Of Bread. And Patience

I have to say I totally understand her position.

I mean…she did the work, shouldn’t she get the paycheck?

Ahem…

Miss Betsy, heretofore known merely by her description, ‘Little Red Hen’ was a sturdy, dependable sort of being. Hard-working. Honest.

Creative.

Now our Miss Betsy was tired of her usual farm diet (ie. Bugs. Worms. And good grief, who can blame her?!) and decided what she’d really like was a nice, fresh loaf of bread—or something similar.

But, living in a farmyard as she did, the opportunities for the sale or procurement of such things as baking stuffs was pretty nigh impossible.

Privacy was also at a premium. Just FYI.

Moving on…

Then one day, our Miss Betsy found several grains of…grain that had fallen out of the farmer’s wagon.

And she was struck by an idea.

She could grind up this grain and make that lovely loaf of bread—or something similar—that she’d been dreaming of?

Between you and I, a truly lovely idea!

Sadly, she knew that the few grains she held would be woefully inadequate for such an undertaking. Taken to the mill and ground, they would produce…maybe a tablespoon, at best.

But what if she planted them?!

One grain of wheat, properly planted and nurtured could reproduce itself a hundred times over, right?

All one needed was a patch of ground.

Some water.

Sunlight.

100 to 130 days of frost-free weather.

And patience.

Okay, let’s face it—making a loaf of bread in this manner isn’t something one does in a hurry.

But there were no other options and Miss Betsy, not one to be easily discouraged, decided to go for it.

Being the happy little community member that she was, she decided to offer her idea to the…erm…community.

“I found some grains of wheat!” she said, as excited-ly as she could.

Let’s face it—with the indolent crew that ‘peopled’ the barn yard, she would need to sell the idea to get anyone up off their…indolence.

“Yay,” said the cat. Who then yawned.

“Yay,” said the duck. Who flapped his wings idly and settled in for another nap.

“Bring them here. I’ll take care of them,” said the pig. Who then rolled over.

Not one to be so quickly discouraged, Miss Betsy tried again. “I’m going to plant them and then they’ll grow and mature and produce enough grain that I’ll be able to grind them and make a lovely loaf of bread!” She paused, a big, hopeful grin on her face.

Okay, yes, she’s a bird…with a beak. Go with me on this…

The cat stared at her. “That sounds like a lot of work for a very little reward.”

“Trust me on this,” said Miss Betsy. “It’ll be totally worth it! Who wants to help plant it?”

The cat fluffed up his fur. “Not I,” he said. Then he began to lick his left leg.

“I have to agree with my feline friend,” said the duck. “Not I.” He tucked his head under his wing.

“Call me when you have real food and not this imaginary stuff,” said the pig. And slid happily back into his dream world.

“Huh. Well. I guess I’ll just have to plant it myself!” said Miss Betsy.

And she did.

A few days later, several little, green shoots appeared in the rows where Miss Betsy had planted her precious grains.

“Oooh!” she said excitedly. “Look! Everyone look! My little seed-lies are sprout-ling!”

“Uh-huh,” said the cat, duck and pig together.

“Who wants to help me water it and weed it?”

“Your joking, right?” said the cat.

“Nope. Who would like to help? It’ll be a lot of fun!”

Just a side note here. I’ve tried this with my grandkids. But it seems that infusing your words with a lot of enthusiasm only works if there is an obvious—and visible—reward.

Sigh.

Back to our story…

“Not I,” said the cat.

“Not I,” said the duck.

“Not I,” said the pig.

“Fine. Then I’ll do it myself!”

And she did.

The grain grew tall and healthy and multiplied ‘exceedingly’.

And in all that time, Miss Betsy tended it faithfully.

And, after 130 days, as spring turned to summer and then to fall, the tall, heavily-laden stalks were ready to harvest.

“Oh, yow! Look at those!” Miss Betsy said. “Did you ever see any wheat stalks as tall and straight and full?!”

“Can’t say that I have,” said the cat. “Of course, I have to admit I’ve never really taken notice before.”

“You’re doing good work, Bets,” said the duck. “Keep it up. You’ll have your loaf of bread in next to no time!”

“Zzzzz,” said the pig.

“So who wants to help me harvest it?” Miss Betsy (ever the optimist) asked.

“Not I,” said the cat, stretching out in the autumn sun.

“Not I,” said the duck, preening his feathers.

“Zzzzz,” said the pig.

So she did it herself.

You should have seen the yield! Yow-zas!

But then, the next step in the interminable (this is really taking a long time!) process.

“Who wants to help me haul this haul to the mill to be ground into flour?”

“Are you kidding me?” said the cat, duck and pig together. Translation: Not I!

‘Sigh,” said Miss Betsy. Translation: Sigh.

“Then I’ll do it myself.”

And she did.

Now she had a sack of flour, perfect for that perfect loaf of bread.

Things were starting to heat up at last.

“Who wants to help me make the loaf of bread?” Miss Betsy asked.

She was nothing if not eternally positive.

“Call me when it comes out of the oven,” yawned the cat.

“Ditto,” said the duck.

“Achoo!” said the pig. Translation: I say we just eat the flour like it is!

So Miss Betsy made it herself.

Finally, after the months and months of work and waiting, a big, golden loaf emerged from the oven, proudly carried by Miss Betsy in her brand new oven mitts. “Now, who will help me eat this bread?” she asked.

“I will!” said the cat.

“I will,” said the duck.

“I will!” said the pig.

“You won’t!” said Miss Betsy.

And they didn’t.

But she did.

Then she also went and got some better friends.

Moral: One-way friendships can work for a while, but eventually, they just grind you down to nothing.

The end. 

It's Fly on the Wall Day! The best day of the month!

When my sister-bloggers and I share what's been happening in our homes and minds and hearts for the past month.

You've read mine.

Now go and see what my sisters are up to!

You'll be glad you did!

Karen at Baking In A Tornado

Marcia of Menopausal Mother