Hello there, I am a peasant from the middle ages, though it seems strange to call them that. After all, nothing yet has come after. I also have no name. This isn't really historically significant. The author of this work was just too lazy to think of one. Anyway, I have been called upon to recount to you just what it is I do around here. Unfortunately, I am illiterate, which is to say that I cannot read or write. I suppose this brings about the question of how this document was recorded. Well, you'll never know. After all, I'll be long dead by the time you read this, so there.
January is a gift-giving month, as you no doubt know. This year's was fairly uneventful, though I did appreciate Lord Usurper's gifts of food that was prepared the same week and new, untarnished shabby work robes. This usually prepares us for February quite well. Gerard, my cow, had to be taken to market and sold in order to make ends meet. Sadly, no one would believe my claims that Gerard was, in fact, female. Thus was I forced to bring her home with not a penny to my name. March began the official work, and vegetables were farmed. None of the beef I planted did, though. Apparently the Butcher is the only one who knows how to grow meat.
Spring was nice. My daughter got married last April. I was very relieved at this, since she was nearly twenty already. I had worried that she might become an old maid. May was alright, but I was not at all fond of all the green I was forced to wear. One of the other peasants pinched me the other day. A whole month of St. Patrick's Day is a horrible idea. As for June, that's harvest month. We brought in the vegetables and had to ignore the meat scraps. I'll make a note to ask the butcher what his secret is next March.
July saw the continuation of the harvest. We also sheared the sheep, so we could make the same sheep winter sweaters. It must be cold out there every year, with no wool and all. August was more of the same, with the nobles running around stealing the prey of their pet hawks. Stealing from savage, hungry birds of prey is far more sophisticated than shooting a deer with a bow and arrow, you see. In September, we harvested the grapes. These were made into wine for the nobles. The only thing more fun to be subject to than a petty tyrant is a drunk petty tyrant.
Autumn arrived, bringing with it the start of more planting and tilling. I imagine that the mutton trees I planted in October will be beautiful come this summer. Speaking of trees, the annual November acorn harvest went off quite nicely. The squirrels made sure that we couldn't collect them all, but we'll be back next year. The war is far from over. In December, we had a boar hunt. Nothing is more appetizing than watching your dogs tear a slain pig limb from limb, especially if you yourself were planning to eat said pig.
And that, dear friends, is a year in the life of a lowly medieval peasant. Now if you shall excuse me, I must bother the butcher for the secret of his meat-growing success.
