The Fable of the Unplanned Harvest

Once there was a certain Maiden Hen who lived in the country on a rather large plot of land. The land, which had been in her family for quite some time, was once used as farmland, and it was, at its heyday, one of the principal sources of foodstuffs within several days journey.

Those days ended with the passing of her father and mother, who bequeathed her the farm as her father’s father had done and many forebears before. The last harvest was the year they died.

She seldom thought of her her parents, and thought even more seldomly of the many harvests of old. To her, for some time now, she conceived not of her land as farmland. There was food aplenty to be bought at the market; and agriculture, what little of it she remembered, bored her immensely.

To such a Maiden Hen as this, these many inherited acres were better suited to be the coveted place of elaborate parties and great sport. Nowhere else in all the countryside was such great fun to be had than at Maiden Hen’s summer parties. Many years ago, to make way for these grand events, Maiden Hen had the toolsheds and outbuildings replaced with prettier pavilions and pergolas better suited for putting on parties. She then brought into her employ a pair of industrious snakes whose sole job it was to monthly clear the land of growth. Their efforts had been quite fruitful all these years, so much so that even the tiniest sproutling would be promptly encircled, choked out, and carried off by the snakes before Maiden Hen was even aware of its invasive presence.

One midsummer evening, as Maiden Hen was hosting what was by all accounts her most well-attended party of the year, she made the acquaintance of a certain Mr. Henry Silverfox. Mr. Silverfox was a proper fox with a jet black pelt and a handsome face. He arrived when the evening was well progressed, having made his way from afar off, his cart driven three-abreast and quite full of a variety of seeds, which he had intended to deliver to a farm yet further up the road. When passing by Maiden Hen’s party, he had caught smell of the delicious food and taken notice of the delightful dancing, so he thought it wise to turn aside from his path to join in the revelry.

As Maiden Hen saw Mr. Silverfox’s cart approaching, being possessed by some combination of intoxicating spirits and curiosity at the arrival of such a, in her estimation, well-proportioned guest, she went to him without much delay. An exchange of greetings led to a series of banter and flirtations, which led to Mr. Silverfox playfully challenging Maiden Hen’s competence as a cart driver. Not to be outdone in driving or jesting, Hen seated herself next to Silverfox upon his cart and took the reigns from him.

Hen proved to be a capable driver after all, and she laughed a high warbled laugh as the cart came round the lawn, the ponies going at full speed now. Over the roar of hooves and the creaking and jostling of the cart, Silverfox could hear the laughter of the other guests joining in with their hostess’ delight.

Just then one of the wheels caught a deep rut and nearly tipped the cart over. Silverfox cried out, “You’ll flip us upside down! You are spilling my seed everywhere!” Hen looked at the bed of the cart and saw that several of the sacks had in fact torn open, making their high-speed turn about the lawn into a proper seeding. Paying little mind to Silverfox’s concerns, she felt a touch of anxiety come over her for just a moment. Overcoming her worry that these seeds would take root and crop up to clutter her party lawn, she consoled herself saying, “Thank heavens for my trusty snakes!” With newfound confidence and abandon, Hen drove the cart round and round again late into the night before bidding Silverfox and the rest of her guests a good evening.

When Hen slept, the ground rejoiced. It had been many moons since it had been given anything near an opportunity to bring forth so many plants, and the memory of the days of long ago when Hen’s forebears had sowed and reaped and reaped and sowed surged in the soil.

The morning after, Hen awoke feeling not quite right. When it came time for her morning stroll, she was positively flummoxed to see her precious lawn had miraculously become a full field of various crops. There were full ears of corn, rows of cabbage and kale, and a great many tomato plants. Even her house was covered in grapevine, growing up and down the exterior walls, with large bunches of grapes ripe for the picking.

Just as she began to ask aloud, “Where are my snakes?” she saw them. They were tangled and seemed to be stuck, suspended near the top of one of the taller pole-like cornstalks, all wrapped around each other encircling the stalk. The task had proved too great for them, and their years of ever perfect success had come to a close.

Hen was angry and furious and devastated and heartbroken all at once. This was not what she had in mind, and this unplanned harvest would get in the way of all her plans. It wasn’t fair, she thought, and she screamed a shrill scream.

Meanwhile, across the field and over the hill and round the bend, Hen’s neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Hare, twitched their long ears and wondered at what all the commotion could be. They were accustomed to hearing much noise from their neighbor during the summer evenings, but to hear such a cry at this hour was most unusual. Mr. and Mrs. Hare were standing in their garden, or, rather, what they had planned to be their garden if anything would but grow.