A farmer heard stories of fortune by other farmers who had discovered diamonds on their land and became rich beyond their wildest imagination. The farmer became discontented with his own life and desperately desired the same fortune. He eventually sold his farm and left his family to begin a quest for land that would lead him to riches. He searched through many lands far and wide. Eventually as an old man he became depressed and despondent. He threw himself into a great tidal wave to his death, never to be seen again. The successor of his land, another farmer, one day strolled along a creek that ran through the property. He noticed a blue flash from the creek bed, knelt down and sifted through the water until he pulled a crystal object from the mud of the creek. He wiped it off, took it home and left it on his mantel above the fireplace, where he quickly forgot about it. Several weeks later, a visitor stopped by the farmer and noticing the crystal on the mantle picked it up. Instantly he became excited, he was holding a diamond in his hand. The farmer protested at first and the visitor reassured him that it was indeed a diamond. That farm eventually became one of the largest diamond-mines in the world. Had the original owner of the farm simply known how to identify and look for diamonds, he would have had the fortune he so desperately wanted.
Or something like that.
The above story is thought to be true. One never knows; at times truth and fiction merge, forming a blending of half-truths and dreams. However, the moral of the story remains the same: Everything is right at your feet, as long as you’re able to recognize that which you desire, and you have the right tools with which to dig.
Pussy Willow said it best: Everything that anyone would ever look for is usually where they left it.
Or something like that.
Basically, the grass is only greener elsewhere because it’s receiving better care. Tend to your own fields and you may discover diamonds, which is exactly what happened to me the other day.
My story goes as follows:
Back when the Blizzard of 2022 dumped a foot of snow on my little corner of the Concord River my new, let me emphasize the word NEW, snow blower bit the dust, or, in this case, snow. I was left having to use my snow shovel and elderly muscles to clear the 12 inches of snow covering my driveway.
February arrived with more snow. Eight inches, instead of the two inches forecasted.
No biggie, my trusty snow shovel was ready and waiting.
The perfect tool to use when digging for diamonds.
So there I was, in the early morning light, shoveling the snow as the birds sang and flitted about, and the ducks quacked loudly for me to hurry up and finish what I was doing so I could feed them. I took a break in the cold, morning air to watch the sunrise.
I inhaled the cold morning air and marveled at the beauty before me when two American Bald Eagles flew low over the frozen river.
How’s that for a field of diamonds?
You would think, since I had my phone out to take a picture of the sunrise, I could have captured the eagles in flight but, nope, I was too busy whispering a prayer of thanks to my Goddess.
I am blessed.
This time last year I did manage to photograph a pair of eagles playing in the water of my river.
Yup, I’ve seen it raining fire in the sky and I’ve seen eagles fly.
I am truly blessed.
So, that’s my story about my acre of diamonds called the Concord River.
Sing it, John.
Who needs a snow blower?
Mi manchi, mia amata immortale.