Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Sower and Four Types of Soil (Matthew 13:3-8,18-23, Mark 4:3-20, Luke 8:5-15) (01/25/24)
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TITLE: Four Brothers Grimm | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
01/30/24 -
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Tadd was the oldest, with a scraggly goatee sprouting in place. His bulging biceps had no challenge tearing the corn ears free, tossing the greenery into the wind, and stripping the kernels into a pot with the razor edge of his hunting knife. A third of the golden treasure flipped into the grass and the flock of chickens raced to get their share. A pair of goats munched on the husks.
“Them chickens are getting fatter than a Christmas Goose,” Benjamin called out. “They ain’t smart enough to know when they’ve had enough.”
Tadd grabbed another ear of corn, nodding. “Better them than the devil,” he said. “Happiest I’ve seen them all year.”
Brad was second in line, six inches taller than Tadd and already balder than a billiard ball. His ears would have made Dumbo proud but he paid no never mind to the name-callers in his world as he gently peeled off one leaf at a time from the cob. He held up his trophy for approval to his gawking parents and laid it neatly in place in the tin foil baking pan he had collected for his task.
“Make sure you empty the rocks out of that pan,” Molly bellowed into the breeze. “We don’t have funding to pay for more dentist bills.”
“Don’t worry, momma, I dumped the rocks and the oil that used to be in here from the tractor.” He picked up the latest deposit and wiped it in the armpit of his torn plaid shirt. “Maybe we could wash it before we serve it.”
Frad was rounder than a bowling ball and looked like he had fought off all the pigs for whatever swill there may have been. The exertion to even bend over from his stool to reach another cob unlashed a river of sweat down his temples. He was reaching and peeling with one hand and wiping his brow with the sleeve of his blue cotton shirt. The three cobs he had conquered lay abandoned behind the bucket he perched on. A trio of crows bobbed up and down over the offering, quickly creating gaps in the neat yellow rows.
“What you doing to guard the crop you’re harvesting?” Benjamin yelled out. “Ain’t going to be nothing left for the barn dance. Do you think the city girls are hankering for dried cobs?”
The sleeve soaked up another stream as the young man attempted to rotate his neck around before settling back in place. “What I don’t see can’t hurt me,” he said. “I figure all God’s creatures got a right to their fair share. I’ll stick the rest of these down my shirt. Gotta keep them girls happy now.”
Jadd was skinnier than a fence post and about as pale as frostbite on the pickup’s windows in December. Neighbors swore he was a twin of the scarecrow hanging out in the vegetable garden. The lad often planted himself near the hanging effigy, singing and swaying as if the stick figure appreciated every bit of his company. A dozen cobs lined up in a cardboard box resting on a stool and propped up for all to see.
“Mighty fine work you’re doing,” hollered Molly. “Those, there, cobs can be dropped off at the market just as they are. Town folks will be saying what a fine farm we have with such good produce. Whoever has ears, let ‘em hear, I say.”
“Was that you quotin’ the good book?” Benjamin asked.
“T’was me indeed,” Molly answered. “Got that seed planted down deep and ain’t no chicken or crow going to snatch it outa me.”
“Which one of these young ‘uns do you suppose fits the soils in the story?” Benjamin continued.
“Don’t take a brain surgeon to see the differences,” Molly said. “We got corn for the soup, corn for the dance, corn for the birds, and corn for the market. You know it’s my boy Jadd gonna make us look all right and proper. Just like the good Lord said. You’re gonna stand out if you do things proper.”
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