The Little Wolf that Cried "People!" (Story)

Hi, folks!

As we're just about at Halloweeen, I think this is a good story to post. Not every traditional fairy tale ends in happily ever after....

Warning: This may not be appropriate for all ages; parental discretion is advised.

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THE LITTLE WOLF THAT CRIED "PEOPLE!"

Once upon a time there was a small pack of timber wolves roaming in the territory their kind have always known as home. At this point in time, their numbers had dwindled to a small pack of indeed and into this pack was born one of the smallest wolves they had ever seen. Though small, he did have a very keen nose and sharp eyes. While he would never be the hunter his father is and would always be low wolf in the pack hierarchy, they did find his gifts useful.

When it had been determined that he was grown enough and had learned all that the pack could teach him, he was granted the responsibility to watch over the pack as it slept during the daytime. At first, the little wolf took this responsibility very seriously. And much occurred during the day that he would tell the others about in the cool evening twilight before he himself would get a few hours of rest. For you see, during the daytime there were other animals awake and active. Even more fascinating were the people and the many curious items they brought with them into the wolves' territory.

One twilight, the little wolf told the others of the pack, “I saw people today. They came nearby on the flat rock-river in a large container that roared and chugged something fierce. Then the container stopped and sighed itself to silence. The sides of the container opened and people came out. There were four of them, male and female from the scents. Their scents didn’t even match each other, so they may have been from different packs. In their forepaws they carried these little silver items with something that looked like a dead fish’s eye. They pointed the eye at me and there was a brilliant flash of bright light. The females made some soft pleased noises and the males nodded their heads. Then they all got back into the container. The container sprang back to life with a ear-splitting roar and a horribly bad-smelling plume from its hindquarters. Then they continued on their way down the rock-river.”

The wolf pups loved to hear his stories of what occurred during the day. The elder wolves would smile knowingly and tell him about what he had seen. No matter what new story he would bring to the pack each twilight, the wolf pups ate it up with the evening meal and the elder wolves would tell him it’s been seen before. “Just once,” the little wolf thought to himself, “I would like to tell a tale about people where the elder wolves would be in as much awe as the pups.” Some nights, he would lie there thinking about what he could say, instead of getting the rest he needed. And one night, while listening to the melodic howling of his pack and the echoing sounds of the reply from a distant pack he came up with a story.

A few nights after that, he padded down from the hilltop where he lay watching the surrounding area during the day. His eyes were bright with mischief. “Listen all,” he barked, “I have seen something never seen before.”

All heads turned as one in his direction and he was met with the cool knowing lupine gazes of the elders as well as the wonder in the pups’ eyes.

The little wolf faced the pack and dropped to his hindquarters, his forelegs straight so he could meet all the wolves nose to nose if not eye to eye – after all, he was still a low wolf in this pack. “The people are invading!” he blurted out.

The elder wolves exchanged worried glances and the pack leader asked the little wolf, “How do you know this?”

The little wolf puffed up his chest with false pride. “I have seen them. They come while you are all asleep during the day. They carry new things and bigger containers. They have come to take our territory and make it their home.”

The little pups yelped in fear and ran to their mothers, hiding among their legs. The pack leader and elder wolves exchanged thoughts in the silent lupine body language known their kind. Then the pack leader turned back to the little wolf and nipped him on the muzzle. “Little fool!” he growled. “If this is so, you should have awakened us immediately so we can defend our territory.”

“B- B- But it was daytime,” yelped the little wolf.

“Are we afraid of the sun? Are we afraid of people? No matter what they bring into our territory, we will defend our home!”

As the high wolves nipped and growled at the little wolf, he promised that should this occur again, he would wake the others. Quickly he dropped to the ground and rolled onto his back, acknowledging his place in the pack.

Day by day, his humiliation before the pack ate at the little wolf's inside. Now even the young pups ridiculed him for his actions. Things didn’t change much and the novelty of the daytime events wore away. “This task is boring,” thought the little wolf, “and I’m never going to get any recognition in my pack.

Days turned into months, and the moon flowed through its changes time and again. Game moved to the south and the winter snows followed. One day, the little wolf got an idea as he noted that the people and their containers also left tracks in the snow. On a particularly boring day, the little wolf waited until he was sure the pack was deep in sleep. Then he lifted his chin and howled for all his worth!

Immediately the pack was awake and came running up the hill to the vantage point where the little wolf stood perched with hackles up. “What is the danger?” asked the pack leader immediately, fangs bared and ready.

The little wolf pointed with his nose and ears in the direction of the rock-river. People had come again to invade our territory. I scared them away with my growl. You can see their tracks in the snow. They are gone now. But because you required it of me, I awakened you with my howl.

The pack leader approached the little wolf, and the little wolf’s ears swiveled, fearing he was about to get bitten on the muzzle for doing wrong again. Instead the pack leader just placed his jaws lightly over the little wolfs nose, letting the little wolf know that he was still the low wolf but had done the right thing. The little wolf licked the pack leader’s muzzle in gratitude.

The pups also came up to him, pride shining in their small faces and they actually licked the low wolf’s muzzle. That show made the little wolf’s heart glow warm with pride. “I must do this again,” he thought to himself. “Even though the people will never invade as I have made that story up, the pack will give me a little more respect each time and I will rise in the ranks.”

The little wolf waited through another dance of the moon’s cycle before he tried his plan again. On a particular brutish day with the winds howling their own fierce song and the driving snow stinging the nose, eyes and eartips, the little wolf tilted back his head and howled his message to the others of his pack.

They were slower to arrive to the hilltop as the snow was deeper and the weather was dangerous with it’s hidden ice both beneath the white blanket and overlying the snow as a breakable crust that could cut the unwary paw. The pups, the little wolf noted, were left back in the winter dens where they were warm and safe.

The pack leader was the first to clear the hilltop and gazed around through the storm. “What did you see?” he growled to the little wolf.

“People tried to invade again.”

“In THIS weather?” growled the pack leader baring his sharp fangs at the little wolf.

“Th- They did! They came but they left when I chased them down toward the rock-road. You would see their tracks, but the blowing snow has covered them up.”

The pack leader chuffed in the little wolf’s direction and padded slowly and purposely toward the rock-road, sniffing as he went trying to detect the scents of man and his machines. Within the hour, the pack leader returned to the hilltop and faced the pack.

“I find little evidence to support our watcher’s story, but if people have indeed returned to invade our home after they were chased off the first time, we must warn the others.” As one voice, the wolf pack howled the message to the other packs and the message was passed from pack to pack all along the winter landscape. “Beware, people are invading.”

Shaken by the fact that the pack leader searched for evidence to his story, the little wolf decided he should be more careful the next time he tried his trick. Time passed again. Winter snows melted and the ground became muddy and bright green as the new growth pushed up from the warming ground toward the sun. The game moved north again, following the sun’s own journey to its summer home. And the little pups that once admired the little wolf were now members of the pack and hunters themselves and would often make the little wolf show his belly to them.

With the return of the warmer weather, the little wolf spied more people again. Now is the time for my trick. “Surely” he thought to himself, “I would not be the low wolf if I could get the pack leader to confirm my story of the invasion.”

So one day, he put his brilliant plan into action. When the people were still there, aiming the silver object with the dead fish eye at him, he tilted his head back and howled. Instantly, the others came running and charged the people.

Many of the people screamed and jumped into their containers. But one grabbed a thunder stick from the back of his container and pointed it at the charging wolves. The little wolf had never seen a thunder stick before, but when the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning issued from the stick, he knew what it was from the tales the elder wolves told him when he was a pup.

The little wolf felt the bite of the thunder stick across his right shoulder. The other wolves swiftly scattered but just as quickly reconverged when they realized the little wolf was injured. “Can you run?” the pack leader barked at him as others growled and hunkered themselves down between the little wolf and the thunder stick.

“Yes,” hissed the little wolf as he climbed to all four paws despite the pain.

“Then everyone back to the hilltop. We defend our territory, our pups and our home!”

As one, the wolves lumbered up the muddy hillside and turned to face the invaders. The one person outside the containers lowered the thunder stick back into the back of his container and stood next to the opening on one side of another container, talking to the people inside. Curiously, the wolves listened, but understood little.

The little wolf had better hearing than most of his pack, and had even learned to understand some of the people’s spoken language. But there was one word he did not understand that was mentioned again and again: “rabid.”

That night, the pack howled the message to the other wolf packs around their territory. A sad tale was also passed on to them, one of sickness. A sickness from the game had come into one wolf pack and made them go mad with thirst and mindlessness. They chased shadows and turned on friends and disregarded the pack order. People had come to this pack and now that pack is no more but vanished in one day.

The little wolves pack was shaken to their souls and they howled a sad lamentation for the pack that was no more. Afterwards, they worried about their own plight with the people. The new pups would be born soon and preparations had to be made to keep them safe.

A young but larger wolf was assigned to watch during the day with the little wolf. After what occurred, the little wolf decided it was time he stopped this trick. When he tried to rise in the pack order, all he got was a sore shoulder and someone that was assigned to the same duty, as if he were no longer worthy of even this position. A depression came upon the little wolf and he cared less and less about the activity around him during the day.

His companion, however, was ever curious, as this was all new to her and she would ask the little wolf many questions about what she saw. One day the young wolf spied people. The little wolf sniffed the air and confirmed, “Yes, that’s people.” He didn’t even raise his muzzle from the warm grass where he lay.

The young wolf rose on all four paws and barked, “They’re coming up the hill and they have thunder sticks.”

The little wolf’s ears shot up and he raised his head, but the moment was passed before he knew it. The roar of the thunder stick echoed off the distant hills as his young companion dropped beside him, a strange tube embedded in her throat.

The little wolf raised his muzzle to cry the warning and heard the thunder stick again. A hot jab of pain pierced his own throat and the world around him became a warm fuzzy blur. “It’s the sickness,” his panicked mind thought just before he drifted into it’s warm welcome. One last thought crossed his drifting mind as his chin touched down on the warm grass, “I never did issue the warning this time…..”

- ESA

Meet Molly (True Story)

Hi folks!

This is from an email that was sent to me. It was such a touching story I decided to post it here as well.

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MEET MOLLY...

She's a grey speckled pony who was abandoned by her owners when Hurricane Katrina hit southern Louisiana. She spent weeks on her own before finally being rescued and taken to a farm where abandoned animals were stockpiled.

While there, she was attacked by a pit bull terrier and almost died. Her gnawed right front leg became infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but LSU was overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare case.

You know how that goes.

But after surgeon Rustin Moore met Molly, he changed his mind. He saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different sides so she didn't seem to get sores, and how she allowed people to handle her. She protected her injured leg. She constantly shifted her weight and didn't overload her good leg. She was a smart pony with a serious survival ethic.

Moore agreed to remove her leg below the knee, and a temporary artificial limb was built. Molly walked out of the clinic and her story really begins there.

'This was the right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists. Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain.

She made it obvious she understood that she was in trouble. The other important factor, according to Moore, is having a truly committed and compliant owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care required over the lifetime of the horse.

Molly's story turns into a parable for life in post-Katrina Louisiana. The little pony gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. A human prosthesis designer built her a leg.

The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life, Allison Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.

And she asks for it. She will put her little limb out, and come to you and let you know that she wants you to put it on. Sometimes she wants you to take it off too. And sometimes, Molly gets away from Barca. 'It can be pretty bad when you can't catch a three-legged horse,' she laughs.

Most important of all, Molly has a job now. Kay, the rescue farm owner, started taking Molly to shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and rehabilitation centers. Anywhere she thought that people needed hope. Wherever Molly went, she showed people her pluck. She inspired people, and she had a good time doing it.

'It's obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to play in life,? Moore said. 'She survived the hurricane, she survived a horrible injury, and now she is giving hope to others.'

Barca concluded, 'She's not back to normal, but she's going to be better. To me, she could be a symbol for New Orleans itself.'

This is Molly's most recent prosthesis. The bottom photo shows the ground surface that she stands on, which has a smiley face embossed in it. Wherever Molly goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.


Forward this and share it with all of the animal lovers that you know.

- ESA

The Ant and the Grasshopper (Story)

Anita Ant and Gabrielle Grasshopper were cousins from the same town. Like many in small towns, they attended the same schools when they were younger, worked at the same place and lived near each other. But the one major difference between these two cousins is what they did with their spare time.

Anita would often walk around the neighborhood, stopping whenever she spied a neighbor out on their front porch or yard, and would wave to them as they went past in their cars. She always had a friendly smile and an open ear for anyone she came across, friend or stranger.

Gabrielle – Gabbie to her friends – spent all her spare time in the electronic world. If she was out for a walk, she had her cell phone to her ear and chatted with someone a great distance away. She also spent a great deal of time chatting with people online from around the world. She had many good friends online, almost more than the entire population in the small town they lived in.

One Monday, Anita saw Gabbie walking past her cubicle on the way to the restroom, she smiled and waved. Gabbie just walked right by obviously caught up in the conversation on her cell phone and she never saw the wave. Anita thought about this a moment and realized it had been weeks now since she actually traded more than two words with her cousin. She knew her cousin wasn’t mad at her or intentionally ignoring her, but was just caught up in her friends outside the town.

At lunch, Anita grabbed her plastic container from the pile of similar containers in the lunchroom fridge. She noted that Gabbie had yet to get her lunch. So she grabbed her cousin’s container and walked it back to her cousin’s cubicle. Gabbie was there, chatting online with three people via IM and holding a fourth conversation with someone on her cell phone. Anita placed the container to one side of the keyboard and patiently waited for her cousin to take a break and say “hi.”

The half hour passed quickly, and Gabbie didn’t even look up. She did nab the container, pulled a plastic fork from her drawer and started to eat, however. At the end of the lunch break, Anita, sighed and hoped that this wasn’t going to be the way her cousin behaved all the time.

As the days of the week passed, Anita realized that Gabbie treated all her co-workers the same way. Anita would take the time to get to know them and exchange news or stories with them during the breaks, but Gabbie was so wrapped up in people elsewhere, she had even stopped smiling and nodding greetings to her coworkers that saw her everyday.

Week by week, Anita realized this was also the case with people in the neighborhood and even when they both attended family gatherings. Gabbie was there physically but mentally she was in cyberspace or deep in conversation with someone miles away. Anita finally decided to bring this to Gabbie’s attention.

One Saturday morning – VERY early in the morning, Anita went over to Gabbie’s apartment and pounded on the door. She could hear a half-asleep Gabbie fumble around inside the apartment. The door swung wide and a disheveled head stuck out. She opened her mouth but only got out a startled “What the – ” before Anita jammed the door open with her foot and shoved a hot cup of coffee into her cousin’s hand.

“We really need to talk, Gabbie.”

Gabbie’s eyes widened in panic. “Someone died?”

Anita smiled. “Not quite, but close. You haven’t talked to anyone around here in almost two months now.”

“Whaddaya mean? I see you at work everyday?”

“See, yes. But we haven’t spoken in ages. You’re always on your cell phone and computer. Heck, girl, I even hear you in the bathroom stall! You really should take a moment and talk to the people around here too.”

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me, Anita! People around here are boring! Heck, we’ve all gone to the same school, had the same teachers, live the same lives. You and I even have the same jobs, for crying out loud! I want to connect with people from different backgrounds, different countries, different lives! The world is too wide to just keep yourself in one small town your whole life.”

“I agree with you there, I do go out online from time to time too. But I don’t sacrifice my life here, my contacts with those in this town. Gabbie, you didn’t even talk to anyone at Jimmy’s birthday party last weekend.”

“I was there, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but you talked on that cell phone the whole time. You even had the laptop out a good part of the day. Couldn’t you have at least stopped talking on that cell phone long enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with the rest of us?”

“So you’re upset that I didn’t sing???”

“You’re not getting it at all, are you?!?” Anita’s temper flared. “I give up! I tried but I don’t think there’s a way I could get it through your thick skull!” Anita stormed out of her cousin’s apartment.

Gabbie, shrugged, sipped her coffee and opened the laptop to check her email and see who was online. Even at this hour, someone in the world was awake.

Weeks turned to months. Gabbie and Anita’s uncle passed away and willed the duplex he owned to the two girls. Both were thrilled as their rents were rising faster than their paychecks.

When the day came to move, most of the company where they worked and a good part of the neighborhood showed up at Anitia’s apartment early to help her move. With the number of hands and vehicles they had, they were able to haul all her belongings over in one collective convoy and had her settled within three short hours.

As they passed the pizza boxes, beer and soda, they noticed Gabbie pulling up before the duplex. Anita looked around, no one had offered to help her cousin move. She tried to encourage a few of her closer co-workers and neighbors to go out and help, but many offered excuses such as being tired or that they had other plans for the afternoon. Some offered no excuse at all but simply refused to help.

After thanking everyone for their help and encouraging them to eat up the pizza, Anita went out alone to help her cousin with the first of many carloads.

While the two girls were wrestling a mattress onto the car’s roof for the third trip, Anita huffed, “What happened to all the friends you have? Couldn’t any of them help?”

Gabbie laughed and nearly slipped off the curb from where she wrestled with a rope, “Are you kidding? They’re thousands of miles away! They’re not going to come out here just to help me move!”

Anitia looked sadly at her cousin, “Who else is there to help you then?”

Gabbie froze as if the thought had taken hold a moment. Then she shrugged and replied, “Well, I have you, so I guess I can always depend on my family. Right?”

Thus Gabbie didn’t change her ways. The months became years. One day on the way home from work Gabbie was talking on her cell phone and didn’t hear the nearby car out of control. The driver’s side door of Gabbie’s car was completely crushed. Her cell phone flew from her hand, completely destroyed upon impact.

Gabbie woke up in the hospital. No cell phone. No laptop. No visitors.

Doctors and nurses came and went. The administrator said that both her place of work and family had been notified.

Hour by hour the time dragged. The little TV on the wall near the foot of her bed was definitely not as stimulating as being connected to the world had been. She was lonely – very lonely.

Hours turned around the clock once, night was over and day started again. Gabbie jumped a little when the phone rang beside her bed. Anxious to connect to someone – anyone – Gabbie answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Hi, Gabbie, it’s Anitia. I’m so sorry to hear about the accident. I just got the message this morning when I got into work. I’ll swing by after hours today, OK?”

“Is anyone else coming?”

“From here, no. Has anyone else from the family called?”

“No. Nobody since I woke up here yesterday. You’re the first.”

“Oh….. Well, you should see all the virtual cards that are pouring into your inbox. IT had to ramp up the server.”

“Swell…” Gabbie replied sarcastically as she sadly looked around at the empty white walls around her bed. She could see past the curtain all the cards and balloons and flowers her roommate had.

“Well, I need to get back to work, I’ll see you later. Bye….”

“… Bye.” Tears welled up in Gabbie’s eyes. All the friends she had. Where were they? Why hadn’t anyone come yesterday? Why is Anita the only one coming today? Where are her family members? Her co-workers? Her friends from the neighborhood and school? The people she saw everyday?”

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she tugged the curtain between the beds a little to one side and smiled warmly to the stranger on the bed beside her. “Hi, there, my name is Gabbie Grasshopper. What’s yours?”

- ESA

A Smile Moment (True Story)

Hello, Folks,

I had a smile moment at work yesterday I thought to share.

I have the attached image printed in 8-1/2x11 color on the wall right next to where my laptop screen is.

Yesterday, a DHL delivery man came to my office so I could sign for a package.

While I scrawled my signature, he looked around my office (like most people do), but instead of spying the huge poster-sized and framed Escher print on one wall or the blanket-sized tapestry on the opposite wall (most people ignore the three-state's worth and federal required HR posters plastering my main wall - LOL), his eyes were drawn to this little print beside my laptop screen.

Then he commented that he liked the image of Christ embracing the little girl.

When I opened my mouth to respond in the pause, he jumped back in and added, "You know, it's a nice image when you're down. But whenever you have an enemy or someone who's giving you trouble, you should also picture that person in Christ's embrace as well."

Then he smiled, took the correct spelling of my last name and walked out.

I believe this is a nice thought to pass on... :-D

- ESA

Soup Story (Story)

Hi folks,

As we’ve now entered the time of year when what is planted and tended is finally harvested, I believe it’s time for a soup story…

There was once a little village in a time not so long ago. Unlike the days of old when the villagers once worked the land as their ancestors, these villagers got into their cars and traveled a distance – sometimes a great distance to get to the jobs they worked. For you see, these jobs what paid for the food on their table, paid for the clothes on their back and paid for the roof over their head. But in those days, taxes weren’t so high, jobs paid well, and there was even time for leisure where the village would hold picnics and parties and music concerts on the village green. Neighbors and friends had time to visit one another and even help one another. It was a close knit community. There was even money to spare, and the village would raise funds to donate to charities, such as the soup kitchens in the nearby cities. This went on for several years.

Then times changes, as they sometimes do. Businesses closed nearby and the villagers had to travel even further from home. Leisure time became less. Neighbors stopped seeing each other as much, but would still make time to attend the gatherings on the village green. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the time to visit each other nor help one another like before. Money was still good, but not as good as before. Donations were slimmer at the charities. This went on for some years.

Times changed again. Businesses were laying off, and taxes were rising. The villagers also changed a bit more inside. It had been some time since they knew their neighbors. There were fewer and fewer people they recognized at the village gatherings. Who were all these new people? Where did they come from? Are they after our jobs? If they take our jobs, how will I feed my family? Will we loose our home?

The the news spoke of terrible things that neighbor did against neighbor, and informed one and all that they should be alert against strangers. The attendance at the village green shrank and eventually the village no longer held these outings. Villagers would get home, stay on their own lot and lock their windows and doors, careful not to be noticed by any strangers in their midst.

Then taxes continued to rise, the price of gas skyrocketed and jobs were cut again. With money only trickling in and signs that there were even tougher times ahead, donations dried up. The nearby soup kitchens closed.

Now, during this time, on a bright October day, a minister to the poor and hungry in the nearby city decided to try the local villages to see if he could get any donations to reopen the soup kitchens. But try as he might, house by house, block by block, no one had anything to spare, not even a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of soup. Some would not even open the door because he was a stranger.

It didn’t take this minister long to see that not only had this village come upon hard economic times, but the community itself that once thrived in villages like this had also vanished. Taking the villagers into his heart, he decided to do something to help them before he went on his way to the next village.

Near the town green, he spied an old propane grill on one side of someone’s home. He knocked on the door again and said to the surly man who answered, “Excuse me, sir, I know you do not have any food to spare, but I just noticed your gas grill – the one rusting on the side of your house. Could I borrow it to heat up some food out there on the green? You see, we’re going to have an end of the season party, a nice one with food and games and music and laughter. We could use your grill.”

The surly man eyed the minister suspiciously. “Why? There’s no any gas for it.”

The minister merely shrugged, “I would appreciate it if you let me borrow it all the same. I will certainly return it when I’m done.”

The surly man gazed at the minister a long minute and ran his eyes over the expanse of the village green. A few lonely oak trees stood majestically, brightly colored leaves fluttering to the empty lawn beneath them. There was no one on the green or even outside. “Who’s the ‘we’ at this party? There’s no one out there.”

The minister smiled broadly, “Oh, the whole village is invited; you’re more than welcome to come too. It’ll be fun!”

The surly neighbor’s eyes narrowed and he thought a few moments. “What will you charge for those attending?”

“Charge?” asked the minister shocked. “Why nothing! This is merely a friendly gathering. Friends don’t charge friends when they gather together. But” added the minister, “if you feel like bringing anything out to share, it will be more than appreciated. However, it’s not a requirement.”

The surly man shook his head and the beginnings of a smile crept at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re up to, you old coot. But sure, you can borrow my grill. But I can’t give you anything else…” He stepped out of his home and unlocked the grill from the metal pole that secured it.

“I thank you for your loan, that is more than sufficient,” added the minister as he wheeled the grill across the road and onto the village green.

Next, the minister found another gas grill – this time with an empty propane tank. After a similar conversation, he wheeled the second grill next to the first.

Then he found someone who had a little propane left in his tank a little further from the green and managed to acquire this and connected it to the first grill.

After that, the minister wound his way to some of the neighbors and was able to obtain four oversized pots – two for each grill.

With a little bit of a jig in his walk, the minster then went in search of water. “Just a little tap water will do just fine” he told them. Soon he had all four of the borrowed pots full.

By now, the villagers had become very curious. Even though they were suspicious of this stranger in their midst, what kind of harm could he do with four large pots of water, two gas grills and barely enough propane to light one grill for two minutes. They started to gather on the green, keeping their distance from this strange minister and each other, but curious one and the same.

The minister looked up from his work as he finished pouring the last of the water into the forth pot. He smiled broadly and pointed to the nearby picnic tables that had become grey and weathered and long since unused. “It’s going to take some time before the soup will be ready. Perhaps you could sit there and play some games until then.”

The villagers looked wide-eyed at the tables and back to the minister. “There’s no games over there,” one of the villagers called back.

The minister looked over at the tables as if surprised. “Oh, I haven’t gotten them yet. Does anyone know who would be willing to loan us some cards or maybe a board game we can play until the soup is ready?”

“I have some cards I can bring out,” one villager called back and hurried back to her home.

“My kids have some fun board games,” replied another and he hurried off in a different direction.

In no time there were quite a few villagers out on the green on this nice sunny autumn day. Some brought a baseball, bat and gloves and started an impromptu game in one corner; others were playing dodgeball or tag, while those gathered around the picnic tables watched or played the various games that had started there.

In the meantime the minister went out again, asking house to house for some salt, pepper, and common herbs and seasonings. These he added to the cold water in the four large pots above the two unlit grills.

A young man, at the prompting of some neighbors went over to the minister. “How do you expect to heat this soup without any propane?”

The minister tapped the gauge of one tank -- just under a sixteenth of a tank. “This is enough to start. But if someone could donate a little more, I would greatly appreciate it. It will heat up the soup that much faster.”

The young man, smiled and almost laughed. “I’d say it would….” He paused and glanced over at his family. “Say, I have about half a tank at home. This is probably the last time we’d have to use it. I’ll bring it over.”

The minister grinned broadly, “Thank you.”

By the time the young man walked back to the green with the propane tank on his shoulder, a second villager was heading out to get his. Soon the two grills were lit and a vapor of steam wafted off the surface of the contents of the four pots.

A middle-aged woman wandered over as minister was stirring with a long-handled wooden spoon he managed to borrow from somewhere. She glanced into the pots with a knowing eye and commented, “That’s a mighty thin soup you’ve got there.”

“Yes,” replied the minister with a sad smile. “But these are thin times and we can not give what we don’t have…”

The woman glanced at the minister and then at the growing crowd on the village green. “I have some potatoes I was planning for our dinner tonight. It looks like we’re going to be eating here instead, so I’ll bring them out to you. It’s not much but it will help your soup.”

The minister smiled broadly and the hints of tears appeared in his eyes. “That would be a very generous donation, ‘mam. Thank you very much.”

The woman returned with an armload of potatoes, just enough for one and a half in each pot. When she returned to the villagers gathered around the tables, some asked her why she gave the stranger her food. When she told them her reasons, a few others nodded and departed to their kitchens. Soon a few limp carrots and some cabbage were added to the pots.

An old man wandered over to pots and commented to the minister. “You know, sonny. I remember a lean time long before this. My mum would make soup like this back in the ‘30’s. It was a real treat for us when we could get hold of some chicken necks to toss in there.”

The minister’s nose crinkled a bit. “Chicken necks?”

“Aye, sonny, there’s some meat to be had on the necks and there’s flavor from the bones.”

The minister nodded and laughed a little. “It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think the local supermarket carries chicken necks.”

“Laugh and think what you will, sonny. But I used to be a butcher. I still do some butchering now and then.” And the old man winked at the minister. “I have some in my freezer now, if you promise not to tell the others what they are. They think I’m old and crazy as it is.”

The minister’s eyes widened with delight. “That would be wonderful!”

The old man shuffled off to his home humming an old tune that arose from his heart.

Little by little, the small donations the villagers made thickened the soup. Soon the aroma filled the village green and the hungry villagers passed the remaining time playing games, and singing songs accompanied by the guitars and other musical instruments people had brought out. Laughter and the buzz of conversation among neighbors rose in the village green as the shadows of the great oaks extended across the October grass.

In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and mugs as well as jackets and wraps. The lined up peaceably while the minister spooned out the soup to any who wanted it. In the cool air after a fun day in the sunshine, the soup was warm and wonderful. Everyone had a smile on their face.

Those who loaned the pots were surprised there was some soup leftover and offered some to their neighbors as they headed home.

When the gas grills where wheeled away and the last of the villagers were heading home in the darkness. The minister returned to his car with a sigh. He didn’t accomplish what he planned to do here; there was still no food for the soup kitchen… Then he heard two people talking as they walked by his car on their way home.

“You know, Joe, that was fun. We should do that more often.”

“You’re right, Bob. It’s amazing how far so little food could go.”

The minister smiled to himself as he realized maybe he didn’t fail at all…

- ESA