About Stone Soup
I don’t remember where I first heard the story of Stone Soup—but it clearly left a mark! Although the tale has European origins, it’s traveled around the world and there are versions from many other countries, including a Chinese version.
Here’s my retelling of it, for you.
Stone Soup
Once, in another time and another place much like our own, there had been immense destruction in the community. Livelihoods ruined. Families torn apart. People had died. I don’t remember if it’d been war or famine or pandemic (or just structural systems designed to alienate and extract). But I do know this. The result was the same.
Doors were locked. Windows shuttered. Families peeked from behind curtains, only eyes visible from the street, which lacked the sound of children playing or neighbors chatting.
Everyone stayed in their home, safe, and with what meager supplies remained. Food was sparse—and had been for quite some time – and at this very moment, kindness was even sparser.
Until the day our story begins.
On this day, a stranger passed through. Some say their vehicle had broken down. Others insist that they’d seen them walking, not biking or driving.
But they all agree on this: The stranger was very noticeable. Through the curtains all the eyes saw them walk into the neighborhood and they watched as the stranger knocked first on one door, then another and another. Most didn’t answer, but those who did all were asked the same thing:
“Please, do you have any food to spare? I’ve been traveling for days and am hungry.”
The stranger could’ve been a soldier who’d fought bravely, a monk who meditated and served the gods, or a teacher who’d cared for the generations to come.
It wouldn’t have mattered. The answer was the same: No.
Finally, the stranger stopped knocking. They walked into a small green area in the center of the homes, gathered sticks from under the trees, and began to build a fire.
As the stranger worked, the eyes watching from their windows began to hear whistling and humming. Their children also heard, and begged to go outside, for a closer look. It only took one parent caving in and allowing one child out for the doors to open—first, in a trickle, and then to cascade into a rush! The children greeted each other and moved closer – but not too close – to the stranger, so they could see what they were doing.
The stranger had heard the noise, but only looked up after a few minutes had passed, and one child – who just couldn’t bear it (even though their Mum had told them to only watch) blurted out: “Why are you making a fire here?”
They stopped arranging the sticks, looked up, smiled, and said “Well, I’m quite hungry, and I have a magic stone that’ll help. But I have to first build a fire”
“A magic stone?!” The children echoed the words, and their voices rose with excitement and curiosity.
The stranger continued, “Yes” and pulled a smooth red rock out of their pocket. It fit perfectly in their palm, and they held it out so the children could see.
“Whatcha gonna do with it?” asked a young girl.
“Well, first, I’ll light the fire. Once that’s done, I have this giant pot,” they pulled a large brass cooking pot out from their bag, “and I’m going to make soup!”
The stranger went back to work and the children sat down to watch. Fire lit, and pot atop it, they took a very large canteen out and poured water into the pot. With a flourish, they held up the stone, looked at the children, and said, “Now, I place this into the water, and it will make the most delicious soup you’ve ever eaten!” Plop! They dropped it in, and the water splashed up a bit, making the children laugh.
Now, the parents were still all watching from their houses, but many had moved to their (open) doors, to better keep an eye on the kids they’d let out.
The stranger stirred the pot, lifted the wooden spoon to their mouth, blew on it, and then sipped the liquid. “Mmmmmm. It’s off to a great start. If only I had some seasoning.”
“I think Dad has some in the cabinet,” one of the boys shouted over his shoulder as he ran back to his home.
The boy returned with the seasoning—and his father – and handed it to the stranger, who shook it over the pot.
After stirring some more, the stranger tasted the broth again, “Oh, yes! That really adds some depth to the flavor. If only there were some carrots or potatoes to toss in. They’d make it a bit heartier.”
One of the girls stood up and said, “My mum pulled some carrots from our backyard this morning. I’ll go ask her.”
When the girl came back, she was not alone. She’d brought her mother and their neighbor– with carrots AND potatoes.
And so it continued. The stranger would sip the broth, mention something to add, and someone would go retrieve it from their house. They never returned by themself or empty-handed.
Pretty soon, the whole neighborhood was gathered around, and the soup had a rolling boil to it. The soup had become stew-like and rich smells wafted through the crowd.
Until finally, the stranger lifted the soup to their mouth, tasted, and pronounced, “It’s ready!” Everyone cheered, and they continued, “Please, go get bowls. There’s plenty for us all.”
And the people listened. They went back to their homes, collected bowls, spoons, and a few even brought back some bread to share. Together, they ate a hearty meal; laughter and conversation filled the air. Their bellies were full and their hearts warmed.
As night fell, the conversation began to slow down. The traveler – for they were no longer a stranger – spoke, “I’m going to be heading on now.”
“Oh, please stay,” several adults asked.
“Thank you for that kind offer, but I best be moving on. If you’d like though, I can leave my magic stone.”
And that was what the traveler did, after saying their goodbyes. The stone was left in the care of the town’s oldest grandmother. People say that as the traveler crested the horizon, they saw them bend over for a moment. I have it on good authority that the traveler, in fact, picked up a stone they found, and put it into their pocket after examining it closely.
I believe this story has so many riches to share with us, and it informs all of the work I do, from helping facilitate finding what we’ve hoarded away (and sharing it with others) to the fact that when we come together in community, we are so much better and richer.
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my retelling of the story. Keep an eye on the blog for more of my thoughts on how the story informs everything here on this site.
And if you prefer to watch the story, Halo Quin, storyteller, shares a version of the story commissioned specifically for the site!
Hi! I’m Monica, but you might hear my friends calling me Mon or M, and kidlets that I love calling me Aunt Monica, Auntie Monica, or even Momica.
I've been a professional writer + editor for 25 years, business strategist for the past 12 years, and a magic-practicing, spirituality-seeker since I was old enough to speak.
That’s also when my obsession with systems, stories, and words started— and it’s only ramped up as the years have passed. Recently, I spent hundreds of hours in my yard creating a pollinator garden to strengthen my local ecosystem and love on the land.
I help people find clarity, confidence, and direction, whether that’s choosing the right words to convey their message, creating a sustainable business structure + strategy or connecting with the deeper parts of themselves.