Just place it at the edge of the field, let the sun shine on it, and it'll water the land for you—no one gets tired.

Just place it at the edge of the field, let the sun shine on it, and it'll water the land for you—no one gets tired.

Watering used to be really tiring. You'd carry a shovel, wading through the water, going east when the water went east, west when the water went west. After watering an acre, you'd be so exhausted your back wouldn't straighten. The sun was blazing, sweat dripping down your face, and you'd think, "If only someone could do it for me."

Now, someone actually does it for you. Not a person, but this plant. Just place it at the edge of the field, lay the hose, and you don't have to worry about anything else. The sun shines on it, and it starts working; water flows through the hose into the soil, and each seedling drinks its fill. You can sit in the shade, watching it busily at work, without lifting a finger yourself.

The stronger the sun, the harder it works; the drier the weather, the less it slacks off. Watching it, you think it's more reliable than a person—it doesn't need to eat, drink, or rest. Working from dawn till dusk, without a sound, without a single complaint. You rest for a day, it works for a day; you rest for a season, it works for a season.

No one is tired. The sun isn't tired, it isn't tired, and you are even less tired. The seedlings are well-watered, the soil is thoroughly soaked, and the harvest is secured. You sit under the shade of a tree, watching all this, and suddenly all the previous hard work seems worthwhile—farming can be so easy, and people don't have to be tied to the land.

Just put it on the edge of the field, the sun shines on it, it waters the soil for you, and no one is tired. From today onward, it's the one who works, you rest; the sun exerts its strength, and the harvest is yours.