When I travel to speeches, I always chose the fastest and most direct route. That’s because I’m usually late, burning time and flying like a bat out of a Justin Bieber concert. But not this particular morning. I was driving to Natchez, Mississippi, the beautiful Southern town perched on the bluff of the Mississippi River. And for once, I had the time to enjoy the trip. The crisp, cobalt blue sky stretched across the horizon, kissing the trees. The previous night’s storms had rinsed the pollen out of the air and left the world cleansed. The colors were absolutely vivid. New leaves cloaked the world with a blanket of bright green leaves.
I had taken the long way.
And by the long way, I mean the Natchez Trace Parkway. The Natchez Trace follows along the path of the old road from Natchez to Nashville. Traveled by river men and thieves in the 1800’s, the two lane road now cuts through some of Mississippi’s most breathtaking countryside. My drive gave me time to decompress (since you can only drive 50 mph on it or Mr. Park Ranger will give you a hefty Federal ticket). It also gave me time to think about some things in my life that were getting me down.
Life had recently thrown some pretty frustrating setbacks my way. I knew something had to change, but I didn’t know what. I also knew I couldn’t keep doing the same things over and over and expect different results. That’s the definition of insanity after all. And I was about to go insane. After a while you have to conclude that your problems just might be caused by yourself. My ego was battered like a ping pong ball in a tornado. My life was adrift.
I like giant oak trees. I run past one every Saturday and find them to be inspiring spots for pondering And about halfway between Jackson and Clinton, there’s a massive one on the edge of a huge plowed field. I spotted it, pulled my car over and hiked toward it with an apple in hand. As I climbed through the barbed-wire fence, it seemed like a perfect spot to take a break.
I quickly got lost in my thoughts and the beautiful morning.
A rude shout jolted me back to reality.
“HEY! YOU! YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!”
The shouts came from an old pickup truck that had appeared on a dirt road about 25-yards to my West.
“I SAID, YOU ARE TRESPASSING!”
I must have missed the sign when I went through the fence. I sure missed the truck pulling up.
A man got out of the truck. He wasn’t particularly tall but stood straight as an arrow. His snow white hair contrasted with his dark skin. Instead of brown eyes, he had the most vivid green irises. He could have been 60 or 90. All I know is that he walked with a confidence that was hard to miss. And that confidence was coming toward me.
“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically. ” I just saw this tree and it looked like a good place to take a break.”
The man, seeing I wasn’t a poacher, axe murderer or thief, dropped his guard. He stuck out his hand and said, “My name is Ralph. This is my farm — and my tree. And you are right, it is a great place to take a break. It’s where I eat lunch when I’m out working.”
I offered him half my apple and he took a seat next to me. We talked for a few minutes and he started asking me a slew of questions. I, of course, told him my life story. Any more whine and I would have owned a vineyard.
He smiled and said, “You know, you sure are like me when I was your age.” I was hoping he’d share when that was, but he didn’t.
“See this land? My father gave it to me. And his father to him and so on. I started farming it when I was in my 20’s and I’ll be honest, it was a disaster. Weeds, bugs, drought, rain, storms all killed the crops. And I blamed everyone but myself. I thought all I had to do was throw some seed out in the fertile soil and I’d reap an amazing crop. Sometimes I did. But most of the time, it was a failure. There were some years when the weeds grew higher than the corn.”
I nodded out of kindness, but not seeing the relevance, I was kind of lost. I’m dense like that sometimes.
“Anyway, one day I was under this very tree and had an epiphany. You do know what an epiphany is, don’t you?” I nodded and showed off my public education . He continued, “I began planning my farm and farming my plan. I worked hard in the fields. When I had a bumper crop, I saved for a bad year. Come on, I want to show you something.” He hit me on the back and we stood and walked to a corner of his field. There was a giant vegetable garden. “This, though, is when I truly became a successful farmer.”
I looked at the plot of land and kind of shrugged my shoulders.
“You know whose crops these are?”
I answered, “Yours?”
He chuckled, “Nah. They are the people’s in the nearby town. I donate a portion of my field for a community garden. It’s a way to give my blessing back.To, as they say, pay it forward.”
I admired the plants coming up through the rich, dark soil.
But,not seeing the obvious message here, I said, “So what’s this all have to do with you succeeding?”
The farmer stood tall and said, “Your heavenly Father gave you a patch of land, too. It’s called life. It’s fertile and you can grow any crop on it you want. But you’ve been like I was: You’ve been farming without a plan. Weeds like depression and laziness have taken your rich soil over. It’s time for you to clear your fields and start farming with a purpose. Have a plan. Weed your plot. Plant purposeful seeds. Save for a rainy day — because bad seasons will happen. But when they do, don’t blame outside factors for your woes. Praise the good and the bad. And most importantly, reserve some of your farm to help others. That’s why we’re here.”
He smiled as the lightbulb came on my head.
I’m not sure why traveled that way that day. But I have to believe it was to bump into Ralph the farmer. As we walked back to his truck and my car, he smiled and said, “Here’s my number. Next time you’re down this way, I’ll buy you lunch.”
I laughed and said, “Nah, I owe you.”
He smiled and said , “Hey, you’ve already given me half an apple. But just remember this — Plan your farm and farm your plan. And then you’ll grow an amazing crop.”
