short story
written by Evelyn Creon
On an old family farm, just outside a quaint little town, lived a well-to-do farmer and his family. The farm had been started by the farmers great grand-father Abbott Varroclaudious, and was known to the town as the Avarro Farm.
Every night when the farmer tucked his children into bed, he would tell them the story of Abbott and how he saved the Avarro family farm.
The story went something like this: When Abbott was sixty-five he became impaired with a life threatening sickness. He went to many doctors, all of whom announced there was no cure for his sickness. As Abbott's health began to quickly decline, he became bedridden. This caused him to become terribly worried that his sons, Finnan and Marwine, who were greedy, selfish, and lazy would sell the farm after his death, which would leave their tender-hearted mother to fend for herself. Because Abbott was so utterly distressed at the notion of leaving his farm to his sons, he came up with a plan.
One spring day, when the sun was peeking out from behind the rain clouds, Abbott called his sons to his bedside. "My dear sons, Finnan and Marwine," Abbott eagerly announced,"there is a treasure hidden beneath the fields of the farm. When I die, you must promise to retrieve the treasure." Excitedly, the two sons promised: they couldn't wait to find the treasure.
A week later, Abbott died. As soon as the funeral was over the two sons rushed to the fields carrying with them spades, hoes, and pitchforks. Every day for months they dug in the fields searching for the treasure. They turned over every square inch of earth on the Avarro Farm, only to find nothing but worms, seeds, weeds, and rocks. Finally tired and full of despair, the brothers cursed their dead father and quit the treasure hunt.
As Spring turned to Summer, crops began to grow and thrive. In mid-Summer the harvest from the crops was abundant and beautiful compared to previous years. Only then did the brothers realize that the treasure they had so desperately searched for that Spring was not gold or silver, but the bountiful harvest from their own hard work.
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