I Can Sleep On a Windy Night

I Can Sleep On a Windy Night

Noel Laflin

November 6, 2014

There is a very old tale about a farmer going to an annual spring fair in search of some help.  The story varies in the telling (sermons and campfires in particular), but the one that I am most familiar with boils down to this: In the old days, when the country was much more rural and agriculturally-driven, young men from nearby towns and villages would go to spring fairs in search of employment.  Farmers, in need of help with the tough summer and harvesting to come, would go to these same fairs in search of capable farmhands.  This one particular old farmer would always ask each young candidate the same question, ‘What can you do?’

Well, the first lad that he approaches appears capable enough, judging by looks alone. The young man is tall, strong and clean in appearance.  So, the farmer leads off with his question about what he can do – to which the young man simply answers, ‘I can sleep on a windy night.’  That is the extent of his reply.

The old farmer, somewhat befuddled by this, thinks the young man may have misheard him and so repeats the question.  The reply is the same, ‘I can sleep on a windy night.’  Thinking the boy to be not only dim-witted but insolent as well, the farmer moves on.

As the day progresses, the man finds no one to his liking. The fair is winding down and the first young man that he spoke with is still there.  Apparently, other would-be employers were also put off by his one sentence reply about the ability to ‘sleep on a windy night,’ and had passed on his hiring.

Out of sheer desperation, the farmer circles back to the youth and asks a third time, ‘What can you do?

The young man looks him in the eye and replies for a third time as well, ‘I can sleep on a windy night.’

Exasperated, but in dire need for help, the farmer caves and offers the young man a job.  The lad accepts.

Well, the weeks and months go by and the farmer is greatly impressed with the boy’s work ethic and attention to detail.  They operate as a good team.  The man marvels at his good fortune to have chosen wisely.  He quickly forgets his initial misgivings and why he had even been hesitant to hire him in the first place.  That is, until the night of the big storm.

The farmer awakes to a fierce wind blowing across his land.  He hears the sound of tree branches snapping, rain pelting his window, and the old farm house itself moaning in distress.  Jumping out of bed, he dresses and heads for the bunk house, where the young hired lad is sound asleep. 

The farmer tries to wake the boy, but no avail.  Both alarmed and discouraged, the old man decides to make the rounds himself and secure the farm.

But, nothing needs attending.  The cattle and horses are safely in the barn, both fed and watered. Tools are in place, clean and shining. The barn doors have all been securely fastened.  Dry matches lay close to filled kerosene lanterns, their wicks freshly trimmed, ready for emergency use.

In the fields, stacks of hay have been covered and tightly lashed to sturdy ground stakes.  Not a one has blown away.  Formerly brittle fence posts have been recently removed and replaced with hardy new wood.  Wires are tight, locks in place.

Even the rain gutters have been recently cleaned.  Water pours off the roofs harmlessly and unhampered.

The inventory goes on and on.  All is secure. Nothing has been left to chance.  All is in order.

As the old man leans into the wind, fighting his way back to his home and a warm bed, he recalls, ponders, and smiles at the words spoken by a young man several months back, ‘I can sleep on a windy night.’

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I have read where some preachers try to tie the tale to biblical teachings.

Fair enough.  But, I seek other analogies.

Having first heard the story told at Scout camp long ago, I was always under the impression that it was a tale of preparedness – as in their motto: Be Prepared.

And of all of the many campfire stories that I first listened to, memorized, and then told myself as I grew older, I still find this one to be the most satisfying of all.

There was a time in my life when I was desperately seeking work.  I must have gone on a hundred interviews before stumbling into the line of work that would eventually carry me for the next three-and-a-half decades.

If I had only remembered this tale of preparedness, that I must have told a hundred times in my youth, I might have secured something more quickly.

If only potential employers had asked, ‘What can you do?’ 

To wit - if I had only replied, ‘I can sleep on a windy night.'