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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
150
XIV
THE
HARVEST
"Oh,
Universe,
what
thou
wishest,
I
wish."
--Marcus
Aurelius
I
come
to
the
end
of
these
Adventures
with
a
regret
I
can
scarcely
express.
I,
at
least,
have
enjoyed
them.
I
began
setting
them
down
with
no
thought
of
publication,
but
for
my
own
enjoyment;
the
possibility
of
a
book
did
not
suggest
itself
until
afterwards.
I
have
tried
to
relate
the
experiences
of
that
secret,
elusive,
invisible
life
which
in
every
man
is
so
far
more
real,
so
far
more
important
than
his
visible
activities--the
real
expression
of
a
life
much
occupied
in
other
employment.
When
I
first
came
to
this
farm,
I
came
empty-handed.
I
was
the
veritable
pattern
of
the
city-made
failure.
I
believed
that
life
had
nothing
more
in
store
for
me.
I
was
worn
out
physically,
mentally
and,
indeed,
morally.
I
had
diligently
planned
for
Success;
and
I
had
reaped
defeat.
I
came
here
without
plans.
I
plowed
and
harrowed
and
planted,
expecting
nothing.
In
due
time
I
began
to
reap.
And
it
has
been
a
growing
marvel
to
me,
the
diverse
and
unexpected
crops
that
I
have
produced
within
these
uneven
acres
of
earth.
With
sweat
I
planted
corn,
and
I
have
here
a
crop
not
only
of
corn
but
of
happiness
and
hope.
My
tilled
fields
have
miraculously
sprung
up
to
friends!
This
book
is
one
of
the
unexpected
products
of
my
farm.
It
is
this
way
with
the
farmer.
After
the
work
of
planting
and
cultivating,
after
the
rain
has
fallen
in
his
fields,
after
the
sun
has
warmed
them,
after
the
new
green
leaves
have
broken
the
earth--one
day
he
stands
looking
out
with
a
certain
new
joy
across
his
acres
(the
wind
bends
and
half
turns
the
long
blades
of
the
corn)
and
there
springs
up
within
him
a
song
of
the
fields.
No
matter
how
little
poetic,
how
little
articulate
he
is,
the
song
rises
irrepressibly
in
his
heart,
and
he
turns
aside
from
his
task
with
a
new
glow
of
fulfillment
and
contentment.
At
harvest
time
in
our
country
I
hear,
or
I
imagine
I
hear,
a
sort
of
chorus
rising
over
all
the
hills,
and
I
meet
no
man
who
is
not,
deep
down
within
him,
a
singer!
So
song
follows
work:
so
art
grows
out
of
life!
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