The Story Behind Stone Soup

Once upon a time a soldier, serving over seas in France during WWII, found himself alone and hungry in a small French town in the countryside.  The people of the town were starving.  The entire town was suffering from the seemingly endless war that raged around them. 

The soldier, himself had been separated from his troops during a horrific battle.  He too was starving and cold.  He wondered how he would survive until he was able to reunite with his fellow soldiers.  He stood in the center of the town taking in the devastation and the poverty. His stomach rumbled and growled.

Suddenly, the soldier spotted a discarded stock pot lying among discarded garbage.  He picked it up and inspected it.  Though dented and worn, it was solid, having no breaks in the metal surface.  He dangled it from his hand as he looked for a place to start a fire.  At least, he thought to himself, he could warm his hands and feet.

There was a small hand pump near the center of town where the townspeople drew their water.  He saw women and children, carrying their jars, bottles and urns, come to the well, fill up their vessel and then leave.  He too stopped at the pump and filled his pot with  clear, fresh water. 

Next, he found a small pile of stones sitting off to the side of the road.  He rearranged them to make a nice base for his pot.  He searched around the area for sticks, twigs, leaves and anything else that might burn.  Before long he had made quite a pile of kindling around the pot.  The small flame flashed as he lit the match and then lit the debris. Soon, the flames flared into a roaring fire and the water in the pot simmered and boiled.

The soldier sat quietly for a while and then once again searched around the area.  He picked up a nice flat, round rock.  He walked to the pump and washed the rock off and dried it with his shirt.  He walked back to his simmering pot and dropped the stone in with a loud splash and a thud.  The soldier sat back down and busied himself watching the steam rise from the pot.

Suddenly, he felt the presense of someone standing beside him.  An older resident of the town had made his way over to the fire and was watching both the pot and the soldier.  The man rubbed his hands together as he warmed them near the fire.  "What are you doing, sir?" the man asked.  The soldier looked up, smiled and answered.  "I am making stone soup."  The man shook his head and explained quietly, "We are starving here.  We have no food to share with you, soldier."

The soldier smiled and turned back to his pot and the townsman walked away, shaking his head.  Before long the man was back.  He had a potato in his hand.  He told the soldier that this one potato was all he had between living or starvation.  He offered it to the soldier who quickly cut it up with his Swiss army knife and dropped the chunks into the boiling water.  He thanked the man and told him that when the soup was ready, he should come back and join him for dinner.  The man nodded and walked away.

It didn't take long for a young woman to stop by.  She too asked what he was doing.  He told her he was making stone soup.  She nodded and explained that the old man had stopped to talk to her on his way home and had told her of the soldier and his stone soup.  She quickly pulled out a single carrot and explained to the soldier that it was the last one in her root cellar.  The took the carrot, cut it up and dumped the pieces into the steaming pot with the same request he had made to the old man.  "When the soup is ready, you may come back and join me for dinner."  The woman smiled and walked away.

Before long, towns people were coming up to him with their meager offerings.  One man offered a turnip.  One child brought a wild onion.  An old woman brought a small piece of dried beef.  A robust-looking lad handed the soldier a bottle of wine.  He had been saving it for the day that they were rescued.  A middle-aged woman carrying a child on her hip handed him a clove of garlic and a bit of salt. 

At the end of the day, after all the ingredients had stewed and simmered in the soldier's pot, the townspeople gathered, carrying various cups and bowls.  A woman handed the soldier a ladle and one by one he scooped the steaming soup into their bowls.  The local baker handed everyone a small roll he had baked from the last of his flour stores.  They all sat down to a steaming meal.

The moral to this story.  As individuals, we may not be able to do much, but together we can feed an entire town.