It has been an eternity since I last posted. You will hear no excuses from me – it is how to is.
Without further ado, here’s something I wrote just now. I would appreciate any feedback as the style is, I think, a little different from how I normally do things.
My whole life, I’ve only ever grown one tree. People say to me: Mateusz, if you only grow one thing, you can’t call yourself a farmer.
They may be right – but I do not accept their truth.
For I, Mateusz, know that I am a farmer, and will always be.
The only place this tree can grow is in the desert. It grows quickly and it grows slowly: quickly undergound, a hulking, twisted mass of roots that goes deep, deep, but never shows – slowly, unbearably slowly above.
Other trees put up a shoot, grow tall, then grow strong, but not this one. It pushes up from the ground, already so thick the stoutest man couldn’t embrace it, but still so small that even a child could step over it.
Every day I walk miles to bring it water, and I eat its bitter roots. Every day the tree grows more roots and I choke them down. With my teeth I grind the brittle, dusty things to powder. The powder cloys, it sticks, and I spare myself a little water so I can swallow. But I am a farmer and I do it gladly, for the tree teaches me.
It teaches me how to mend my shoes, how to protect myelf from the sun, and how to walk all day without getting lost. It teaches me gratitude for my rare visitors with their gifts of honey and beef and bread. It strengthens my will every time I refuse to leave with them. When they are gone, it teaches me who I am.
When the wolves come, it teaches me how to fight.
I will only ever grow one tree, and it is a tree not often farmed. You must toil to grow this tree, and never stop, and live a bare life, and spend much of it alone. If you are lucky, it may take only twenty years to bear fruit.
You take that fruit back to your village – it’s the sweetest and most delicious fruit in the country, they say – and they sell it, and merchants come from far away, and they buy it, because it is not just the most delicious fruit in the country, it is more than that: there is no other like it in the whole world.
And only you know the secret.
Only you know how to care for the tree.
And still they won’t call you a farmer, for there is no word for what you are now.
But I, Mateusz, know that I am a farmer, and will always be.