This story has been told and retold in many languages over the
years. One may infer any moral that seems appropriate.
A farmer and his oldest son, a youth of 16, were to take a load
of garden produce into town and to shop for needed supplies before
returning home. To the father, it was a necessary trip that he made
several times a year, but to his son it was a long-awaited treat
because he despised farm life and longed for the excitement of the
city.
This story has been told and retold in many languages over the years. One may infer any moral that seems appropriate.
A farmer and his oldest son, a youth of 16, were to take a load of garden produce into town and to shop for needed supplies before returning home. To the father, it was a necessary trip that he made several times a year, but to his son it was a long-awaited treat because he despised farm life and longed for the excitement of the city.
Accordingly, he was up and impatient to be gone before the sun had risen. He sighed as he heard his father awakening, and knew it would be a long time until he was ready. He went outside, checked the harness to the oxen, and made sure the load of vegetables was well distributed. After awhile, he went back into the house where his father was just finishing breakfast. “Are you ready now?” he asked.
“Be patient, my son,” the farmer replied. “I must bathe before we leave.” “I bathed last night,” the youth said. “We could have been on the road by now.”
His father laughed. “The city has been there a long time. It will wait 15 minutes more.”
At length he was ready and took the reins of the oxen. “May I drive?” his son asked. “Perhaps in a while. For now, contemplate the beauty of the morning.”
The youth’s mother and two younger brothers emerged from the house then, and the father halted the oxen. His mother recited a list of items they needed, going over it a second time, while the oldest son fumed in silence.
After an interminable time, his mother and brothers stepped back and the farmer clucked to the team.
Even for oxen, they seemed to the youth to be exceptionally slow this morning. They had been on the road for nearly an hour when the sun rose. “A beautiful day,” the father remarked, and smiled to himself as his son withheld comment.
After another hour, the farmer stopped the cart, and changed seats with his son. The youth immediately jerked the reins to hurry the team into a faster pace. Something approaching sharpness came into the father’s tone. “They are beasts but they feel, too.” His son sighed but complied.
They rode in silence for awhile as the sun climbed the sky. From time to time, the youth leaned forward as though to hurry their pace by sheer will power. The farmer glanced at him fondly, remembering his impatience with his own father not so many years earlier. The boy would appreciate the steadiness of a farm when he was ready to take a wife.
The youth’s excitement rose with every mile they passed, and he laughed in pure joy when they rounded a bend and came to the crest whose other side would lead them down into the city.
The farmer suddenly placed his hand on his son’s sleeve. “Look at the trees” he said. As they watched in wonder the branches of all the trees on both sides of the road quivered as if alive.
They drove up the crest and stopped to gaze for a long time. Below, they saw a silver cloud raise far into the heavens and mushroom above the charred and burning valley that had once been Hiroshima.
Herman Wrede is a Free Lance correspondent. His column appears every Friday.
