Long ago in this beautiful land there lived a
farmer and his wife, they loved the land and the land loved them, their little
granddaughter lived with them and she played every day about the farm.
Every year the earth gave a glorious plentiful
harvest and the farmer reaped all that he needed for his family. Those in need
from the village were always welcome to take a share and the edges of the
fields were always left for the creatures of the hedgerows, the birds, the
field mice and the squirrels all gathered grain for the winter stores and the
gnomes of the forest enjoyed a feast too. Every year the farmer and his wife
saved enough grain to sow again in the spring, just as their ancestors had done
for all the time that the farm had stood on this land. And every year in
gratitude the family would bake two wonderful harvest loaves, they would bless
both and eat one loaf in celebration, the second loaf would be left in the
field in offering the Lammas Queen.
Between the late setting of the summer sun and the early morning, whilst
the little girl slept, the harvest Queen would pass over the fields blessing
them with her love, as she gathered the loaf which the little girl had left for
her. Year followed year and the farmer and his wife grew older and their
granddaughter grew to be not so little any more. With each passing year she became more
and more able to help her grandparents, and they were grateful’
Then it happened one year in the early spring,
just before sowing time, that the elderly farmer fell and hurt his leg. How
would the seed be sown this year? All night the farmer worried, but in the
morning his granddaughter said to him. ‘Have no fear, I am a farmer now too, I
will sow our fields.’
And with all her heart and will the young
farming girl set to work. She had helped her grandfather many a time and knew
what to do, but though she knew, she was not yet practiced and though many came
from the village to offer help, they did not know this land as well as the old
farmer. The grain was sown with all will and heart, but in somewhat higgledy
piggledy ways.
Nevertheless, the seeds waited patiently in
the earth, and the gnomes sang songs through the ground, songs of green
sprouts, sounds of growth, songs of the golden harvest that the seedlings would
become. But that spring the rain and the sun did not come in the ways that they
usually did to help the seedlings grow, the rain came late and then too much, the
sun shone hot and then not enough, the wheat grew huddly and muddly. And the
elderly couple worried for the harvest, though they tried hard to have faith
and not show their granddaughter their concern.
On the day before the beginning of the harvest
the old farmer stood at the edge of his field and hoped that somehow this
scraggly crop would be enough. That night the Lammas Queen moved over the
field, and as she passed the wheat seemed move with her beneath the starry sky,
and it seemed as if it doubled in size and strength. The next morning the old
farmer was joined by his wife and granddaughter and many from the village to
harvest the grain. And what a harvest it was, as glorious and plentiful as
ever, with as much bounty as anyone might need and plenty of seed to save for
the following year.
After their celebratory meal, the young farmer
carried the loaf of gratitude to the edge of the field, and waited, long into
the starry filled night, for this year she was determined to speak her
heartfelt thanks to the Lammas Queen.
