Canon G9 X Anya Geist, 12Worcester, MA
Editor’s Note
What is home to you? Is it a specific place—a whole country, state, or city? Is it a whole house or just a room? Is it being with certain family or friends? Or is it simply a feeling you get—of comfort and belonging—regardless of where you are? For me, home is not just one of these things: it is all of them. It is my childhood bedroom in my parents’ New York City apartment and New York City and the U.S. and my family, my dogs, and my closest friends and a feeling I sometimes get, even when I’m far from all of these places and alone. The pieces in the issue all explore different ideas of home—as well as what it means to leave home, how one can make a home, and even what happens when someone enters that home uninvited. I hope you will feel “at home” in this issue!
Stone Soup Honor Roll: October 2019
Welcome to the Stone Soup Honor Roll! We receive hundreds of submissions every month by kids from around the world. Unfortunately, we can’t publish all the great work we receive. So we created the Stone Soup Honor Roll. We commend all of these talented writers and artists and encourage them to keep creating. – The Editors Scroll down to see all the names (alphabetical by section), including book reviewers and artists. FICTION Tristan Hui, 13 Akshara Kambam, 10 Lindsey Liu, 11 Adam Smith, 12 Aayati Vijayakar, 8 Sasha B. Wang, 13 POETRY Nora Finn, 6 Addy Lee, 11 Beatrice Lundberg, 10 Grace McAllister, 4 Annabelle Pugh, 12 Kathleen Werth, 9 ART Anaya Ajmera, 6 Claire Jiang, 12 Tara Prakash, 12 Shanaya Saraiya, 6 Rocky Wang, 12
Lady in Red
Soft pastel Alexa Zhang, 9Los Altos, CA
Windsong
Anticipation builds as Emma awaits her father’s opening-night performance in a new opera
Why Frogs Croak in Wet Weather
Once there was no rain in the rain forest and then the cloud was being mean to god and god started to cry and the clouds felt bad so they turned gray and all the frogs croaked it’s okay it’s ok it’s ok Malcolm Dillehay, 9Gardiner, NY Bryan Lux, 9New Paltz, NY
Land of the Giiants
A description of the fantastical creature the giiant and its remote island Once upon an hour, there was a town called Chocolate Lemon. No, not “Chocolate Lemon,” but chO-cO-laht leh-mOne. This town only lasted for an hour in our time, but for millions of years in the time of the giiants. And no, that was not a typo: they are called giiants. Why? I’ll tell you why. Unlike the giants you know, giiants not only have (had, I should say) two eyes, but also two i’s. This town was not unusual in any way you would think. It was occupied by giiants: small, wiry creatures that always floated an inch off of the ground. This town was on an island in the middle of the sea, the farthest away it could possibly be from wherever you live. From above, the island looked like a French horn, its coils wrapping in and around itself like intestines. On the kind of triangle-shaped part, the mouthpiece of the horn, lived the prime ministers, six of them to be exact. To be a prime minister, you had to be in your prime. You had to be in the prime of your career and the prime of your life. The prime of your life was hard to predict, but for most giiants it was around 30. Due to this prime predicament, the prime ministers were always changing. One could never remember more than three of the names of the current prime ministers, let alone all of them. Now, you may recall earlier that I said that the land of the giiants only lasted for an hour in our time. That is completely true. In fact, this story is all about how Chocolate Lemon came to an end. You might have just gasped and wiped a tear from your eye, for you think that endings are very sad indeed. If you are that kind of person, I suggest you stop reading this story right now. Let’s begin. It all started in a children’s school on the east side of the island. The students were listening to a very important safety lesson on zombie apocalypses when a young giiant raised her hand. “What is it, Gary?” said the teacher. “Is it a question about zombie apocalypses?” “No.” Gary shook her head sadly. She was going to ask why giiants had two eyes. “Ok,” said the teacher. “Let’s get back to our lesson. Let’s run through the drill one more time . . . ” She turned around to face the wall, and then suddenly jumped back around and yelled, “Zombie attack!” “Ahhh!” all the kids screamed and crawled under their desks. “Good, good, good . . .” said the teacher, scanning the rows of huddling children. She came across a boy kneeling outside of his desk, struggling to get his rather large head under it. “Suzie . . .” she said warningly to the cowering boy. “The zombies have eaten you by now. Go sit in the timeout chair.” Suzie stood up and walked over to a wooden chair in the corner, sitting down on it with a thud. “Wait!” he said, raising his hand. “How will I be able to get under my desk quickly when the zombies come?” The teacher thought for a bit, processing it. She knew it would make no difference to Suzie, for it took him so long to get his head under the desk. Suddenly, she had an idea. “Class,” she said, “from now on, we’ll have our whole class under our desks. You have time to get under now so that when the zombies come, you’ll be ready.” The kids all groaned and crawled under their desks. They hated being under the desks because their heads always got smushed against the top. On the ground they’d be fine, but their floating inch pushed them up just enough to be squished. One good thing about lessons under the desk is that there were no lessons. The teacher’s desk was the kind of desk where the part where the chair goes is open, but the part in front of your legs is closed off. The teacher taught lessons upon lessons from under that desk, but nobody could see or hear her. To pass the time, the students talked, knowing that the teacher couldn’t hear them behind the thick desk. “Hey,” said Gary to the boy next to her named Lily. “Do you know why we have two eyes?” “Dunno,” said Lily. “To see stuff I guess.” “Want one of mine?” said Gary, popping out one of her eyes. This might sound kind of gruesome to you, but for giiants it was normal. Their eyes popped on and off cleanly and painlessly, so they popped them off all of the time. They took them off to go to sleep or during a scary movie. “Sure,” said Lily, taking it and sticking it on his forehead. Now he understood what the strange blank space above his eyes was for. Well, that sweet little classroom scene was, as they say, the beginning of the end. Gary’s one-eyed fad became the look of the year. EVERYONE was doing it. Soon, a new dump was created in the middle of town solely for throwing away unneeded eyeballs. Sadly, Lily’s three-eyed statement was short-lived, and eventually, even he got rid of his two extra eyeballs. It was three years and two days after that scene when the giiants not only took away their extra eyes, but also their extra i’s. Later that year (in giant time), the issue of having only one eye was brought up between the prime ministers. They were evenly divided on the issue, which brought up the issue of hiring another prime minister to make an odd number so that this would not happen again. This brought up the issue of whether seven or even six prime ministers were too many, which brought up the issue of the disastrously huge population of giants in Chocolate Lemon. This
Artist Portfolio: Sierra Glassman
Sierra has submitted artwork to Stone Soup a grand total of 11 times, and nearly all the paintings, drawings, and photographs she has sent in share a single subject: birds. Birds flying, birds swimming, birds eating fish, birds protecting their chicks, even birds attacking other birds. I have to admit that, before seeing Sierra’s artwork, I had not given birds much thought. Sure, I admired hummingbirds enough to set a feeder outside my desk window, and, if I saw a hawk, I would follow it with my eyes until it drifted out of sight. But I was also somewhat afraid of birds—even of the hummingbirds, who dart out, as if it to attack me, whenever I take the feeder down for a refill. And I certainly didn’t think of birds as having distinct personalities. To me, they seemed expressionless and inscrutable. But seeing Sierra’s photographs made me realize that I was wrong, that birds didn’t lack personality—I simply hadn’t looked at them long enough to see it. In her photographs, Sierra captures this personality. Her burrowing owl is endearingly goofy; her blue heron, pensive; her Anna’s hummingbird has its tail saucily fanned out; and her silver-beaked tanager seems to stare “petulantly” at the camera, as she observes in her accompanying text. In her cover letter to this submission, Sierra wrote, “I have loved animals for as long as I can remember. Birds fascinate me. Their evolution and behavior—how they fly and how they sing has captured my imagination. I hope to continue to help educate people about birds and make new discoveries about these awe-in- spiring animals in the future.” I know she has already educated at least one person about birds (me!), and I hope that you will also learn from this portfolio—in addition to simply enjoying Sierra’s beautiful, perceptive, funny photographs. Emma Wood Wink This charismatic burrowing owl winks for the camera. I noticed these owls seem to only blink one eye at a time! Sun Worshipper Birds are descended from reptiles and, like them, use the sun to raise their body heat. This great blue heron heats up by facing the sun with wings outspread. A Small Tail Hummingbirds are feisty creatures with racing metabolisms. This female Anna’s hummingbird has just spotted an intruder on her territory. She prepares to take flight. Head On This crimson-headed silver-beaked tanager stares at me straight on and petulantly as I, the photographer, have disturbed its feeding. This swift moment passes by as the bird flutters up to the safety of the trees.
Migration
A crane braves hazardous conditions to complete his first migration The crane cocked his head and sighted the mountains just below, the great Himalayas. They stretched into the horizon, as far as the eye could see. The sun slanted over a peak, giving an eerie green-gray glow to the crisp morning air. The wind was blustery, rushing hard against the crane’s feathers. Sometimes the cold pierced his skin, and he had to shiver to keep warm. His wings were numb with cold, but at the same time were burning with the endless, tedious flapping. As the mountains grew larger, the crane in the front of the formation grew tired. It let itself drift to the back, and the next crane, hesitating at first, flew to the front. Each crane took its turn flying in the apex. It was the crane’s turn to go in the front when the lead crane tired. He stared at her tail, half awake, flapping just when needed. At the beginning of the migration, he had been boisterous while the older cranes had conserved their energy. The crane shook his head; he had heard keee-kee-ke, an eagle’s cry. But there was nothing the flock could do. Their only defense was in numbers. The crane was drifting left too much; he flapped back into position. Suddenly, the flock came into a dense cloud. He shivered as the cold dew clung to his feathers, soaking him to the skin. They flew through the cloud for a very long time, and eventually the exhausted crane at the apex of the V flew towards the rear. It was the crane’s turn. He felt a shocking burst of cold as the wind and water droplets blasted his face. His feathers blew into his eyes, further obscuring his visibility. He flapped on. The clouds seemed endless. He closed his clear eye membrane to shield his eyes from the savage wind. He thought he saw a flash of brown feathers, but dismissed it as a shadow. He persevered through the soaking cloud. Eventually, it was too much for the crane; he started to move back to let another crane take his position. An eagle’s talons ripped the air where the crane had been flying. Realizing its mistake, the eagle dove again. Forgetting his fatigue, hunger, and thirst, the crane swooped right, and the eagle dove past him, snatching up the next crane by the neck. The eagle, clutching its prey, disappeared into the clouds. The crane croaked quietly, in shock. Everything had happened so fast. But the crane was tired. He drift- ed to the back and flew on numbly. His toes were cold, hanging limply behind his tail, exposed to the open air. When eventually they broke through the heavy cloud, the mountains were considerably smaller. When the crane was in the front again, he realized it was less windy. An older crane shrieked the stopping call: kleu-ka-ka-kee. The crane considered the land below. Before him lay an open field with a few cranes already on it, their silvery feathers shining in the warm, golden sunlight. The crane descended, crying out in excitement. He put on a burst of speed, landing on his toes and flapping to keep his balance, his primary feathers brushing against the soft earth. He scanned all around him. There were plenty of plants and seeds, and there was a stream flanking the edge of the field. The crane hopped over to it and gulped water, feeling the cool, refreshing liquid flow down his parched throat. He ruffled his feathers in satisfaction. His instincts told him there were no threats to them in this place. They would have to risk the journey back in spring; for the rest of their lives, they would fly this dangerous route. But, for now, they were safe, and the migration was complete. Sierra Glassman, 13Watsonville, CA
Northern Night
Flashlight light draws two silhouettes walking side by side. As the canvas of this heavy darkness turns to this silent night tonight I gaze into the sky sweet face sprinkled with freckles of stars. The crickets sing and spread their wings. Whose song, they ask, is most true? It’s true when the day fades there’s a special way that the sky is the brightest blue. Poppy Lowenthal Walsh, 12Minneapolis, MN Hannah Parker, 13South Burlington, VT
Snowflake Hiding in Blues
Nikon Coolpix L830 Hannah Parker, 13South Burlington, VT
The Tree Outside My Window
As he moves to a new room in a new house, a boy recalls the view from his old window As I stood in my new room, as decided at Burger Heaven on Tuesday, I looked around and saw a blank white wall, two closets, and two windows. I looked out the window on the left and saw a beautiful tree outside my window. It was gently swaying in the wind. I remembered the other tree outside my window in my old room. You could see the roughness of the bark, and the leaves slowly turned yellow, orange, and red as we got closer and closer to the end of the fall. The tree was wise and old. It had a posture that was relaxed but knew everything at all times, like Yoda! One day, I asked my dad if I could go play laser tag with my friend Michael. “You know why you can’t,” he said. Unfortunately, I did. My dad was against all types of guns or weapons. I understood why, but I was still frustrated. “But all of my friends are going and I don’t want to be left out because everyone will be talking about it at school,” I told him. He said: “Just because you’re friends do it doesn’t mean you have to.” I stormed into my room. Then I looked out the window, and I thought about the tree. It couldn’t do anything people did. And people didn’t respect it. They even had their dogs pee on it. But it was content to just watch the world go by. Another time, I was watching the news with my mom when they said a hurricane was going to hit New York. I asked my mom if we’d be safe. She said we would but we went to the store to stock up on canned food. At the store, I asked her, “Can a hurricane kill someone?” “Yes, if you’re not careful.” Now I was so scared I didn’t go outside the house at all the next few days, and school was closed, so my parents couldn’t make me. As the storm was raging outside my window, I thought about what would happen if my building fell over. With those thoughts of destruction, I fell asleep. Hours later, I woke to an ear-splitting snap. At first I thought it was lightning, but it was sunny outside. I slid off my bed into the slippers I got for Christmas, and I walked to my window, careful not to step on the Lego creations I had made the day before. I looked around. Something was missing, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Then I realized. “No, no, no, no, no,” I muttered under my breath, progressively getting louder as I went on. I look down at the ground. The tree, my true friend, always loyal, never faltering, so wise, had split in half. It was just lying there helpless, cracked in half, gone. Gone forever. I went into my mom’s room and shook my mom as I did if I’d had a nightmare. I showed her the tree and then she called the super to take the tree off the sidewalk. We watched out our window as he struggled to push it to the side of the road. It was hard to be too appreciative of the beautiful sunny day because my tree was gone. But now, in the present, I had a new tree, even better than the old one. Elegant and graceful. And no storms are going to hit New York anytime soon, so it should be safe for at least a while. Over the years I have learned more and more that you appreciate things more when they are gone, so you should try to appreciate them as much as you can before they leave. Then my mom walked into my room and asked me if I wanted to have lunch. I realized I was very hungry since I had spent the whole morning packing up our stuff from our old apartment. As I walked out into our new living room, I saw boxes upon boxes and even more boxes. I looked in one, and I saw the back of a picture frame. The photo was of me playing in my room in my pajamas with yellow stripes. I was playing with my train tracks, and I was holding my favorite train, Thomas. In the back of the picture, I could just make out the tree. Suddenly, I remembered one day when I found out I hadn’t made the soccer team. I had been outside my old building, and I had kicked the tree repeatedly in my anger. I went back into my room and put the photo on the radiator next to my new tree. Then I ran back into the living room because I was very hungry, and I smelled quesadillas so I knew this would be a good lunch. Daniel Shaw, 11New York, NY
