I remember the morning that Mr. W's youngest son left to make a life for himself away from the family farm. Our family had worked for Mr. W even before I was born, so my memories of him and his two boys farming together were an extension of my own family life. I honestly can't remember Mr. W's boys not being a part of my life.
Every morning, it was my job to collect water from the well for morning household chores. As I carefully carry gallons of fresh water in the bucket upon my head, Mr. W would smile and greet me saying, " Here you go. (Handing me a fresh-plucked flower from his own flower bed) A daisy for my day-star!" Mr. W had planted many different wild flowers in his flowerbed. Every day he would water and weed those wild flowers. It was in a way his morning ritual like my water carrying. I carried water to the kitchen and Mr. W tended to his flowers as he waited for his sons' to get ready for the days work.
Mr. W has two sons, Michael and Simon. Michael, the youngest, is fun loving and free spirited. Simon, the eldest, is serious and focused on tending to the farm.
There was a buzz about the farm this morning as I walked to the well.
"How dare that child ask for his inheritance now?" muttered Molly the head cook to Ella her assistant." "Maybe he just not interested in farming like Simon. Michael is a free spirit." exclaimed Ella. "Well, free spirit or not, Simon is the eldest and he deserves his reward before Michael. You have to earn your way in this world, you know!"
Mr. W looked tired this morning, but still smiled, gave me a daisy and called me by the name of one flower or another from his garden. There was sadness in his eyes as he looked out the past gate and towards the horizon. Was he hoping to see Michael? Simon met his father and they walked off together to begin the daily chores.
Days passed and there were no signs of Michael. Some days Michael used to play hide and seek in the garden with me and I missed the fun we used to have. When I asked Simon if he would play a round he growled, " Don't you have something better to do than playing silly games? I think Michael is playing enough for all of us."
Morning after morning, water bucket after water bucket, Mr. W and I would chat about his flowers and how he took care of them. One morning, Mr. W said, " You know rose petal, people are a lot like flowers." "Flowers? I know you tell me I look like a flower, but how can I act like one?" I replied. "First, flowers seeds have to be planted in good soil. Then the flower seeds need to be watered, get plenty of sunshine. Hopefully, the flower decides to break out of the soil to show the world its beauty." Mr. W continued, " Now the flower has a great deal of help to make it out of the dirt, but the flower has to decide if it is going to bloom or not."
"Excuse me Mr. W, but how can a flower choose anything? Doesn't the gardener control what happens in the flower bed?" "Not really, petunia. I've tried to grow many different kinds of flowers in this flowerbed. I've planted them in the best soil, watered them every morning, and removed the weeds and sometimes the seeds just don't grow. I supposed the flower seeds decide against it." Tears rolled own Mr. W's face as he said, "Every one of us has choices, and hopefully most of us choose living."
"Mr. W, can I ask you a question?" I asked. "Certainly, sunflower." Smiled Mr. W. "Are you hoping that Simon and Michael decide to break out of the dirt and show the world who they are - like the flowers?" " Yes, dear one. It has been my one hope that my children would choose to live, even though life can be hard to fight your way out into the sun."
"That is why I gave Michel his inheritance and let him go." "But Mr. W, if you had told him to stay-he would be with you now and you wouldn't be so sad all the time!"
"Even though Simon is here everyday working on the farm I sometimes think he wishes he would have been the first of my children to ask for his freedom. Buttercup, if I had told Michael to stay and he wanted to go he might be with me here on the farm, but he wouldn't be with me in his heart." Mr. W said gazing at the morning sun.
" All in all, the good gardener only wants to see the beauty of the flower he planted. He wants to see all color, vividness and joy bursting from each and every petal. The good gardener wants to see his garden grow as beautiful and strong as it can be."
We sat at the edge of the flower bed, picking weeds and listening to the morning birds singing." I'd best get to the fields for now. There are more flowers out there for me to check on, said Mr. W. as he got up from his flowerbed and walked down the path to the front gate of the farm. Mr. W continued to watch, water and weed in the lives of his flowers and waited expectantly for the morning that his garden and his children would break out of the soil and show their whole-hearted beauty to the world around them. Mr. W is a good gardener.
