The Legend of Potato Soup

It was a dark and quite gloomy day back in 1909. The little town of Milcreek sat delicately perched between two flowing rivers. Strangers who passed through usually ended up staying for a while. Down a narrow dirt road, where the tulips danced in the brisk fall weather, sat a cottage. It was painted white like the color of clouds and had a quaint stone chimney. An old woman lived inside. She heard a knock on her door. The door squeaked open, protesting years of use. An orphaned little boy, stood cold, hungry and alone. She leaned down and grasp the boy, her fingertips meeting the cold outdoors. "I'm hungry," he said. And she got to work. He sat in a small wooden chair watching the master at work. The brisk clap of the knife making quick work of some potatoes, rang through the warmly lit house. Smoke wavered up from the big pot she frequently stirred on the wooden stove. The scrumptious smell of soup filled the hungry little boy's nose making him jump with anticipation. "Ding, ding." The brass bell rang, indicating the masterpiece was done. Ladling out a good portion of the creamy soup into a bowl and handing him a spoon, the little orphan took a long- awaited taste. Glorious flavor erupted in his mouth. The crunch of bacon, the warm taste of garlic and melted cheese made him want to have a little more. "This is the best soup I ever had," said the boy with a hint of a country twang. "Actually, it's the only soup I ever had," he smiled sheepishly. She smiled her warm smile and simply refilled his bowl. Kindness was the secret ingredient that no one seemed to master except her. And that's how the first bowl of potato soup was made.