In the
1930s, a young traveler was exploring the French Alps. He came upon a vast
stretch of barren land. It was desolate. It was forbidding. It was ugly. It was
the kind of place you hurry away from.
Then,
suddenly, the young traveler stopped dead in his tracks. In the middle of this
vast wasteland was a bent-over old man. On his back was a sack of acorns. In
his hand was a four-foot length of iron pipe.
The man
was using the iron pope to punch holes in the ground. Then from the sack he
would take an acorn and put it in the hole. Later the old man the traveler,
"I've planted over 100,000 acorns. Perhaps only a tenth of them will
grow." The old man's wife and son had died, and this was how he chose to
spend his final years. "I want to do something useful," he said.
Twenty-five
years later the now-not-as-young traveler returned to the same desolate area.
What he saw amazed him. He could not believe his own eyes. The land was covered
with a beautiful forest two miles wide and five miles long. Birds were singing,
animals were playing, and wild flowers perfumed the air.
The
traveler stood there recalling the desolation that once was; a beautiful oak
forest stood there now - all because someone cared.
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