There once was an impatient farmer.  How he ever became a farmer is a story itself.  But needless to say he was impatient.  When it was winter, he longed for spring.  When it was spring he talked only about summer.  When everyone was enjoying long summer days, he complained that it was not yet autumn.  And when autumn brought the harvest and cooler days, he said that he had always looked forward to winter.

The man, whose name was Frilato, inherited the farm from his uncle who had been a very successful and prosperous farmer.  Frilato came to the farm in early autumn and found an abundant harvest of wheat and apples and corn.

His neighbors felt sorry for Frilato because he knew nothing about farming.  Several of them came to the farmhouse to talk with him.  “Frilato”, they said, “your uncle was a great farmer.  The harvest you see is the result of his experience and skill and patience.  Let us help you with your harvest so you can learn how it is done.”

Now Frilato knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth (having once been bitten by a horse when he was a small child) but he was also impatient.  “All right, all right”, he said, “let’s begin.  I must learn all I can as quickly as I can.”

As they began, his neighbors showed Frilato how to select the best apples, and the richest sheaves of wheat and the fullest and brightest ears of corn for seed for the next year.  The seed apples and wheat and corn they stored in special areas of the barn so that it would be safe until spring.

Frilato was a good enough person to remember to thank his neighbors for all their help.  But then his impatience began to cause problems.  He sold his crops in the market but didn’t keep enough on hand to feed himself and his animals throughout the long dark winter.  The money he got for the crops he used to buy additional oxen so he could plough the fields more quickly when spring came.

As autumn skies gave way to snow clouds, Frilato became more and more impatient.  He could hardly wait until spring so he could plant and look forward to another harvest.  He fed his animals from the rapidly dwindling stocks of grain he had saved and, by late winter, he was facing shortages for himself and his animals.

One cold winter night, as he sat and worried about what to do, (impatiently, of course) there came a knock at his door.  “Who could that be at this hour and in this cold?” wondered Frilato.  As he opened the door, the wind whipped around a stooped shape standing there.  “Well, don’t just stand there, come in, come in,” cried Frilato.

The shape was wrapped all in coats and shawls and scarves against the cold.  A voice came from some undetermined place from within the mass of cloth, “Why, thank you, Frilato, I believe I will come in and have a warm.”  Moving with no particular haste, the cloth-wrapped shape came into the warm bright kitchen.  Shifting itself towards the fireplace, the shape began slowly to unwrap and unbutton and unwind until the bright face of an old man was seen in the reflection of the flickering flames.  Firelight made the old man’s eyes sparkle like stars on a clear summer night.

The old man regarded Frilato kindly.  Frilato frankly stared.  “Who are you, my good sir, and how do you know my name?”  Frilato was impatient to know who this stranger was.

“I am called Pattrio and I own a farm in the next valley.  I was your Uncle’s friend and it is only now that I have been able to pay my respects.”

Frilato was astounded, “But, sir, my uncle died last winter just after the new year.  How is it that it has taken you so long to come?”  Then remembering his manners, Frilato pulled another chair near the hearth.

“Patience, Frilato, patience,” said the old man.  Frilato kept the thought to himself that patience was not one of his virtues.  “I have come to pay my respects to my friend, your uncle, by helping his nephew learn to farm.”

“Pattrio, I have spent almost a year now seeking knowledge of how to farm.  Through these dark months I have had much time to reflect and it seems to me that I am not made to be a farmer.  Things seem to move so slowly and I seem to be unable to adjust myself to the slow pace of farming.”

Pattrio smiled slowly; in fact everything the old man did seemed as slow moving as the winter months before spring arrives, “In fact you do need knowledge of farming but beyond that you need wisdom.  Wisdom is taking in knowledge and allowing it to age slowly and carefully like fine wine.  Your neighbors provided knowledge throughout the late summer and autumn.  Now during these winter months knowledge can become wisdom.  If you allow wisdom to have its’ full effect then you will succeed in your farming.”

Less impatiently now, Frilato asked, “But HOW does knowledge become wisdom?  What can I do to learn wisdom?  So far I have failed miserably.”

Pattrio reached into his tattered bag, “I have brought you a teacher of wisdom.  Wisdom comes through contemplation and patience and I have brought you someone who has learned both.”  His hands removed a small shape which Frilato was surprised to see move!  It was a small bird which Pattrio placed on the kitchen table.

“I will leave my friend here with you, Frilato, and if you will patiently consider his ways, I promise you will learn wisdom — and through wisdom come to contentment.  For lack of contentment is the root of all your impatience and unhappiness.  And with that, Pattrio wrapped his clothing around himself and with a slow wave, slipped away into the cold and blowing night.

The bird was small and handsome, his sleek brown and tan back a sharp contrast to his yellow breast.  But like the stately old gentleman who had left him he walked with a slight hobble from a deformed right foot.  And that, perhaps was his best trait, for it showed the uncommon courage and perseverance of his spirit as he dealt with Mother Nature for life and the right to live out his days in search of food.

Mother Nature has a sharp kindness bordering on the cruel, it seemed to Frilato, and the bird had survived her harsh judgement on the weak and deformed long enough to grow to adulthood.  As Frilato watched the bird limp about in the snow foraging for food, he felt a twinge of guilt as he thought of the times he had complained of lost opportunity or the unfair lot in life he had drawn.

He began to see that patience came along with contentment — or at least acceptance — of where we are in life. He saw that, just as the Crippled Bird’s only hope was patiently working to find food, the farmer’s only hope is in the patient waiting for the harvest after the planting of seed.

For before him was one of God’s creatures that had asked for only the chance to live and search for its daily bread, while he, Frilato, in the midst of plenty had cried bitter tears because he was not served Life from a golden bowl.

Small signs of spring brought changes to winter’s fare.  The sun rose a little earlier and, here and there, the rich brown of the fields  began to poke through the snow.  By a changed attitude and some hard work and the help of his friend, the crippled bird, Frilato had managed to feed himself and his animals and save just enough seed to plant his fields.

On the day he went forth to begin to plow the newly thawed earth, Frilato saw the Crippled Bird take wing and fly away and Frilato’s spirit flew with him to the reaches of heaven where he thanked his Creator for the precious life he had been given.

Frilato then and there asked that he might live his life as did the small sleek bird with his deformed leg — with patience and courage and contentment and without complaint.