In the early hours of the day when the lonely owl is interrupted by the small twitters of rising birds and the first blush appears in the sky, I sit in my blue chair and listen to the world around me. The house is perfectly silent, but soon the cries of the little kids in the neighborhood will fade in. So I treasure this time. And this chair. My sister would much rather have a queen-sized bed to lounge spread-eagle on, but I remain in this little blue chair, my midpoint between sleep and life, between childhood and adulthood. My sister can’t fit in here anyway— she’s too big and too old. So it is only me who curls up in this space to watch the sun slowly advance across the floor to warm my feet. It is all mine. I’ve come to know this chair with all that’s been going on. Right now, I should be slouching against the rigid metal backing of the stools in the chilly geometry room. Yet here I am, observing my world in a little bubble of peace. From here, I can see the trees in the backyard looming over the garage they have entwined with time. And on the windowsill my lavender, remaining hostile inside its yet-to-bloom bulb. Next to me, a spindly side table trembles with the weight of my childhood. Or at least the books that were a part of it. My Father’s Dragon, Adventures of the Little Wooden Horse, and, obviously, Harry Potter, although you can’t really make poor Harry out through this film of dust. Eventually, when the remainder of my tea has gone cold, I do have to get myself up and truly begin my day. As things go back to normal, whatever that is, I know that my little blue chair will soon become a part of the background again. A spot to toss blankets and other miscellaneous items. This period of serenity will fade as the world returns. It will be as if I had been living underwater, and the sounds of life will trickle back as I rise to the surface.
I Am a Thunderstorm
“I’m mixed.” A pause, just a second, barely noticeable, before the gears begin to turn. The pinched brow, the searching gaze, the uncertain tilt of the head, slowly recede in relief. My new friend now has an answer and a box to put me in: “Oh, like café au lait!” “Well . . . sure . . . I guess.” A smile, a reassuring nod, and our conversation moves on. Yet all the while I’m thinking that inside, inside, I’m not like café au lait at all. No. I am a thunderstorm. On the outside I am too light to be dark and I am too dark to be light. My hair is not too straight nor too curly. I am right in the middle. A pleasant blend of both sides of my family. It’s a box, but it’s a safe, comfortable box. I am a symbol of unity, of harmony, of How Far We Have Come. The type of kid they now use in ads to sell overpriced leisure wear and complacency. But inside these two sides of me come together not in peace, not in harmony, but in tension and conflict. Like a thunderstorm. If half of me is hot and dry, the other half must be cold and humid. My disparate elements clash and contrast. They fight and repel. The collision is terrifying, disruptive, and yet productive, for it creates force, light, energy, and, eventually, change. I have come to embrace this storm inside of me and all of the thunder and wind and rain and life it promises.
Beaming Basil
iPhone 11 Pro
The Cheese Tree
A struggling farmer finds a special seed that transforms his life One day, there was a guy named Bob. He was a farmer. He thought he made decent money, until the bills hit him real good in the face. While walking on Dry Creek, which was his favorite place to go, he stumbled upon a seed. It looked strange. It was riddled with holes. He looked at the seed long and hard. It looked like cheese. He said to himself, “I am going to study this.” Bob boosted out like a rocket back to his farm. He rushed to his computer, his shoes squeaking like a mouse. Looking online, the farmer found no data on the seed. He decided to use his farmer instincts. He rushed to the kitchen, opened the cabinet door, and pulled out his music box and a cup. Bob wound up the music box, and out played the familiar tune: Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down . . . He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it silently while he listened to the music box. When the song ended, he grabbed the seed and barged through the door. Bob planted the seed. Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed. Summer arrived. Birds tweeted like a quiet waterfall. Bob looked out his window and saw a large, fully grown tree right where he had planted the seed. He ran as fast as he could. Then he put on his brakes, staring up at something he thought he would never see. Attached to the tree was a giant block of gorgeous American cheese. It amazed him. His curiosity overflowed with cheese love! He grabbed the hanging cheese and walked it carefully back inside. After setting the block on the counter, Bob removed a chunk of feta from his refrigerator, sprinkling it on the block of American. Bob tasted both at the same time. He ate it ALL. “Wait,” he said, slapping his own face. “I should have just tasted the American by itself.” Then a lightbulb fell from the fan fixture above, whacking his head. “Ow,” he said, but at that exact moment an idea also hit him. What if I grab a new seed from the cheese tree and sprinkle feta on top of that, then plant it? Bob followed his idea through. While he waited for the seed to grow into a tree, he made a stand—a cheese stand. He ran back inside his house with plans for new cheese experiments. He waited for summer. He waited, and waited, and waited. “Jofist, I have a problem,” he said. “A cheese problem.” Finally it arrived—the tree was there! Bob went to the cabinet, poured himself a cup of coffee, drank it faster than ever, and barged back out the door. Running towards the tree, he opened his hand and waited for the cheese to fall. When the cheese fell, it was larger than Bob’s whole body! It was as big as a giant Newfoundland dog. At the last moment he jumped out of its way, and an idea hit him instead. He ran back inside, grabbing some wood from a nearby wood stack next to his house. Bob grabbed a rusty metal chicken coop roof and cut it into the shape of a perfect square. He did a few other things to it until he had created a sturdy guillotine to cut the cheese. The cheese was so big that Bob required the help of his neighbor, Jofist. He banged on his neighbor’s door. “Jofist, I have a problem,” he said. “A cheese problem.” “Should I get my forks?” Jofist said. “We’re just moving the cheese.” Bob and Jofist carried the gigantic, 100-pound cheese to the guillotine, which was in the backyard. Jofist said, “Remember the movie about the flying guillotine?” “Ahhhhh, yeah,” said Bob. “Are you sure you remember the film?” “Oh, look! We’re here,” Bob said, scratching his head. The two men put the cheese on the guillotine, slicing it into itty-bitty squares. Then they put the squares into a bucket and walked to the cheese stand. Jofist and Bob took a seat at the stand and waited for customers to roll in. And they rolled in alright. Bob counted about 200 customers. Jofist watched the stand while Bob brought more freshly picked cheese. At night, Bob and Jofist split the cheese. Bob carried his cheese to the left. Jofist took his to the right. Every day, the two neighbors repeated the same thing. Bob’s wealth grew big, and he split it with his neighbor. Until one day, after finishing up their day, a thunderstorm hit. They ran back inside. Jofist was worried that his house would be struck by lightning. But Bob was worried about something else. His concern was the trees! He hoped and hoped. The night grew darker and wetter. He went to bed. He heard a crack, a crook, and a zing. He fell asleep. He woke up, nervous about his trees. Skipping his coffee and music box, Bob ran in his pajamas out the door and stopped in the middle of his field. He was surrounded by burnt trees. The cheese trees were burnt to a crisp. Bob looked at what had been the feta tree, but there were no seeds. Then he inspected the American tree. He looked around and around, losing hope and walking away. BUT, one branch above him dropped a seed onto his head. It bounced, and landed in his hand. Bob leaped with joy! But looking down it was still burnt. There was still one thing on it—C1. He ran to town looking for an address—C1. He found none. Walking back home, he saw Jofist waving at him. Bob did nothing but look down at the ground, thinking about his precious tree. So he went back home and went to bed. Beaming Basil But one day while he was shopping, he was looking around to cross the street, and
Three Expressions of Rain
1: The mist that dances on the water wisps of light contained in tiny, glistening droplets like fragments of crystal the sound mystical and delicate 2: Thick, gray sheets pounding on the roof with giant fists unrelenting and violent a tempest that swirls in the sky 3: A nonstop drizzle muted and bleak full of nothingness muffled and subdued
Raindrops, or Sharpie Doodles?
Canon Rebel
What the Waves Told Me
After a powerful storm, the narrator’s relationship with the ocean is forever changed. Our house in Florida was situated right next to the ocean. There was a big deck, and I liked to stand on it and watch the waves, and whenever I went outside, the salty wind made my hair stick together. At a corner of the deck was a long flight of stairs that led directly to the shore. In the beginning the ocean did not frighten me. What place could be more wonderful than the beach? I loved to find shells, and build sandcastles, and soak my feet in the ocean, laughing while I played. But something happened that made me understand the ocean better. The first storm we encountered was in November. The rain poured down all day long. That night, there was a power outage. I was terrified by the dark. A day later, the wind and waves rose so that we could not go outside. Mother completely refused to let anyone go outside. Fortitude But I, seized by some imaginary power, had to go and watch the waves. I walked to the deck and regretted my decision. It was terrifying! The water reached six meters farther than usual days—and the noise! The waves crashed and tumbled. They beat the stairs connecting the deck and the beach without a hint of mercy. I did not get wet. The deck was high enough for that. But the fear that the waves struck in me! The water hit the rough rocks near the stairs, and water poured out of the rocks in waterfalls. The tiny streams running along the sand were long ribbons of white sticky silk. Then—oh!—a huge wave rose up and pounced on the stairs. It buried the rocks in matcha-green foam, and for the first time I felt the power of the ocean. I could imagine an earthquake rumbling in the deepest parts of the sea, the cresting and crashing waves, and how they vowed to destroy anything blocking their path with tenacious efforts! And yet, this incident filled me more with wonder than with fear, and I saw another face of the ocean. What did it matter that the wind whizzed and swirled furiously around me? What did it matter that my hands, legs, and feet were numb with cold?1 What did it matter that my face was red and nearly frozen? I was awestruck, and paralyzed with the realization of the magnificence of the ocean. 1 I had put on a jacket, but I had forgotten to wear long pants and shoes.
Fortitude
This piece contains some additional resources for educators. Click here to read them. Watercolor Additional Resources Summary & Analysis Discussion Questions Summary & Analysis In the watercolor entitled “Fortitude,” a lighthouse is surrounded by a turbulent sea. Emma Hadzheiva allows the green, yellow, and blue watercolor paints to bleed against each other to show the waves crashing and their force against the lone lighthouse. There is a slight lean in the lighthouse, and viewers almost wonder if it is just holding on, avoiding its collapse. The title “Fortitude” reflects the strength of the small lighthouse against the extreme forces of nature slamming it. Back to top Discussion Questions • Fortitude is defined as “courage through pain or adversity.” Ask your students to share examples of moments when they or others have showed fortitude. Then ask them to consider why this painting is titled “Fortitude.” In what way is the lighthouse showing courage through pain or adversity here? • Ask your students to consider the color of the sky in the painting. What time of day is indicated by the color of the sky? How does our understanding of the time of day change how we see or interpret the painting? Back to top
Set Sail by Moonlight
Pencil
Editor’s Note
This issue is full of storms—actual storms that strike trees with lightning and shipwreck brothers and cause huge waves to crash onto the deck of a beach house—as well as metaphorical ones: “I am a thunderstorm” Pauline McAndrew writes in a poem about being mixed race. A number of characters experience internal storms as well: the protagonist in “Imaginary Friend” struggles to help others see what she sees; Nicky’s anger at her cousin Laila reaches a peak in Cousins; and in “Kindergarten,” Avaline describes the fear and anxiety that filled her when she had to start kindergarten in America—without speaking or understanding English. Storms can be scary, but they are also usually cathartic: all the tension and energy that was building is released in the storm, and afterwards the world—whether external or internal—is calm and peaceful. I hope you will take the time in the next couple of months to explore storms in your writing and your artwork. Rainily Yours,
Stone Soup Honor Roll: July/August 2023
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. ART Dylan Li, 10 MEMOIR Eila Gandhi, 11 Asahi Kubota, 11 William Ouseph, 11 Olivia Petronis, 11 Cameron Schoepfer, 11 Mila Wilson, 11 POETRY Lilly Borchers, 11 Gracie Catone Liebmann, 8 Illaria Liedtke, 13 Phoebe Rosenberg-Shukla, 11 STORIES Éowyn Cliff ord, 13 Finn Geisler, 13 Rhea Kumar, 12 David Kwon, 10 Avery Lee, 12 Major Santiago, 9 Cameron Schoepfer, 11 Joshua Thomas, 12 Annabelle Ward, 11
Highlight from Stonesoup.com
From the Stone Soup Blog Danny, the Champion of the World Danny, the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl is one of the most underrated books I have read. In comparison to his other books such as Matilda and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I feel like this book doesn’t get as much praise as it deserves. Like his other famous books, Danny, the Champion of the World is very funny and imaginative. The story takes place around 1975 in a United Kingdom filling station (i.e., a gas station) on a country road out among empty fields and woody hills. There is a lot of traffic, and the station sees a lot of business. Behind the station is a caravan in which Danny and his father live. You would think that their life was all hard work without any fun, but you would be surprised. Danny is a very clever, loyal, and helpful boy. He helps his father, a mechanic, fix other people’s cars in the filling station. Danny’s father is described as “sparky” in the book, because he always comes up with amazingly interesting ideas. Like his grandfather, his father is a master poacher of pheasants and has lots of creative ways to catch them. He also has a deep, dark secret, but I’m not telling you it! Mr. Victor Hazell is an eccentric millionaire and is fairly well known. Every year, he holds a pheasant-shooting party, which allows people from miles around to travel to his estate to shoot pheasants. He is very conceited and loves his fame. His shooting party has drawn lots of wealthy people to shoot pheasants in trees and then keep the birds for themselves. Danny and his father are very poor and haven’t eaten pheasants in a long time, so they want to eat them now. Mr. Hazell is the archenemy of Danny’s father, so the father and son have to come up with a plan to stop Hazell’s big shooting party. What is Danny’s master plan for catching pheasants, and most importantly, will it work? And what makes him the Champion of the World? Find out in Danny, the Champion of the World, a fascinating novel recommended for anyone over the age of eight that will keep you turning the pages. A master storyteller, Dahl never disappoints his readers with his vivid and hilarious detailed descriptions of events. Moreover, his characters are fun, mischievous, and touching. I was especially touched by Danny’s close relationship with his father. The loving bond between them makes Danny, the Champion of the World a memorable book that tickles and warms your heart. You can read the rest of Philip’s piece at https://stonesoup.com/post/danny-the-champion-of-the-world/. About the Stone Soup Blog We publish original work—writing, art, book reviews, multimedia projects, and more—by young people on the Stone Soup Blog. You can read more posts by young bloggers, and find out more about submitting a blog post, here: https://stonesoup.com/stone-soup-blog/.
