The Seed
In the late forties wildcatters came to the West Texas area where my grandfather had a dry weather farm snuggled a mile off US 380 between Tahoka and Post Texas. The men drilled on several farms nearby but found no oil.
That's when granddad decided to do what he had wanted to do for years, drill for water. They struck one of the best deep water wells around. From that day on, he no longer had to watch the clouds in the sky and pray for rain. Each day he got on his red tractor knowing whenever needed he could quench the dry earth. All he had to do was fill the ditches along the edge of the fields with water. Once they became full, he walked along the end of each row and scooped a short curved pipe into the cool liquid onto the thirsty land. Slowly it darkened the dirt around each plant as it became saturated.
As a cotton farmer, he was rated as top notch. Not only did he enjoy the bounty from his hard work, he gave God credit for his success. He always marveled at how many plants are reproduced each year just by falling to the ground. To him that outweighed any planting he could ever do by a much better farmer than he could ever be.
The Seed
Every seed has a story they say.
This is one I heard of today.
A seed fell from a tree straight to the ground.
It hid in the soil not to be found.
The sun tried to help as it shined its light.
He finally gave up and turned into night.
A cloud turned blue and dropped rain from the sky.
After a while he floated away and said, "Goodbye."
Time passed then a stem popped from the ground.
"I'm fine," said the seed. "See what I found.
It's a new home that's perfect for me.
Here I can spread out and grow you see."
This story is over but it's not the end.
For wherever seeds fall, it will begin again.
Patricia Westbrook
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