THE FARMER ~ A Short Story

Weathered face looking out the window pane. Mug of coffee cupped in large, work-swollen hands. Lifts the mug and absently blows across the top of the liquid, cooling it down. Takes a sip, still gazing out the window. His vision is blurred by the constant rain. Drumming on the roof. Dripping from the eaves. Watering the fields beyond the porch yard.
He sighs. Turns away from the window. Steps over to the small galley kitchen. Commences to fry up some eggs for breakfast. But he’s not thinking about breakfast. He’s thinking on the fields. The farmer, he’s a worker, no doubt. But he’s also a dreamer. Today he dreams. Today the rain comes down. Today his fields are drinking in a full draught from heaven.
He eats quickly. Pushes away from the table. Strides to the door. Removes his hat from the peg on the wall. Out to the garage barn. Stepping deliberately, avoiding deepening puddles, he enters the open-sided structure where he houses his farming implements and machinery. No animals on this farm, only gasoline-powered horsepower: tired, unlovely engines that get the job done.
Picking up a worn steel-bristled brush, he begins scouring the blades of the cultivator. Chunks of soil, straw and seed crumble and release themselves to the dirt floor. He stops brushing. Picks up a small pinch of the settling chaff. He finger-sifts it into the palm of his hand. Lightly stirs the mixture with a finger and isolates a few seeds. A kernel of corn. Some oat. And one watermelon seed: black, and gauzy with a layer of field dust.
Rain still coming down. But the farmer…he’s thinking. His large calloused fingers fumble around the small pile of detritus in his hand. He singles out the watermelon seed. Up it comes to eye level. His other hand brushes the remaining dusty conglomeration off on his pant leg. He sits himself down on a bag of manure. He fiddles with the seed.
One watermelon seed: a smartly packaged potential. One seed planted…grows. Boy does it grow. Heck, a sprawling, ground-hugging vine with two, three, four good-sized watermelons will grow from this one seed. Enough juicy red enjoyment to run down the chin, share with friends, sell for a profit. And inside each melon enough seeds to sow for an even bigger harvest. Think of that.
This one seed. “Shoot” he muses. “It sure doesn’t look like much. Not much at all.” But there’s a lot packed inside. An awful lot. This one seed: a sweet quiet reminder of this past year’s harvest. This little black teardrop. It’s a promise. A promise of growth yet to come. Of increase, abundance. And always…provision for more.
“Well, time to work.” He rises to his feet. He could just flick away that lone black seed; he has others. But he doesn’t flick it away. He rubs it on the leg of his jeans, removing the dust, and then he pops it into the front pocket of his shirt…a promise of abundance, near to his heart.
© Robin Halverson

And a promise…
“So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth;
It shall not return to Me void, But it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” ~ Isaiah 55:11