Stone Soup

Stone Soup: A tale of abundance found in the Columbia River Delta

Long ago, a weary traveler came down the Columbia River to where it meets the Pacific Ocean. She had heard stories of this place - of salmon runs so thick you could walk across them, of forests filled with mushrooms and berries, of bays abundant with oysters and clams. But when she arrived in the small riverside community, she found people keeping to themselves, each family hoarding what little they had, afraid there wouldn't be enough to share.

"I'm hungry," the traveler said to the first person she met. "Could you spare some food?"

"Food?" the person replied, clutching their fishing net tighter. "There's barely enough salmon for my own family. Try someone else."

The traveler asked the baker, but was told the flour was running low. She asked the farmer, but was told the harvest was smaller than expected. She asked at every door, but everywhere the answer was the same: "Not enough to share."

Finally, the traveler sat down by the river's edge and pulled a smooth stone from her pocket - a stone worn smooth by countless tides. "Well then," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I suppose I'll have to make stone soup."

She gathered driftwood and built a fire right there on the waterfront. She filled a large pot with fresh river water and dropped in the stone. Soon, curious neighbors began to gather.

"Stone soup?" asked the fisherman. "How do you make soup from a stone?"

"Oh, it's an old family recipe," the traveler replied, stirring the pot. "My grandmother learned it from the people who lived here long ago. They knew how to make abundance from what seemed like nothing." She tasted the broth. "Of course, it would be even better with just a little bit of salmon..."

"Salmon! Well, I suppose I could spare a small piece," said the fisherman. "I caught more than I thought yesterday." He hurried home and returned with a beautiful fillet of Columbia River salmon.

The aroma began to rise from the pot, and more neighbors gathered.

"That smells wonderful," said the baker. "You know, my grandmother came here from overseas, and she always said soup needed good bread. I might have some sourdough starter I could spare..." She ran to her bakery and returned with a loaf of crusty bread.

"My grandmother always put mushrooms in her soup," said a young mother. "I was foraging yesterday and found more chanterelles than my family could eat." She contributed a basket of golden mushrooms.

The elderly man who tended the community garden shuffled over. "My turnips and potatoes are ready - probably too many for one old man anyway." He brought vegetables still dirty from the earth.

The woman who ran the food pantry smiled. "I have some herbs and onions that need to be used before they spoil."

The brewery owner appeared with a growler. "A little beer always improves a good stew."

The farmer's wife brought carrots and celery. The restaurant owner contributed spices and bay leaves. The children gathered wild greens their teacher had shown them were safe to eat. Even the cranberry farmer from across the river arrived by boat, carrying bags of ruby-red berries.

As the soup simmered, something magical happened. Stories began to flow as freely as the Columbia River itself. The fisherman shared techniques his grandfather had learned from indigenous fishermen. The grandmother's mushroom wisdom was passed down through three generations. The baker explained how her family had adapted their bread-making to the local climate. The cranberry farmer told of floods and harvests, of learning to read the river's moods.

When the soup was finally ready, there was enough to feed the entire community, with plenty left over. It was the most delicious soup anyone had ever tasted - rich with salmon, earthy with mushrooms, hearty with vegetables, and fragrant with herbs from a dozen family gardens.

"But what about the stone?" asked a small child. "What did the stone do?"

The traveler ladled soup into the child's bowl and smiled. "The stone? The stone taught you something you already knew but had forgotten - that you live in a place of incredible abundance. The river, the forest, the bay, the soil, your neighbors' knowledge and generous hearts - you have everything you need. You just needed to remember how to share it."

She lifted the stone from the bottom of the pot, now clean and smooth. "This stone has been in the Columbia River for thousands of years. It has seen salmon runs and tribal feasts, immigrant families and fishing fleets, hard times and celebrations. It knows the secret: when everyone contributes what they can, there is always enough for everyone."

The traveler packed up her simple belongings, but left the stone behind. "Keep this," she told the community. "Whenever you forget that you have abundance, make stone soup. Invite everyone to bring something - a vegetable, a story, a skill, a song. You'll find that what seemed like too little becomes more than enough."

From that day forward, the community by the Columbia River never forgot the lesson of the stone. When times were hard, they made stone soup. When newcomers arrived, they shared stone soup. When they celebrated harvests or welcomed back the salmon, they remembered stone soup.

And in every pot of stone soup ever made in that river town, you could taste not just the ingredients, but the stories, the generosity, and the ancient truth that abundance grows when it's shared.

The stone still sits in the Astoria community, waiting for the next time neighbors need reminding that together, they have everything they need.

Join us 10am to 2pm at the Astoria Armory

Sunday, November 23rd for

an Emergency Community Food Swap and Pantry Stock Event.