Once upon a time there was a farmer. A farmer from a long line of farmers. A long line of farmers who thought farming was the bestest holiest thing in the world. No one can remember now if this particular farmer choose his profession because of his families farming legacy, or if he truly loved it. If this great question could be answered this story may not have occurred.
But it did, so I will tell it to you now, as best as I can ( through my eyes of course.)
Once upon a time there was a farmer. A farmer who farmed for many years, like his father and brothers before him. Eventually, as happens a lot, there was a falling out between brothers and mothers and fathers all around. The farmer left the family plot to sow his own land. The family laughed and pointed, and whispered and mocked. But the farmer was tender underneath his soles. Tender and hurt. A dangerous combination for farming as any wise farmer will tell you.
To start his new life and his new farm, the tender farmer opened his field to all the odd and castoffed plants, and Fruits and Vegetables and What-nots that had no field to grow in. All the plants who had been shunned, and neglected and mocked.
“You can live in my field” said the farmer. “I will help you.”
And so for a few years the farmer had a nice field, with some odd, yet growing plants and Fruits and Vegetables and What-Nots. But as we all know, plants – especially Fruits and What-Nots – take a lot of work to grow, year after year. They always need something.
And soon the What-Not’s grumbled. And the Vegetables had opinions.
And as the garden grew larger and larger (because of course, everyone loved this new garden that welcomed odd balls) there was more for the farmer to do.
And the farmer became very, very tired and confused. And he couldn’t remember if ever really wanted to be a farmer at all. And then some other stuff happened that broke his heart and made him sad and then made him mad. But the Vegetables and the Fruits and the What-Not’s where never sure what really happened. Because the farmer never told them. He only talked of new ways to farm, things he read in books. And he tried to teach the What-Not’s how to tend to the Fruits, and the Vegetables how to tend to the What-Not’s, but no one really knew what he meant….because if they were all going to be the farmers then who was going to be the Fruits? And the What-Nots? And the Vegetables?
So for a while no one did anything. And the weeds began to sprout, and a lot of plants moved out of the garden, hoping to find another field where they could grow. Some of the ones who stayed hoped maybe the farmer would get some help, but he didn’t. Some of the ones who stayed tried to talk to him, but he didn’t understand them anymore, he had forgotten how to hear the garden language. He only heard the thoughts in his own head, and all the questions he had were very loud and it made it hard to hear anything else.
Soon, there were just a few plants and the farmer. He walked around the fields sometimes, and they stretched out their vines and leaves, tickling his ankles as he walked by. But it is said that he never again looked down, only ahead. Straight ahead.