The Farmer and the Passerby
A vast field stretches across the horizon, where a farmer tends to rows of grapevines under the golden sun. A sturdy wooden fence separates the field from the road, where a passerby strolls, enjoying the gentle breeze. The farmer, wearing a weathered hat and boots caked with mud, seems lost in thought, crouched near the fence with a furrowed brow.
The passerby, noticing the farmer’s pensive expression, pauses at the fence.
Passerby:
“Afternoon. That’s a fine vineyard you’ve got there.”
Farmer:
[Startles slightly, looking up.] “Oh, afternoon. Yeah, it’s fine, I guess. Been better. The soil’s been stubborn this year.”
Passerby:
“Stubborn soil, huh? Sounds like quite the battle.”
Farmer:
“It is. I can’t help but think — what if the rain doesn’t come when it should? What if the yield’s lower than last year? What if pests show up again?”
Passerby:
[Leans on the fence, looking at the vines swaying in the breeze.]
“That’s a lot of ‘what ifs’ for one afternoon. Let me ask you something — how far down into the soil can you see?”
Farmer:
[Chuckles nervously.] “See? I can’t see at all, just plant and hope.”
Passerby:
“And how about those roots? Any idea what’s happening with them right now?”
Farmer:
“Not a clue. Could be growing strong, could be drying up. Who knows?”
Passerby:
“Exactly. You can’t see under the soil, yet here you are, breaking your back every day, trusting that the roots are doing their part.”
Farmer:
[Pauses, wiping sweat off his brow.] “I suppose. But what does that have to do with my worry?”
Passerby:
“It has everything to do with it. You’re trying to control what you can’t see, things that aren’t even yours to manage. Do you decide where the rain falls? Or how the roots spread?”
Farmer:
“No, but — ”
Passerby:
[Interrupts gently.] “But nothing. You’ve done your part — you’ve planted, you’ve tended, and you’ll harvest when the time comes. The rest? That’s not on you. It’s like trying to control the wind or the sun. You can feel them, but you can’t command them.”
Farmer:
[Leans against his shovel, nodding slowly.] “So you’re saying… stop worrying about what I can’t change?”
Passerby:
“Not just stop worrying — let it go completely. Focus on what’s in your hands now, not on what might or might not come. Look as far as your clarity shows you, and leave the rest to the One who sees everything.”
Farmer:
[Smiles faintly, the lines on his face softening.] “That’s easier said than done.”
Passerby:
“Of course it is. But isn’t it funny how we act like we run the world when we can’t even see the roots beneath our feet? Life’s a lot simpler when you accept that you’re not in charge of everything.”
Farmer:
[After a long pause, looking out at the field.] “You’ve got a point. Maybe I’ll take it one day at a time, like you said.”
Passerby:
[Grins, tipping their hat.] “That’s all you can do. And hey — those vines look strong to me. I’d bet on them.”
Farmer:
[Chuckles.] “I think I will.”
The passerby walks off down the road, leaving the farmer standing by the fence, looking at his vineyard with a new sense of calm. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves, and the farmer takes a deep breath, finally at peace with the present moment.
