It was Friday evening. The snow was supposed to start and keep going till the next evening. Sledding. It was the only thing on my mind. The snow made my mom worry about getting stuck while driving. At school, the snow made everyone discuss the sporting events that would be cancelled. But I was only thinking about sledding. Yet, by the time I went to bed, the snow hadn’t started. I was worried. What if the forecast changed? What if the snow I’d looked forward to so much never came? When I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did was look outside. I sighed a sigh of relief when I saw that the world was blanketed in gleaming white snow. The lake was frozen and lined by evergreen trees, coated in white. Looking at it made me happy. There is something so magical about snow. I love it. Sadly, we don’t get much snow. Just three or four times a winter. And six inches like today was even more of a rare treat. I was euphoric about my plans to go sledding with two friends and their siblings at a park that is a short walk from our house. As soon as we got there, we ran up the hill and got in our sleds. We made a train by grabbing the rope of the sled in front of us and sliding down at the same time. Half way down the hill, my friend’s sled turned one way and mine turned the other way and they were pulling in different directions. The next thing we knew, our sleds were tangled and we all fell into the snow laughing. Later we experimented with different ways to sled. We sat backwards in the sled. We lay in the sled on our stomachs. We stood up in the sled, using it like a snowboard. I tried to hold on but I kept falling into the snow. I loved the feeling of the soft white snow underneath me, my friends beside me, the view of the evergreen trees surrounding me, the cold air. Perfection. The next day, our parents agreed to take us sledding again. Suddenly, my friend called and said she wanted to try a different place that has a bigger, steeper, hill. “Oh, no,” I thought at first. I was a little bit scared of the big hill but I had no choice. Anyway, how scary could it be? I was excited anyway, sledding is sledding, and I hurried to get ready. When we got there, it was very crowded. The snow was packed so much, it was almost like ice. As I climbed the hill, I felt the ice slipping under my feet. I tried my best to hold on, looking for parts of the snow that were still soft. My friend and I got in our sleds at the top of the hill and started slipping down before we were fully ready. The world zoomed by as we raced down the hill. We weren’t far down the hill when I felt a bump under my sled. I went flying into the air. It was terrifying but also fun and exciting all at the same time. My friend had told me in the beginning that on one side of the hill there were bumps so that you flew in the air. We intended to choose the non bumpy side, but in our rush to start sledding we hadn’t noticed the bumps. I tried doing some of the things I usually do like going on my belly. It was terrifying. I screamed the whole time but at the same time I enjoyed it. Afterwards, my friend said she had enjoyed the scarier hill more. I also enjoyed the thrill of excitement. But going on a scary hill is kind of like eating something spicy. When you put spicy pepper on something, all you are tasting is the spiciness. I would rather just enjoy the small hill and end up laughing in the snow. Of course, in the end, when it comes to convincing our parents to take us sledding, we are all happy with any hill, just as long as we get to go!
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Alien Serenity
A gust of wind blew, but not a thing seemed to stir. How odd, I thought to myself, shivering as the gale sent spikes of cold into the depths of my body. As if to spite the fact that I wore three sweaters, every swirling movement of the air seemed determined to make me freeze. But where I was made all the discomfort go away. I have traveled to many places, from the towering beauty of the German Alps to the vibrant colors that make up the reefs of Fiji. However, I have found that there is something unique to every place I go, something that makes every trip worthwhile. Often when I think about it, I find the varieties of the Earth we live on stunning. And that is more fact than opinion. The desert was not new to me; I take trips with my family to the high desert of Nevada twice a year. Each year we have a great time, and I have learned that, if you look hard enough, the desert is not such a bland place after all. But the desert I found myself in now was different. Every part of it seemed to scream, “I am not dull in the slightest! And if I have to show that to you by sprouting the weirdest trees you have ever seen, I will!” Yes, I was in Joshua Tree National Park. I had an odd sensation, my brain knowing that I was on Earth, but all of my senses saying I wasn’t, that I was on Mars, with giant rock formations jutting out of the landscape all around me to accompany the trees from another world. The deathly stillness didn’t help my perplexity either. And yet, it was wondrous. It didn’t matter that the none of it seemed to make sense, it just was. There were so many different hues of yellow, green, and brown, all intermingling to form an extraterrestrial landscape. Stacked boulders told tales of the earliest days of existence, the trees a constant chorus of agreement. We spent the day driving to different trailheads in the park, hiking a little ways up them, and climbing boulders until our hands were raw. We walked through valleys, canyons, and washed our dusty faces in a crystal clear pond that sat in a small oasis. It was an experience I will never forget. As the sun began to disappear behind the horizon, I climbed one last boulder, the largest one I could find. Once at the top, I sat down and closed my eyes. The wind whirled around me, blowing my hair over my eyelids, but at that moment, it couldn’t make me cold. I was immersed in the full glory of the Earth, and the only sense I had was one of deep understanding and peace. A feeling of serenity. Later that evening we were sitting by the fireside of the cabin we were staying in. I looked outside the window and found myself gazing upon an endless expanse of stars. Among them was Orion, the full constellation. I thought back on the calm I had felt as I sat on top of the rock, and I thought to myself, How odd. There is something in nature that can only be accessed through a search, a search in which one must ignore the stress of the world and delve deeper into the connection between man and Mother Nature. It is a feeling of peace, of calm, of understanding. It is a feeling of serenity.
Saturday Newsletter: January 19, 2019
He hugged her, begging her not to cry, using all his courage to reassure her Illustrator Natalie Chin, 10 for “Finding an American Voice” by Jeanne Mack, 12. Published January/February 2003. A note from William Rubel The Stone Soup digital edition is not the same as the Stone Soup print edition. Like many other magazines, the New Yorker, for example, publishing digitally enables us to do more. Those of you who have a digital subscription know this already. Something you may not have discovered yet for yourselves is that some of our more recently published writing include recordings of the work read by the author. These recordings are fabulous. There is nothing like hearing the work read in the author’s own voice. All of the Stone Soup author recordings are posted to SoundCloud, where you can browse through them and listen to them free. As of this writing we have 10 followers, and that includes me! So, please, when you go and listen to our stories, start following our feed and tell all your friends about it, too. You can also listen to the recordings and read the story at the same time at our website, and help us pay for the work that goes into making this recording program possible by subscribing to the digital edition of Stone Soup. Drawing from our December 2018 food issue, I’m including here a link to Catherine Gruen’s recipe for Basil Asiago Garlic Olive Oil Tortillas. Read her wonderful headnote to the recipe. Listen to her read it. Then, read the recipe and plan to make it for your family. The link I have given you for SoundCloud is the one that shows you the recordings organized by issue. William’s weekend project I want you to record a story or a poem, or a group of poems, and then play the recording back to your friends and/or family. Many mobile phones have excellent microphones and will be sufficient for this project. There a couple tips I can give you to get good sound. Firstly, hold the microphone end of the phone near to your mouth but off to the side. There are vocalizations, like the puff that comes with the letter “p” or the hiss that comes with the letter “s” that mess up recordings if you are talking directly into the microphone. So, to repeat, you don’t want the microphone directly in front of your lips, but you do want the microphone a little off to the side. Record a few lines and listen to what you have recorded before doing a complete recording. Listen to the playback with earphones or earbuds. Close your eyes and really listen. What you are aiming for is a nice strong, clear, sound–like the stories you’ve listened to being read on SoundCloud. Keep experimenting until you are happy with what you hear. Recording a story or poem requires a voice that is clear, and usually slower than a normal speaking voice. It is very common to hate the sound of your own recorded voice. “Is this really what I sound like? Yuck!” Yes, that recording is what you sound like to other people! You will get used to it! You might do a couple or even a few practice readings, or you might just start reading. That is up to you. What if you make a mistake? It doesn’t matter. For today, which is making a recording without the use of sound editing software, just stay relaxed, pause, and go on. For this project, it doesn’t matter what you read. Record something you have written, something a friend has written, or a chapter in a book you love. As always, if you like what you’ve done, then submit the recording to Stone Soup and we will see whether there is something we might be able to do with it. You will use the Multimedia category when you submit. What you are doing is called “spoken word.” We look forward to hearing from you! Until next week Highlights from the past week online This week, we have a new book review from 9-year-old Vivaan, of the “hilarious” book by Tom McLaughlin, The Accidental Prime Minister. If you are wondering about politics and politicians today, or thinking about a career in politics, don’t miss this book, or Vivaan’s review! From Stone Soup January/February 2003 Finding an American Voice By Jeanne Mack, 12 Illustrated by Natalie Chin, 10 Dong-suk followed his uncle, carefully keeping his pace slow enough for his haal-mu-hee, his grandma. His mother was close behind. The group moved along with hurried steps, adding to the bustle of the sidewalks of Seoul. His hand was gripped tightly around his grandmother’s and he shouldered a backpack. Although his feet were quick to stay in line behind his uncle, his thoughts were slow. He was going to America to be with his father, who had left a year before. He could not wait to see his father, but he was afraid his father would not be proud of him. As he thought, his free hand closed around the black stone in his pocket. The stone had been given to him the night before. There had been a specially cooked meal and his grandmother had told her stories and sang songs. She had driven away all his doubts about America. After dinner, while he was in bed, Grandmother had come in and given him a tiny pebble, her lucky dol, or stone. Dong-suk remembered the way she had smiled, showing her famous dimple on her cheek. Then she had spread out her small, delicate hands, wrapping him in a hug. * * * Abbie banged the front door open and stepped inside without taking off her rollerblades. “Abbie May Kessler, what have I told you about roller-blades in the house?” said her mother as she passed by. Abbie smiled, ducking her head so her mom wouldn’t see. She threw off the rollerblades and then hopped on up to her bedroom as her mom yelled, “And you’d better get started on those book reports of yours. If you haven’t gotten them finished by
