The Soup Pot

Today the temperatures dipped into the range of real winter temperatures.  In an otherwise fairly wimpy winter this caught my attention.  Since I had the day off I decided to make the most of it. For this mild-mannered homebody “making the most of it” meant getting some homemade bread rising on the counter and then pulling out the soup pot.

Making a pot of homemade soup on a blustery winter day is one of life’s simple and great pleasures to me.  The pot itself suggests abundance before the first chopped vegetable hits its bottom.  It is substantial, requiring a bounty from the pantry and the refrigerator.  By virtue of my ability to fill this pot I understand that I am surrounded by plenty.

I chop the vegetables by hand.  The repetitive rhythm gives me time to think about the people I am preparing this soup for.  In its way it is like a prayer sent up for each member of the family for their health and well being.

As the vegetables begin to simmer in a pat of butter they give off an earthy fragrance that reminds me that spring and another growing season lie just around the corner.  Soon the earth will bud and bloom, but for now we rest.  The air is redolent with herbs and the smell of the soup that will warm us from the inside out.  Just now I want nothing more than to hunker down at home on this quiet night with good food and better company.

As the soup simmers on top of the stove and the oven heats the bread, the kitchen gets steamy.  When I began my project a leaf on the viburnum bush shivered outside the window above the cooktop.  The soup simmered and brewed for so long the window is now opaque with condensation and the quaking of the leaf is no longer in view.  Inside my little house all is warm and cozy.

Soup’s on!