Several hundred years ago, in a war weary and torn rural England, there was a great famine. The war and the weather had conspired to fail the crop entirely and hunger was rampant across the land. So scarce was food that violence was a daily occurrence with the strong taking what they needed from the weak, and the weak imploring God to deliver them from this evil season.
Families hid what food they did have, even from their closest friends and neighbors. Children were warned to say nothing of an onion if there was one on hand for fear someone in need would beg share it. And a bitter, cold wind blew without cease.
A road weary and battle worn knight was trudging horseless across the land toward his home, many days travel by foot away. And as the day grew late, he was relieved to see the smoke from a small village ahead on the rural pathway he trod.
He stopped at the village well to drink and ask food and shelter for the night. He found there an ancient crone who eyed him with suspicion from head to foot. “There’s no need to stop here, Squire” she grumbled. “We’ve been had to the quick and the village is starving. We’ve no food for ourselves, less for strangers.”
The knight knelt drinking deeply from the bucket. “Then thank you mother for this drink from the well. It’s a relief and blessing enough. Tell me true, you’ve really no food in the village?”
“We starve.” snarled the crone. “And if able to grub a single root from the very frozen ground, one of you soldiers offers to trade our own lives in exchange for it. We live under a curse I tell you.”
“Dire!” said the weary soldier. “How you suffer. I can scarcely imagine. It sounds a tribulation beyond belief.”
“Believe it or don’t believe it. We’ve nothing to eat here. So best you move along.”
“That would be a cold and heartless act. With you all starving in front of me, to just move on without doing what I might. I’ll not. I’m a bit short myself, but what I do have I will to share.”
“Share, sire.” The womans chill warmed but slightly. “You have food to share with us?”
“I’ll do what I can, “ replied the weary night. “You’re right enough, it’s a hard season. Fetch me a pot old woman. As large as you can find. I’ll make you soup, meager it is. But nourishing. And you and I shall dine as best we can.”
“I have a pot. It’s fairly large. What soup will you make?”
“Enough of your whining. Fetch me the pot old woman. And hurry. We’re both going to catch our death of cold while standing here starving at each other. Where’s wood for the fire. I’ll get it on.”
“There’s wood aplenty if we could but eat wood. It’s over there by the stalls. I’ll fetch your pot.” Grumbling she shuffled off.
The knight sorted through the wood and found pieces enough not rotted to make a small fire. He knelt and carefully flinted it to life. The old woman returned with a fairly large pot of obvious heritage, but serviceable.
“Let’s fill it perhaps half.” He knelt to ladle the well water into the pot, and carefully positioned it over the fire just beginning to blaze.
“And what’s to go in it?” queried the old woman.
Just then, a thin lad of about fourteen joined them. “What’s doing here Auntie?”
“This stranger is set to make soup. Said he’ll share with us.” replied the old woman.
The knight carefully drew his bag to him and oh so gently withdrew a small bag made of purple velvet from the sack. Carefully, he opened the drawstring and extracted a small smooth stone somewhat lesser in size than a closed child’s fist. He very ceremoniously lowered it over the simmering water and dropped it in.
Carefully, he withdrew a second stone from the sack, and again carefully lowered it over the pot dropping it carefully to the bottom through the simmering water.
“Have you a stir?” the knight inquired.
The lad volunteered “We’ve a ladling spoon in our kitchen. Shall I fetch it?”
“Capitol idea my lad. A large spoon would be ideal. This soup requires a bit of a stir to extract the savor.”
The lad trotted off to his house to fetch the spoon.
“What’s this? Are you daft? You intend to have us eat of a soup made of two stones?”
Casting his eyes down, the soldier sighed. “ I said it was meager enough. But it’s filling and we learned to eat this poor soup at the battles. Hardly a king’s feast, but it will have to do for this day. And I’ll gladly share it with you.”
“Harrumph” growled the old woman. “Stone soup indeed. That IS mighty poor fare. I’m thinking you’ll have little off your hunger with that. And thin. With what flavor at that? And what to gnaw? You’re a poor cook Sire.”
“Perhaps. But I’ve done it enough and I’ll note it does for what it does.”
The lad returned with the spoon. “I’ve found it. A spoon to stir a pot for a king!”
“Aye and a handsome spoon it is lad.” The knight knelt and very carefully stirred the pot with a practiced circular motion.
The boy peered down into the now bubbling water at the two stones in the bottom of the pot. “What nature of stone is this that makes soup?”
“They are quite rare really. Mind you it’s not a mutton stew. But enough to live and quell the pangs. Given me by a ranking knight just before he was slain.”
“For heaven’s sake” cried the old crone. You canna make soup from two rocks I tell you.”
“I fear I have, and perhaps too many times dear mother. I didn’t claim you a royal feast.”
The knight again knelt and drew the now steaming liquid into the spoon and carefully raised it to his lips. “Not as bad as some. I’ve had better. But this will do.” he noted analytically.
“Give me that spoon you idiot. What flavor can a soup made of stones have.” The old woman slurped the hot liquid loudly. “Bah, it has no flavor at all. You know nothing of cooking. This thing hasn’t even the flavor of salt.”
Looking dejected the knight noted. “True enough old woman. It IS much better with salt. But I’ve none.”
“You’re a moron spluttered the old woman. Here, for Christ’s sake. I’ll fetch some salt. How do you think I’m to eat such a thin poor soup without even salt.” Stalking off toward her hut, the woman muttered the whole way. Encountering the town mayor. “He thinks to make us soup! The man hasn’t even salt.”
“Soup?” cried the mayor. “Whose making soup?”
“The stranger in the square there. A poor soldier at that.”
The mayor immediately trotted over to join the lad and the knight at the fire. “What say, you? There is to be a soup? And in these hard times?”
“Stone soup!” piped up the lad. “A BIG pot of stone soup. Needs a pinch of salt but coming along.”
“My word” considered the mayor. “A soup, made of stones?
“Alas, your excellency. It’s what we have. Good enough, I’ll warrant. But for my own tastes, better when a bit of cabbage is in season. It seems cabbage grants it that certain dear flavor of my mother’s soup when I was a lad like this one. Reminds me of home.”
One by one the other villagers trickled over to see what was about.
“Cabbage. I myself like cabbage in my soup. “
“It needn’t be much. And it needn’t be good. In a soup, even a bit of rotting cabbage can take on quite a life of its own.” offered the knight.
“Well I haven’t much. But perhaps there’s a bit of cabbage in my larder. Let me check it.” Off went the mayor.
Just then the old woman returned with a small paper of salt. “Here soldier. If you’re to make soup out of common stones, it should HAVE salt.” she proclaimed emphatically as she dumped the small portion of salt into the water. “Give me that spoon.”
She knelt and swirled the water expertly drawing forth a bit and slurping it loudly. “At least it now tastes salt, as a soup should.”
A thin elderly man stepped forward and peered into the pot. “You say, you’ll share?”
“It’s poor enough. But yes old father. You can join us to dine this night.” Responded the knight.
“He says he’ll share.” Trembled the old man to the woman next. “Me, I’m not so fond of cabbage myself. I like carrots in my stew. I might have A carrot to pitch. I’ll get it”
The suspiciously portly woman noted. “You really cannot bring the flavor of a proper soup out without an onion. I don’t have a whole one. But some shreds to fling. It’ll brighten it quite a bit I think.”
“Aye. And you have to pitch to eat I’ll warrant” noted the stablemaster cynically.
“Not at all mate. We have little in this thin soup. But I know times are hard and you’re welcome to what we have here.” replied the knight. “If you have naught, then naught it is.”
“I didn’t say I had naught. What you must think of me. You twist my own words. Did I say I had naught? It’s a cold time sure enough. But I’m not without entirely. Criminy a few mealy potatoes can be spared. That will offer some body to this thin soup.”
And so the cabbage and the carrot and the onion shreds were added to the pot. And in a short while, potatoes too. The roiling water swirled and scent began to rise from the pot and waft throughout the village.
One by one the villagers crept out into the street with lit pitch torches and the area around the well brightened. “What’s that smell?” exclaimed one.
“It’s stone soup. They’ve made a soup of stones.” Answered another.
“ A soup. Of stones?”
“It is. Smells wonderful. I’m starving here.”
“When will it be done?” yet another.
And again a reply “It’s soup. It’ll be done when it’s done don’t you know.”
The knight bent over the bubbling pot and inhaled deeply. “Ahh. How I long for the days when there was meat aplenty for a fine soup as this.”
“Meat? You must be joking. We’ve had no meat for a moon.” offered a young monk.
“I say. True enough. But a poor old piece of salt pork I’ve kept by and by.” Offered another. “It’s a rind really. And it won’t make a meal for a mouse anyway. I just keep it to look at.”
“I’ve a scrap as well. It’s true not anything to brag on. But it’ll chew.” Offered yet again.
And so into the pot it went. And soon everyone was scrabbling about the village, scouring a pepper here and a mushroom there.
As the torches gathered the night village square took on a lighted cheerful countenance. And someone brought out a fiddle and began to play. Soon there was music and a bit of dancing started.
“Is it soup yet?” and again, “When shall we eat of the soup. The smell is driving me faint.”
Finally the knight ceremoniously tasted the soup with a hundred pairs of eyes watching his every move. Nodding he offered the spoon to the old crone, who nodded with sage approval, having a good claim on very nearly inventing the soup. “It’s fair enough soup, if I do say so. It’ll do right enough on this chill evening.” noted the crone with all due modesty.
The knight carefully fished out the two stones and slowly wiped them dry, carefully placing them back in their velvet bag. “Not to break anyone’s teeth.” to howls of laughter. “Bring your bowls then.” Instructed the knight. “There’s aplenty for all.
And indeed, everyone in the village ate their fill that good winter night.
After everyone was safely asleep and sated, a small group of villagers crept into the loft where the knight lay, and quietly slit his throat and removed the velvet bag.
In the morning, the Mayor thanked everyone for participating in their long developed plan for the first annual stone soup celebration and assured everyone of regular stone soup days in the future.
The grocer ran a special on “stone soup fixins and garnish,” in full compliance with their original “stone soup recipe.”
The butcher too announced that they had special packages of “stone soup” meat cuttings designed to the original specification and traceable back to the exact first stone soup.
The village pharmacist sold salt at two prices henceforth, regular common salt and premium stone soup savory salt.
The blacksmith, under license of the city, would make a sterling silver “stone soup pot and ladle” for anyone wealthy enough to afford it, and of course having the stone soup license.
And the village passed an ordinance severely restricting the ownership of stones of all sizes, and of course requiring that soup be made only of official village approved stones, to prevent any contamination or ill health effects, for the safety and welfare of the villagers. Thus serving as a barrier to random illegal stone soup operations.
A special sherriff’s detail was established to ensure compliance with the stone soup regulations and a standing stone soup court was established to hear cases of stone soup malfeasance. Plaintiff’s and defendants were required to be represented by a qualified stone soup barrister.
And they all lived happily ever after… in the area that came to be know as the land of the stoned. Unlicensed import or export of stones into our out of this area was severely punished.
And travelling soldiers were outlawed entirely.
20 thoughts on “Stone Soup”
Are you sure this version of the story comes from England? Sounds more like Washington D.C. to me.
And the Mayor pushed through the “Stone Soup Recovery and Reinvestment Act” by assuring that everyone would have access to stone soup. But then only his friends were awarded the contracts, and after a short time (and hefty contributions back to the Mayor’s re-election fund) his friends went bankrupt, and could offer no soup.
The Mayor said that these great citizens (the ones who so poorly operated their businesses) were too big to fail. Another Stone Soup Act was pushed through, the Mayor’s campaign fund grew, and his friends gave themselves bonuses and went yachting. The taxes increased as the soup stopped flowing.
With great compassion, the Mayor addressed the citizenry. “In these tough times, what we need is another, bigger Stone Soup Act…”
a stone soup show eh : )
it’s not a bad vision. but perhaps you can season the soups with your wealth and speed things along, even more than before. something about a camel and a needle hole : )
Dan, is it you who is now slitting the throat of the goodly knight?
And why not? Does he not DESERVE the stones? Should they not really already BE his stones? In fact, in a way, he has really already earned the stones. And indeed, did not the goodly knight somehow manage to steal the stones from his very mouth? Such an unfair world. That some would have stones and so many have NO STONES.
Dan has NO STONES. And so really by rights, he SHOULD have the goodly knights stones.
THEN AT LAST he will have the stones. And then HE can work the magic of the stones.
The problem is, the stones aren’t magic. And Dan can never work the stones. All he can do is eat the stones. And kill the knight. And have nothing.
To him that hath, even more shall be given and in abundance. And to him that hath not, even that that he hath shall be taken away….
For those with an ear to hear…
Maybe you are right Mr. Rickard. The stones in Dan’s hands might end up doing no harm but in doing so, do no good onto others.
Or maybe I’m talking through my stones. SHE seems to think so.
Jack, the parable of the talents is about spiritual gifts, not the accumulation of mammon.
it’s about savings in the bank that never crashes.
Jesus died penniless but he made a killing in the spiritual market.
but there is some truth to your meaning too. you are doing quite well in many ways
Doing researh for something completely different, but came accross this http://www.rivm.nl/bibliotheek/rapporten/680300009.html
No idead what’s in it, I haven’t read it, but somebody might find it interesting, or vexing.
Worryingly, Padraic it proves beyond any doubt that the people who dictate the lives of others are all numbties.
It’s not the loudness of the single vehicle that is the issue, its the relatively louder noise that fills the whole area. A big truck travelling the other way will drown out *any* cars engine/exhaust/tyre noise. Nobody has suggesting cyclists run 300W speakers as suggested for EV’s in that paper for the same reason.
Fools rush in….. They have already made up a law over this in the USA.
Jack, this is very apropo for me right now. I’m reading “Atlas Shrugged” and this parable shares a common theme with that book. Thanks for posting!
I’m hesitant to comment further. Some will enjoy this. Probably wasted on many. It’s just a little doodle.
Jack has a charmed pen. Having received “more than 175 million acres of public land (an area more than one tenth of the whole United States and larger than Texas) from 1850 to 1871,” railroads aren’t exactly shining examples of free market capitalism, Alex. And I don’t suppose Jack’s knight had any problem with the bureaucracy which afforded him his suit of armor, attending perquisites and station. Heaven knows no crony capitalism has every benefited military-industrial complex contractors with the proverbial $1000 toilet seats! It takes a village to row, row row your boats gently down the stream…
Google Little Orphan “Annie Meets Mr. Am”
Ok, stone soup is good for kids story, but who the f is Dan and why waste a whole blog on him? If he is lamo then no biggie, join the crowd. This blog is not about lamos, I built E-car despite lamos like Kois, etc…
write blog for future, not past.
cee U nxt convention.
ps. EV JAG is awesome!!
oh, while I’m at it, F.. Brushed motors. They are for the dead. They just Spark out.
Long lived brushless.
They are the FUTURE!!!!!!
(Probably wasted on many. It’s just a little doodle.) More like wasted on most and doodle away. It’s great. Love to hear the responses.
AC is fine which I love but for pure grunt power DC Brushed Can’t be beat.
If the only tool you have is a hanmer, all the problems start to look like nails.
Good show this week Jack. I especially enjoyed your discussion of the new Panasonic cell Tesla will be using.
I know you won’t do it because they are too fiddly to deal with, but I’d love to see you have a go at making a small pack with those batteries. Maybe with the Smart car since it’s so small. I appreciate that you already have plenty of other projects to be going on with and that you prefer the prismatics.
I have been doing some back of the envelope calculations and I think you would be able to fit a load of batteries into an absurdly small space with them weighing only as much as an extra passenger. I’m imagining a very small 16KWhr pack just for nipping round town.
The possibilities are exciting.
took me about a day, but i think this is a story about the power of community, however the sour turn at the end smells of the pitfalls of capitalism.
If we can capitalize these stones, we could be very rich.
@ Perin, if you think Atlas Shrugged is about railroads, then you clearly only read the Amazon blurb before you posted. And, it’s FICTION.
Jack, here’s a little article from today’s NY Times about Leaf tinkerers. Maybe you already knew of these guys, but here you go:
Still getting caught up on shows…most of the way through August now….great job on everything!