Oma’s Soup Pot – Read and Print

By Rachel Dunstan Muller, copyright 2021

(Scroll to bottom for printable PDF)

Liam’s Oma had an enormous soup pot. The first time Liam saw that enormous pot, he said. “Oma, you live all by yourself. Why do you need such a giant pot? I’ve never even seen such a big pot.”

“This is a very special pot,” said Oma. “It was my mother’s. And it was her mother’s before that, and my great-grandmother’s before that. It makes just enough soup, every single time. Never too little, never too much. Just enough. I use it every Saturday. And since you’re spending the day with me, you can help.”

The first thing that Liam and his Oma did that Saturday was to go outside into her back garden to pick vegetables. They dug up onions and carrots and new potatoes. They filled a basket with beans and peas and ripe tomatoes. They picked fresh ears of corn and handfuls of spinach. Liam even helped his Oma fill a small basket with herbs: parsley and thyme and basil and rosemary. “Hmmm, they smell good,” said Liam.

It was a beautiful summer day, and he was happy to be working outside next to his Oma. There were birds singing in the hedge, and the sun felt warm on his face.

When they were finished in the garden, they walked to the market. Liam helped his Oma choose a big soup bone, and some celery, and a bag of fresh peppers. They bought garlic, and salt, and some special spices. Then they walked home again.

When they reached Oma’s house, they took a break to rest their legs and have some lemonade and sandwiches. Then it was time to begin the soup. Oma showed Liam how to take the husks off the corn, and the sweet peas out of their shells. Then while Liam was hard at work, she began slicing and dicing all the other vegetables.

“This is a lot of food,” said Liam. “Are you having company tonight, Oma?”

Oma smiled. “This pot makes just enough; never too little, never too much. Wait and see.”

As Liam watched, Oma cooked the onions and garlic and celery in a little oil. She called it sautéing, and it smelled very good. Then she added herbs and spices and water to the pot, and the big soup bone she’d bought at the market. She added chopped carrots, and diced potatoes, and a cut-up vegetable that Liam didn’t even recognize. “What’s that, Oma?” said Liam. “That’s rutabaga,” said Oma. Liam liked that sound of that word.

With every vegetable that Oma added, the soup smelled tastier and tastier. She added corn and beans, tomatoes and peppers, kale and spinach and sweet peas. Then she ground some fresh pepper on top.

Liam watched his Oma closely. “Mama says your soup has a secret ingredient,” said Liam.

“Maybe it does,” Oma said. “Would you like me to let you in on my secret?”

Liam nodded, and Oma went to the counter. But when she turned around, all she had in her hand – was the bag of salt they’d bought at the market.

“That’s your secret ingredient?” said Liam.

 “It is,” said his Oma. “But watch carefully. It’s not what I add, but how I add it. Are you ready?”

As Liam watched, his Oma put three generous pinches of salt into the soup. “One for life,” she said, “one for love, and one for laughter.” Then she added one more pinch. “And one extra,” she said. “Just because.”

Liam’s stomach was beginning to growl. “Is it ready? Can we have some now?” he said.

“Almost,” said his Oma. “There’s still one more thing we need to do.”

But to Liam’s surprize, his Oma did not add anything more to the pot. Instead she walked over to the kitchen window. “We need to open every window in the house,” said Oma. “Will you help me?”

So Liam did.

When all the windows were open, the smell of that delicious soup began to travel – out of Oma’s kitchen, out of Oma’s house, all the way down the street. And it wasn’t long before Oma’s neighbours began to show up with bowls and spoons and little pots of their own.

“I could smell your soup right down the road,” said the old man who lived by himself on the corner. “Come in and get yourself some,” Oma said with a smile.

Next it was the big family who lived across the street. “We do love your soup,” said the mother. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

After that it was the two men who lived right next door. “We look forward to your soup all week long,” they said.

People kept coming and coming, and Liam’s Oma didn’t turn anyone away. Liam began to worry there wouldn’t be any soup left for his Oma – or for him.

“Don’t you worry,” Oma whispered in his ear. “Never too little, never too much. There’s always just enough.”

And she was right. When the last person had come and gone, and there was no one left on the doorstep, Liam and his Oma walked back into the kitchen. She reached into the enormous pot and ladled up a big bowl of soup for Liam and a big bowl of soup for herself. Then she carried the empty pot over to the sink.

That soup was delicious – as Liam expected. But it was different than any soup he’d ever tasted. Every spoonful felt like a warm hug. It was as if he could taste his Oma’s kindness, and the sun in the garden, and the birds singing, even the neighbors’ smiles.

“That is a very special soup pot,” said Liam, as he reached the bottom of his bowl.

“Yes it is,” said his Oma. “And one day, that pot will be yours. Would you like that?”

Liam nodded. “Yes, please. I would like that a lot.”

Print PDF

This story may be reproduced and used for personal or educational purposes only. Permission must be obtained from the author for public performance, reproduction or commercial use.