The Harvesters' Supper

Once upon a time, many years ago in the here and now, when there were no combine harvesters, in a far away land that's just next door a group of men were in the fields, in the heat of summer, harvesting the wheat. They had risen with the sun and had laboured hard all day long. None had eaten since the previous evening and hunger gnawed at their bellies.

As the day wore on and the sun started descending they began describing to one another all the foods they would soon be eating and how big their feast would be. Among them, one young man said nothing. Eventually the harvesters asked if his silence meant that he was not hungry. He smiled and nodded. He was not hungry.

After several more hours, as dusk began to settle and it became difficult to see what they were doing, they finally stopped to eat. The women of the village brought to the fields great trays laden with food and huge flagons of ale and cider, chilled in the nearby river.

When all was ready the young man piled his plate higher than any of the others and started eating with great zeal and gusto. His companions all looked at him in amazement. They reminded him, none too subtly, that not so long ago he had said he was not hungry. He smiled, swallowed a few more mouthfuls, and then pointed out that it was not wise to be hungry when there was no food on hand to eat.
 

Adapted from J. Canfield and M.V. Hansen
 

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