Stone Soup- a Reweaving of a Traditional Tale
I wrote this version of Stone Soup in 1997, as a vision of what a community could do to combat adversity; specifically my daughter's school which was undergoing a new building programme, that created an environment of red mud, wire and concrete. Roman and I devised the 'Web of Wonder', our first storytelling and textile project for the children to transform the area with their vibrant creations. I told the story at the Parents meeting to inspire their support for the project. They contributed materials, expertise and encouragement so that in a fortnight woven shields, God's eyes, wands and webs now adorned the wire fences.
Stone Soup - A Reweaving of a Traditional Tale
A story about collective power…among other things
There was a time when the children spent their days scratching through the rubble. In threadbare rags, on matchstick legs, they scavenged for bits of wood and wire, any scrap of material their parents could use to mend their rusted pots and leaking shelters.
One morning, as a watery sun floated over the horizon, the child crept from the hovel that was her home, over to the orchard. Once the trees had groaned under the burden of their abundance, until their boughs dropped the excess to the ground, and full-bellied children scrambled among the windfalls, scooping up the fruit and devouring its sweet flesh until the juice trickled down their chins.
Now the trees stood like skeletal statues, barren and white with frost. The child crouched against a gnarled trunk and in her hands she clutched a stone. It was cold and dirty and chipped around the edges. But it was her stone.
The longer she nursed it the warmer the stone felt. When she unclenched her fingers and let it rest in her palm, she saw patterns forming. Veins of silver threaded their way across the rutted surface, making a web that glinted in the morning light. A kaleidoscope of images unfolded before her. The child turned the stone and the sun's rays caught the flecks of mica and flashed her a golden wink. She laughed. The stone was magic. Sliding it back into her pocket, the child skipped her way home.
Later that morning a farmer came by the settlement, pulling a cartload of rotting vegetables. The people descended on him like carrion birds, snatching bruised apples and mouldy pumpkins. They then scurried back to the shelters with their booty.
The child watched as the adults squabbled over the food, leaving the older and weaker ones empty-handed and hungry-eyed. She reached into her pocket and touched her stone. She knew what she must do.
She ran to her mother’s campfire and picked up her big black cooking pot. Down to the stream she trudged, and filling the vessel to the brim, she lugged it back and set it down on the fire grate. When the water was simmering, she dropped in the stone. She crouched on her haunches and waited.
In time the children gathered round the pot. When they saw the stone they jeered.
'You can't eat stone soup.'
The girl smiled and replied.
'It's a magic stone and whoever adds food to the soup can eat from it.'
The children were silent while they pondered her words. Then whooping and cheering they scattered far and wide in search of contributions. All that afternoon they came and went, adding whatever vegetables and herbs they could eke out. The soup's mouth-watering aroma wafted through the shelters, drawing out the adults. Many were curious. Some were furious.
'Who stole my potatoes?'
'Which one of you took my cabbage?'
A grubby faced boy answered the accusers.
'I put them in the stone soup Mother. It's magic and whoever adds something can eat it. Doesn't it smell delicious?'
'Yes,' they admitted, and lowered their heads.
With the setting of the sun, all the villagers gathered around the black cooking pot and partook of the magic soup. There was enough for all and some to spare. And for the first time in a long time, everyone went to sleep with a full belly...and an open heart. But that is not the end of the story. It is only the beginning.
A European folktale, commonly told in Germany and Switzerland. In Scandinavia there is a variant called ‘Nail Soup,’ in Russia, “Axe Porridge’. These are stories in the trickster tradition, however an emerging aspect of the trickster is that of using their resourcefulness and ingenuity for acts of compassion and co-operation.
Photo by Roman W. Schatz
