Agricultural Story #16

Greetings everyone I welcome you all to my blog, today I bring a nice story that will make your day small rural village contained an earthen settlement of sunlit pathways where oil palm trees assembled in a single group and the trees served as lifeless storytellers that observed numerous generations of villagers fulfill their traditions and pursue their aspirations.

A venerable tree rose above the others because of its massive trunk which appeared like aging animal hide and the spiky red fruits on the tree base stood defiantly while reflecting sun rays during the day and the tree bore oil palm fruits which appeared as reddish-brown clusters that resembled precious natural treasures.

Kofi sprinted across the compound floor without shoes to visit this particular tree during his morning routine. Nana Abena had shared with him that the tree grew when his grandfather planted it the day Kofi was born. The destiny Kofi believed to be contained within the tree grew side-by-side with him since his birth.

Amidst the town people trusted Nana Abena as their expert on oil palm cultivation. Using her rough hands and extensive palm experience she could always determine the moment to collect the ready fruits. She would mention that fruits which presented a deeper red hue carried more valuable oil content before using her curved blade to cut down bunches that resulted in fruits dropping into the woven basket.

Harvest days were festive. During the harvest the mixture of hot kernels along with melting pulp filled the surrounding air with an enticing smell. Kofi watched as the golden oil trickled out of the fruits and into the clay jars under his grandmother while she utilized her pressing skills. That oil was life. The people used palm oil for cooking and lamp illumination and used it as a wound treatment yet also utilized it for daily cooking purposes.

But this year was different. A drought remained in effect for an unusual duration. Several trees displayed exhausted leaves as their tired bodies showed from the heat while the ground displayed dried cracks. In spite of the arid conditions the aged palm tree known to Kofi survived solid against its surroundings. Although the yield was small this year the palm tree produced irresistible fruits that spoke of persevering hope.

Kofi took his seat next to the tree as the sun descended in the evening sky above the village. He leaned his head against the trunk because it grew high enough for him to touch its middle parts. Into its rough bark he quietly whispered his vow to plant more of his kind throughout the entire land.

The palm rustled quietly from the wind breeze resembling an act of understanding.

That long-standing oil palm tree then witnessed as a new tale arose quietly.

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