In Stone Soup, a classic fable for all ages, three hungry and weary soldiers come upon a village that has suffered a meager harvest. Seeing that the villagers have hidden their small store of food, the cleverest soldier comments, “Your tired fields have left nothing to share, so we will share what little we have: the secret of how to make soup from stones.” Intrigued, the villagers light a fire under a kettle, and the soldiers drop three stones into the water. “Now, this will be a fine soup,” the soldier observes. “But a pinch of salt and some parsley would make it wonderful.” A villager volunteers to add these simple ingredients to the pot. Others offer barley, carrots, beef and cream. When the soup is ready, everyone enjoys a truly delectable feast – all because they shared their food rather than keeping it to themselves.
A similar event on a smaller scale occurred recently here in Jacksonville. The neighbor of friends of mine had such an abundant harvest of potted basil, she decided to share it with passersby. She placed the pot by the sidewalk with scissors sticking into the soil and a sign reading, “Need fresh basil? Help yourself.” My friends gratefully snipped the perfect accompaniment to heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella that evening.
The bounty of basil stretched further. Just when the lush bed of basil that Whit and Jo Parker tended all season was perfect for picking, they were leaving on vacation. In Stone Soup fashion, we agreed to use it all in one fell swoop by having a pesto making party at my house. Whit dug up the plants, and Jo brought over a huge basket spilling over with basil and garlic. In the meantime I ran out to buy tubs of shredded parmesan, olive oil and plastic freezer storage containers. A decidedly generous friend had just given me two pounds of pricey pine nuts, so we were good to go on that front.
Four of us set to work in my kitchen, picking basil leaves off the stems then washing and drying them, roasting pine nuts in the oven and preparing the garlic. When the ingredients were ready, the fun part began – grinding them together in the blender and doing taste tests. After the first few batches we had the proportions down, so we simply scooped the aromatic green paste directly into the storage containers after my Waring blender had obliterated all evidence of the individual components. All the while we talked and laughed and commented on what a grand spur-of-the-moment adventure we were having.
Now we each have a sizeable stash of frozen pesto to get us through the winter. I have already sampled mine on fresh pasta, and it is delectable.
“Help yourself” is a far better approach to living together than the trickery required to cajole the villagers to add their food to the stone soup pot. Beyond that, an attitude of abundance and generosity makes life more delicious in every way.
Gates McKibbin moved to Jacksonville after working and living in the Bay Area for three decades as a consultant to major corporations. This column contains her musings about this remarkable community and her new life far away from the fast lane.