Saffron

In some way, everyone in the village was connected to the saffron field. Nearly all the able bodied villagers participated in the harvest of the tiny dark orange rods extending from the heart of the flower. The owner of the field was a fortunate and generous man. While most of the villagers could not afford to purchase the very spice they picked, some would manage to end up in their pockets. The field owner never questioned the workers when he would smell that distinct aroma wafting from their open windows. Harvesting the saffron was hard and tedious work.

The owner had one daughter. Her name was Lina. As the owner grew older, Lina took on more responsibilities. She also knew of the habits of the villagers to take some saffron for themselves. She did not approve of this. When she asked her father about why he tolerated this theft, he said, “Without them, it would be impossible to harvest the saffron on our own. It is their due.”

This answer did not satisfy Lina. The workers were paid a wage. Why was this additional spice tax tolerated? Time passed. During a harsh winter, the owner fell ill and died. Lina was left to manage the field. For the next harvest, she decided the spice tax would come to end. At the end of the day, she had every worker empty their pockets into a basket before receiving their pay. The gentle aroma of saffron no longer permeated the village.

Lina believed this change was just. She would bring in more money from the higher yield. For the next harvest, she would be able to pay the workers a higher wage.

A dry summer had passed, ideal for the waiting bulbs beneath the ground. When the time came for the harvest, Lina was proud to announce she could pay the workers more. But nobody came to work that morning. She walked into the village, bewildered that nobody would want to work.

“Hello! The harvest time has come. I can pay higher wages,” she cried.

There was no response. As Lina turned to go back to the field, she noticed a faint smell of saffron in the air. It took her a few moments to realize what was happening. She returned to the field and started to pick the saffron on her own, one red thread at a time.