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The Parable of Old Soil and New Earth

There were once two neighboring fields, each weathered by time.

One field, called Old Soil, had been planted for countless generations.

Its people knew every bend of the river, every rhythm of the seasons, every voice of the forest.

Their stories were as old as the stones beneath their feet.

The other field, called New Earth, was tended by travelers—immigrants who had journeyed far.

They left their Old Land after being told they must grow only within the narrow rows set by their rulers.

But they longed to grow differently—freely, faithfully, and without fear.

For their refusal, they were despised, blacklisted, fined, and threatened with arrest.

No lives were taken, yet their spirits grew thin.

And so they fled, arriving in the new land weary, hungry, and unprepared for its harshness.

The Gift

When the New Earth people nearly gave up, the Old Soil people saw their need and came with open hands.

They taught the newcomers how to plant in this strange earth, how to fish the rivers, and how to gather from the forests.

They shared seeds, knowledge, and peace.

And when the first harvest came, both fields feasted together.

It was a fragile, beautiful season—a moment of warmth in a world of cold winds.

For a time, gratitude grew between them like tall corn.

The Shadow

But seasons change, and not all change is gentle.

After the first leaders passed away, new misunderstandings took root.

Some among the New Earth people forgot the gift they had been given.

They grew in number and in hunger for land, pushing their fences farther and farther into Old Soil.

The Old Soil people cried out:

“This was not our agreement.

We shared with you so that both might live.”

But the newcomers did not hear—or would not listen.

The Ruin

At last, anger sparked into a terrible fire.

Both fields suffered.

The Old Soil people lost land, villages, the lives of their sons and fathers, even their women and children, and nearly their whole way of life.

The New Earth people lost sons, fathers, and peace of mind.

When the flames finally died, the leader of Old Soil lay slain.

The New Earth people to remember the strife, and to instill fear, put his head on a pike in the very place where long ago the two fields had feasted in unity. And there it stayed for another generation.

While the land grew quiet with sorrow.

The Lesson

Generations later, people decided to gather again to give thanks for harvest and home.

But the land remembers both the feast and the fire.

And so the story is told:

Where gratitude is shared, peace takes root.

Where generosity is forgotten, destruction grows.

A harvest is not only what we eat, but what we choose to become.

Those who hear this parable are invited to walk wisely—

to remember the feast,

to grieve the fire,

and to choose a better planting for the future.