The was once a farmer who bought a land with many roads. Any seed he dropped was swept aside by moving feet on the hard, packed ground; and birds picked it up. So he closed the way, and sent the crowds around another route. He began to plow those roads and turned over many buried rocks. Now any seed that fell could not root, even if it sprouted, because the sun baked the tender growth. So he worked diligently to remove the stones. But in all the turned-over dryness, thorns began to grow. And any good seed that fell had choking competition. So the farmer burned all the thorn plants, covered the land with composted manure, and deeply turned the soil until it was soft and rich. Here he now sowed seed in rows and mounds formed by his own hands. And he sat on his porch at sunset with bread and wine, and waited.