Stone Soup
It was the end of winter of the year 1563 in the small village of Holyoke, Hungary. The winter had been too long, the food was scarce and the people were miserable. A lone traveller lumbered out of the forest and made his way down the muddy path toward the village. His velvet red cap was set on a large ginger strewn head of hair — snow clinging to a great round reddy-white beard, and a sparkle in his eye.
He was dressed in rags. Across one shoulder he carried a pile of firewood, across the other was a stick with a large copper pot slung on the end, and from the village the soft rhythmic rolling a long handled ladle inside the swaying pot, could be heard.
He knocked on the first door he came to, asking for a bite to eat. But the villagers replied saying they did not have enough to share. He knocked on a few more, but heard the same reply.
He let down his load at the village square, drew water from the well, and filled his pot. Building a fire, he set the pot on the blazing flames. He then found a nice round stone nearby and dropped it into the simmering pot.
One of the villagers came curiously and asked what he was doing. Smiling, he answered, "I am making stone soup. A stone is all I have, but with it I can make a scrumptious soup." He announced that he would be delighted to share this meal. More villagers gathered around, curious at the strange proceedings. The soup bubbled and bubbled. The traveller waved his hand over the pot, bringing the steam to his nose. He explained that it already smelled perfect, “but I would usually add a carrot or two. That would give it a better flavour.” A middle-aged lady piped up, said she had some — and ran to her home, coming back with a handful of carrots to add.
The soup kept bubbling and bubbling. The traveller, stirring the pot, smelled it again. "Mmmm, lovely! But it could do with a pinch of salt." Another eager villager ran to get some.
Licking and smacking his lips, the traveller went on, "If only we had…" and “If anyone could spare some…" and "… it would do with" and “… it would be extra perfect," and "… it would really, really be extra tasty.”
The soup went on bubbling, bubbling, bubbling. Meanwhile, 5 long thin carrots, 2 yellow turnips, 5 of last year's potatoes, 2 brown onions, the preacher's cabbage, beef bones from the local butcher, and an old lady's juicy pickled pork - along with an assortment of aromatic herbs — dill, parsley, sage, and caraway seeds were added. With each contribution the soup became richer, thicker, heartier and smelled more and more delicious.
Eventually, seeing that bowls were appearing in the hands of the villagers, the traveller, beaming with joy, ladled out the soup for each and every one.
Slurping and chatter and laughter were heard. There were songs and tears of happiness and “Mmmms” and satisfied burps, and tummies rubbed and patted and acknowledged. The villagers said they never could have believed that you could make such a good soup from a stone!
The next day as the traveller was leaving, the villagers gathered to thank him. He took out the nice round stone and handed it to them saying with that same sparkle in his eye, “you can keep it. This is my gift to you.” Off he lumbered back up the mud path. And there could be heard the soft rhythmic rolling of the long handled ladle inside of the swaying pot.