A long time ago, when times were tough, people had to work especially hard on their fields to grow some rye or wheat or barley. They would then grind it to a soft powdery flour at the watermill to make fresh bread and on special occasions, cakes.
One day, a burly farmer was sowing rye in his field when suddenly a strong wind blew and whisked all his rye away. The farmer chased the wind as fast as he could, yelling at it with a fist raised, but he couldn’t catch it. It was just too fast for him and it swiftly disappeared with his planned crop.
He came home upset and dejected, worrying and wondering what in the world he should do now. If he didn’t sow, there would be no harvest. And without a good, hearty harvest, there would be no flour to mill. And without flour, no cakes! The thought nearly made him cry.
He was blue and sad, sitting at his table with his palms pressing against his forehead, when his wife said: “Pack some snacks in your satchel, go look for the wind, and ask it to give you back the rye it took away.” He looked up at her and realised she was right.
The farmer didn’t dawdle. He quickly packed his bags and walked over the rough hills and down the valleys and hollows to search for the wind. He finally found it dancing in a meadow by the forest. It was doing a sort of tango with the tulips that had recently bloomed.
When it spotted a living person at a distance, it came close to the burly farmer and asked: “What are you looking for, sir?” The farmer told him the whole tragic story of the wind (“You, sir,”…
