized timing. Our schedules are synchronized to prevent chaos, ensure safety, and keep complex modern systems running efficiently. Without a shared timeline, daily operations, global markets, and digital networks would quickly fail. Power grids and telecommunications would crash and transportation hubs would become ensnarled. If stock markets didn’t have exact timing down to the microsecond, fraud could easily take place. Our ordered lives demand accurate synchronized devices that rely on electronic oscillation, digital counters, and atomic frequency.

While timekeeping in ancient Rome was still important, it was very different. Before digital and atomic clocks, there were physical gears and springs. But even these were beyond Roman technology. Romans measured time in ways that were much more closely connected to the rhythms of nature. The rising and setting of the sun and the changing of the seasons shaped how Romans perceived time much more than they do today.

Both the modern world and the Roman one divide the day into twenty-four hours. However, we divide those hours differently. Now, our hours are all equal in length and do not vary from day to day or season to season. The Roman day was divided into twelve hours of daylight and twelve of night, and each hour was a flexible unit rather than a consistent measure. During the summer, when the sun follows a higher arc in the sky and days are longer, the Romans had longer hours during the day and shorter hours at night. During the winter, when the sun rose later in the day and set earlier, the hours of day were compressed and nighttime hours lengthened. At Mediterranean latitude, one hour could be as short as 45 minutes in the middle of winter solstice, and 75 minutes during the height of summer.

A modern American’s day begins when the alarm clock goes off. This can be well before sunrise or close to noon. For Romans, sunrise marked the beginning of the day. The first hour of the day, or prima diei hora in Latin, started then.  The ante meridiem, or time before noon continued with hora secunda, hora tertia, and so on. We still use am to differentiate between hours before noon and those in the afternoon.

Roman mornings were busy. Most Romans and began work early to take full advantage of daylight. Most business transactions, legal proceedings, and political obligations occurred before noon. It was also the time when clients of elite patrons made their way to their patron’s house to pay their respects in what was called a salutatio. The clients offered a formal greeting and, in exchange, the patron would dispense advice, give instructions, or request assistance in civic or business matters. In many cases, he also distributed the sportula, a modest allowance that could take the form of cash or food.

 When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, it was Midday, or meridies, and six hours (sexta hora) after sunrise. This wording survives today in the Spanish word siesta, which literally means the sixth hour of the day. For some odd reason, the English term noon didn’t always signify the middle of the day. Until 1300, monks used the word noon to describe a period of prayer beginning at three in the afternoon, or the ninth hour.

The second half of the day was called the post meridiem, or after noon, which in English has become one word: afternoon. We still use the abbreviation pm to identify this period, although for us, pm continues until midnight, while the Romans ended their pm hours at sunset.

By meridies, especially during the long, hot days of summer, most business and civic duties were done. Afternoons were focused on leisure, social interaction, and personal affairs. Bathing was an important part of the afternoon, and a visit to the public baths was not just a time to get clean, but a time relaxing, exercising, and socializing.

Cena, the main meal of the day, was usually eaten in the late afternoon or early evening, after the day's work had come to an end.

The natural day (dies naturalis) ran from sunrise to sunset, which was called vespera in Latin.  Then night began, with the hour after sunset called the prima noctis hora, the first hour of the night. But although night was divided into twelve hours much as day was, most Romans did not keep track of hours. Instead, night was divided into four watches, or vigils. These were especially important for military and security purposes, as soldiers, guards, and night watchmen structured their duties according to these intervals. Vigilia prima was the first watch, or evening watch, and ran from sunset (vespera) to the third hour of the night (hora tertia noctis) at about 9:00 PM.  Vigilia secunda (Second Watch, or Midnight Watch) ran from 9:00 PM to midnight , and Vigilia tertia (Third Watch or Cock-crowing, gallicinium in Latin) ran from midnight to about 3:00 AM. The final watch of the night, Vigilia quarta, ended when the sun rose. All the watches were signaled by horns, bells, or trumpets.

Although they now follow a modern clock with fixed hours, the Catholic Church preserved many of the Latin names in their canonical hours.   Prime takes place at 6 am, terce at 9 am, sext at noon, and none at 3 pm, and vespers at 6 pm.

The Roman system followed a naturally flexible daily rhythm regulated by sunlight rather than mechanical clocks. Activities did not occur at a fixed, standardized times in the modern sense, but were organized around dawn, midday, and sunset. Even with 24 hours in a day, Romans did not manage time down to the minute. Rather than planning to meet at "9:30am sharp" as we might, Romans would plan to meet in the third hour.  Arriving a bit early or late was not considered bad form. It was just a normal part of the system. What feels like imprecision to a modern observer was, for a Roman, simply how life worked.

Mortaria: the Cuisinart of the Roman World

 

          Most people probably know what a mortar and pestle are. Although not as common in household kitchens as they once were, these cups and heavy, club-shaped rods were used for grinding, pounding, mixing, and blending ingredients for foods and medicines. These two tools are still common in the logos of pharmacies and drug companies.

What most people don’t know is that mortars and pestles are Roman inventions. The earliest examples of them come from the Italian Peninsula and date from the 3^rd century BC. Both Apicius, the man credited with writing the first cookbook, and Lucius Junius Moderatus Columella, who wrote about agriculture, both refer to a mortarium in the context of cooking.

Most Roman mortaria have similar design features. They all have a gritty interior made by either mixing coarse sand, flint, quartz, or tiny stone grit into the clay or embedding it into the wet clay interior before firing. Either method created a rough grinding surface. The shallow bowls had thick rims that were often flanged. These were designed to provide a firm grip during vigorous pounding. Most also had a built-in groove or spout to allow the user to pour out blended sauces, liquids, or ground pastes easily. Some of these spouts were decorated to look like the mouth of a human or beast.

The word pestle comes from the Middle English pestel. It entered English courtesy of the Norman Old French word pestel, which came from the Latin pistillum, meaning "pounder" or "pound-instrument". The Latin root traces back to pinsere, meaning "to pound or crush."

In the same way, the Latin word mortarium came to English through Old French and slowly morphed to the word mortar. Although both words originally meant a vessel for pounding, grinding, or mixing, the English word gradually expanded over time until it became used to describe the substance mixed inside it, including the mortar used to join brickwork, and the short, squat military cannon shaped like a grinding bowl. 

Romans loved their sauces, and developed mortaria (singlular: mortarium) to grind the  herbs, spices, cheeses, meat, oil, fish sauce, wine, and nuts that went into them.  We know what they were pounding because scientists have been able to analyze the organic residues on surviving vessels or fragments that seeped into the porous clay of the kiln-fired pottery vessels. We also know because of these studies that different regions within the Roman Empire kept some of their culinary traditions. A 2011 study has uncovered plant material such as vegetables, herbs, and spices as well as the residue of animal fats and dairy products, including butter, on British mortaria.  This shows that, while Britons did adapt the handy instrument, they did not totally give up their old ways. Romans did not use butter in their cooking, preferring olive oil.

 The earliest mortaria in Britain predate the Roman conquest. We do not know whether the people using these early examples were immigrants from elsewhere or native Britons who enjoyed the novelty of Roman-style cuisine. These early finds are located at sites in the south-east corner of the island, and were continental imports.

 After the Roman invasion of Britain in AD 43, mortaria became increasingly common in Britain. Initially, these bowls were also predominantly imported. They came from Gallia Belgica, an area we would think of as the area covered today by Belgium, Luxemburg and northern France, or from Lugdunum, which is now known as Lyon.

Makers often stamped their names or symbols directly onto the rim of their mortaria as a way of advertising their wares. This allows archaeologists to trace trade routes and workshop movements across the Roman Empire. One potter whose mortaria are found across Western Europe is Gaius Atisius Sabinus, who operated a famous workshop in modern-day Aoste, Italy between 50 and 85 CE. Ripanus Tiberinus, a mortaria producer in Lugdunum, or present-day Lyon, produced pots between AD 55 and 90. Fragments of these post have been found throughout Britain and up to the Scottish border. https://www.tastesofhistory.co.uk/post/kitchenalia-the-mortarium

But as Britain adopted Roman culture, its artisans began making the pieces locally. Verulamium, now known as St Albans, developed a thriving moratoria business.  As the Roman Army slowly but steadily spread north, so did the mortaria. From being found in urban and military settings, they gradually appeared in more rural settlements and in the north. And as use spread north, so did production, with many other potters in the Midlands and further north producing and distributing mortaria.

Enica, the main character in The Potter's Hand, the historical novel I am working on right now, is a potter who lives in Eboracum, the Roman town that is now known as York. She is less of a craftsman than an artist, who loves to make meticulously decorated bowls, urns and pots that sell for high prices. But she has two slave women who also make pots for her, and she's recently begun having them turn out mortaria. She wants her fame as a potter to spread throughout northern Britain until her reputation rivals that of Ripanus Tiberinus. She is convinced that fame as a potter will open doors for her into Roman society. But God has other plans for her.

Sunflowers: a Sure Sign that Fall is Coming

Here in the east Sandia Mountains, sunflowers start popping up along the roads in the middle of August. Some years, like this one, are dry. We didn't have much of a monsoon season this summer, and it shows. This little field is usually green and covered with nearly a lawn of grass. This year, it is filled with dry and yellowed clusters of grasses. 

Some years, the sunflowers line the road. This year, there's a sparse sprinkling of flowers.

To me, sunflowers mark the end of summer, because they begin to bloom at about the same time school starts. Back when I was teaching, I drove to school through a sea of sunny yellow blooms that I thought were encouraging me to have a sunny, upbeat attitude. I hoped that my students would bloom under my guidance, growing strong and upright in their understanding and practice. This year, publics schools held their first classes during the week that began with August 9th. That was also the week that sunflowers began popping up along the road. I drove past them feeling a bit of nostalgia and wishing that I could be back in the classroom and facing the fresh, shining new faces of another year of students. (I will admit the feeling passed pretty quickly. Teaching is fun, but it's also difficult and wears a person down.)

As soon as I see my first sunflower of the year, I celebrate by changing up the decorations on the little table where my husband and I eat our meals. I bring the happiness and hope of sunflowers to my table using a green tablecloth, a centerpiece that's ringed with silk sunflowers and holds a yellow candle, and a little quilted piece created by my very talented friend, Jessica Bonzen. (Joyce Sagon, the mother of my brother in law Ed, gave me a lovely breadbasket liner that has sunflowers on it, and that goes on the table, too!)  

This is my late summer table, reminding me that, while the days are still warm, (blazing hot, actually. What a hot and dry summer it's been) school is already in session and fall is right around the corner. 

I may not have many wild sunflowers this year, but I've got three big Maximillian sunflower bushes.  Right now, there are only a few blooms on each plant, but I know what's coming.These bushes will get to be 6 feet high, and will eventually be covered with flowers, so they'll look like golden columns.

September is a month of transitions here in New Mexico. It starts out hot, but soon after the State Fair, trees begin to show a little color and the days begin to cool. I am looking forward to that change. After a long, hot summer, it'll be nice to have to pull out a sweater for an early morning walk. And though I'll have to say goodbye to sunflowers, the gold will stay because the aspens and cottonwoods will begin their autumnal show, and New Mexico's skies will fill with hot air balloons.