Prosaic looked out across his glistening orchard during the cool of the evening. Hoe in hand, he leaned on it gazing at his proud work; labor through sweat and exhaustion; his reward. Prosaic tended the orchard from his youth, being taught the lessons of hard work reaps abundance and slack results in want. His father raised him this way, passing down ethics from generations before. Prosaic’s mother had passed from sickness when he was just old enough to walk, leaving him in the hands of his father, who did the best he knew. In his father’s passing only two seasons previous, Prosaic continued the hard work instilled in him, now taking full responsibility over the orchard. Apples and grapes filled the narrow walkways between the growth, proving his father’s teachings true.
The following spring brought with it a new sowing time and a foreigner named Zetetic. She was strange in the eyes of the locals, not submitting to their well-established traditions and ways. Zetetic walked confidently; lacking fear; head high, and smiling, yet she appeared humble. A satchel containing a few necessities and a worn pouch of seeds made up the sum of her belongings. Zetetic told of Prosaic and the possibility he would grant her a section to plant. With a little convincing, Prosaic reluctantly agreed to her use of a small plot, mostly out of charity and her promise to help with a portion of his own labor. As the season got under way, Prosaic often watched with amusement at her foolish methods yet did not interfere nor give unsolicited advice.
Prosaic took special care not to neglect any aspect of his duties toward the orchard. Time is a valuable asset spent gauging water; digging invasive weeds; pruning, and morning became evening wasting nothing. Zetetic took time away from her portion to explore and enjoy all the little things; the landscape; the bees pollinating between buds; nature gamely before her path. The two gradually met near sunset for casual conversation. Prosaic would subtly explain his methods and expectations for his orchard, careful not to seem intrusive. “Hard work and persistence, just as my father taught.” Zetetic seemed to suspect no attempt at guidance yet responded, “Nature nurtures and provides. The sun rises on the righteous and the undeserving, lacking bias towards either.” With that, Prosaic scoffed and rose from his grass-cushioned seat to depart the senselessness.
As the season progressed; Prosaic was firm in his hard work ethics; Zetetic committed to only necessity. She made time for conversations with passers-by or sharing some of her daily pickings, prioritizing the moment and strangers over steady work. Zetetic formed a few friendly relationships, even receiving gifts like a wooden bowl and spoon, along with other tokens of appreciation. Prosaic scoffed again, muttering, “She’s foolish for not putting the food up for storage or at least selling it for winter preparation. I hope she doesn’t expect me to provide for her.” Prosaic began distancing himself more from Zetetic, seeing her more as a liability.
As Prosaic was watering one morning, he noticed some browning on several of his plants, soon realizing the fungus making its way up. More and more fungus creeping up on much of the outer foliage brought alarm. He calmed himself, knowing that hard work and persistence would see him through this. The deeper he looked, the more he realized it was a full blight threatening all he had. Prosaic then remembered the exceptionally wet winter previous to this year’s growth season, allowing for a prevailing nemesis. Calmness and even self-control departed him as he thrashed through blight-infested foliage with no actual plan to overcome it.
Zetetic was seeing the same ugly fungus threaten her small plot. Her response was not panic, yet internal fruit; peace; patience; gentleness, came forth enabling a plan to develop. This was her lesson also, passed down from her father. She began working the problem with compost, old hymns, and watching the wind patterns. Some crops were allowed to grow wild through faith that the earth understood without her intervention. Zetetic’s plant diversity also helped offset some of the blight. Eventually, the blight yielded, leaving behind the results of the two harvesters.
An exhausted Prosaic approached Zetetic in defeat. “You waste so much time on people, nature, prayer, and meditation, but you still have more than me, who has been in my orchard every moment.” Yet now, I barely have enough to sell at market, and my orchard is near ruined.” Zetetic lovingly took him by the hand, smiling to wash away his despair. “Prosaic”, she explained, “Your ways are admirable. The effort, persistence, and sacrifice; yet your pride blinds you where it matters. These qualities give you limits based on your own abilities, where my limits go beyond. They are based on faith in the creation and the Creator who ordered it; whose ways are higher; understanding that is not ours. Abundance comes freely through grace, not through earning.
Prosaic gained a newfound respect and love for what Zetetic gave him. She departed, leaving him with an abundance-not fruit of the land, but fruit of the Spirit that is sweeter than anything ever grown in his orchard. His work ethic did not cease, yet he found time to stop and be gracious to the Creator and to the needy. Among the gifts, Prosaic found genuine joy in giving back.