Abraham Faffle of River's End, Erybis, 805 FC: A Farmer's Wisdom.
He walked out his front door with a depressed sigh. I watched him while I sat on my knees, harvesting my crops. He gazed into his land, anxiously glancing from one side to another. One last time, he turned his head, seeing me in the corner of my farmland.
“Hey neighbor!” He hesitated, “what a fine day we have here, isn’t it!” Excited he sounded, though I saw straight through his fasade.
“Sure is, Al!” I proclaimed back to him. “The sun is high and the air is hot. Where is your cap? I fear you may burn.” I watched as he looked up while putting his hand over his almost bald head, rubbing it worryingly.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. A little sunburn never hurt anyone.” Alfred chuckled, nervously. “What might you be up to today, Abraham?” It was obviously a clear attempt to divert the topic away from himself.
“Well, it has been a long harvesting season, let me tell you Alfred. My land is the largest, and I’ve yet half to go!” I paused as his face dropped, clearly jealous in remembrance that I hold the property to the largest plot. “Today, I am harvesting my potatoes, as they are soon to rot. I must sell them soon, or the wife will be unpleased.”
“You seem to have yourself well handled.” Looking into the distance, Alfred yawned. “To my right, Ernest hasn’t harvested any more than three patches all season! I myself am not very far ahead. Perhaps we aren’t suited for the farming market.” He took a seat on his stairs, and winced from the hot cobble against his hand.
At first, I didn’t respond. I felt bad for Alfred, for he has always had such a hard time. Last year, half his crops were ravaged by nasty little children! I myself had it easy growing up. My father was the chief farmer, and so had the decorated home and large plot of land that comes with the position. I was raised in this beautiful home, never going a day without food by the plenty. Life was beautiful.
My father always told me that farm life was difficult, and he taught me how to do it correctly from a very young age. I was out on the field almost every day, working, while my dad watched me from the window. I was the one supporting the family for years, as training. Father had taught me some very great words of wisdom, as well.
“A farmer is to be respected. It is why we hold these beautiful homes, given to us by the nobles. We provide for the town and its people, to ensure no one goes hungry.” I pause for a brief moment to gather my breath. “It is a difficult job indeed, but this is how we earn our respect. It is how we earn our lavish homes and coin. Be the farmer that your son can one day look up to. Make your town, and your family proud.” The wise words of my father I had passed on to Alfred.
Alfred continued to sit on his stairs. He looked down at his legs, holding them tightly together. He looked to his farmland, to me, and back to his farmland.
“I may be the Chief farmer by heir, and I may have the nicest house and nicest land, but that doesn’t make me better than you.” I said to Alfred, and he looked me in the eyes, his mouth slightly open. “Work hard, teach your children well. Perhaps one day, this land will be yours. Or perhaps, one day, no land will be yours.”
We both paused, in silence.
“Thank you.” Alfred whispered. “Thank you, Abraham.” He spoke up. He then stood up from his cobble stairs, smiled at the sun, and began harvesting his crops.