The Buckwheat Tale

“Often, when you walk in the field after a thunderstorm, you might see that the buckwheat was scorched, as if a fire had run through it. That’s from a lightning bolt,” said the old farmer. “If you promise to listen closely, and huddle up so you can hear the quiet parts, I’ll tell you how that came to be. This is a story that is older than the hills, and I’ll tell you it as I heard it from Sparrow, who heard it first many years ago from the old willow tree” he added.

For many years, the old willow tree had been growing by the edge of a field that stretched far over the horizon. It was all hollow and gnarled, with a deep dark crack in the middle. Grass and blackberries grew from the crack. The branches of the tree, like long green curls, hung down to the very ground. The fields around the willow were planted with rye, barley, oats, and the majestic and proud buckwheat. Whenever a strong wind blew over the field, all the long grasses would sway like the waves of the sea. Only the haughty buckwheat did not bow its head, like other crops. It held itself proudly and straight, trying not to move with the wind.

“I’m the most beautiful of all cereals. My blossom is as beautiful as that of an apple tree. I won’t bow my head to some wind,” the buckwheat always said.

“Have you ever seen, old willow, anything more beautiful than me?” it asked one day.

The willow rustled softly and said: “Of course I have.”

“You stupid rotten tree! What would you know of beauty! You’re so old you have green hair growing from your head!” retorted the buckwheat with a cackle.

Suddenly the…