The Farmer's Wife

One of the most pointless children's stories I have ever read is "The Farmer's Wife." It is an old Sufi children's story with a moral, which is not very clear to me.

As I interpret the story, the Farmer's wife is picking apples from a tree. She accidentally drops an apple into a hole in the ground (which doesn't look very deep from the depiction), and cannot reach in to get it.

So she asks a bird to get her the apple. The bird declines, so the Farmer's wife asks the cat to chase after the bird until the bird complies with her demands.

The cat declines to chase after the bird, so the Farmer's wife asks the dog to chase the cat to chase the bird to force it to comply with her wishes to go get the apple for her.

The dog declines as well. Anyway, after all the animals turn down her requests, she then asks a rope, then a fire, then some water, who don't care to acknowledge her existence.

In the end, the Farmer's wife prevails, forcing earth, wind, fire, animals and bugs to comply with her demands until she is finally handed the apple that she so carelessly loses into the hole in the ground.

"And everyone lived happily ever after," ends the story. Yet, what is the moral of the story? That it is OK to compel others by force or the threat of force to do as you demand, or God help them!

Couldn't she have simply taken responsibility for her own mistakes, grabbed a shovel and dug up the apple?

Old Harry Kritikopoulos

Old Harry Kritikopoulos was a crusty old curmudgeon, a throwback to a much older generation from the Old Country. Since his youth, he has been a sheep herder and a hunter. Nothing satisfies old Harry more than hunting wild hares in the mountains near his village of Goranous, Sparta.

At the ripe old age of 100, the fruits have yet to fall from his tree. He still hunts, herds sheep, and occasionally fights off the local youths who mistake him for an easy target. At his old age, he has yet to incur a bruise from a youthful punch. The kids can't seem to hit him dead on.

"He's a quick old fart," one young thug said, as I probed his opinion of the old man. "By the way, got any money on you?"

"No, I don't," I replied.

"You sure?" he inquired again, with squinting eyes that failed to hide a cunning mind.

"All I'm carrying right now is my gun permit," I answered.

The young thug's eyes widened. "Gun permit?"

"Oh, and my glock too," I added for good measure. The youth took a step back.

"Alright, I have to go now. Any further questions?" he asked with his back half turned already.

"Goodbye," I said, and he scampered off to a full trot.