As the leaves turn here in New England, it's time to re-post this story, written
originally in 2008. Feel free to share.
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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
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 autumn 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. “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
autumn-dry grass.
In the fading daylight the villagers headed home for their bowls and
mugs as well as jackets and wraps. They 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…
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~ ESA
I've been cutting my own hair for years now, as I mostly trim my ends and bangs. I even cut it short myself one year, without the benefit of a beautician to make sure the back was even.
So Saturday I was all set to cut my husband's hair, scissors in hand. I walk into the bathroom and paused as he handed me this strange torture device I've seen him apply to his face from time-to-time. He uses it to trim his beard, but apparently it's what the barber uses to cut his hair, only using the scissors to add the finishing touches.
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