Unselfish Sharing here at DG-Sorry for Length!

Most times I have so little to offer in the way of knowledge here at DG; so many of you are so experienced. It reminds me this child's tale sometimes - not exactly the same but the sentiment about sharing is wonderful. Someone here comes with just one thing and it turns into a virtual feast. Thanks everyone at DG for your unselfish giving of gardening information!

Once upon a time there was a poor village in a land at war. There came into the small hamlet a company of weary soldiers. Tired and hungry, they encamped in the town near the town square. The villagers trembled, for they had no food to share with these men, and were afraid the men might cause trouble. Soon the small band of men uncovered a gigantic pot and began to lay a fire for it. Trudging back and forth to the town well, they filled the pot with water and set it carefully on the crackling fire. An old woman, peering from behind a shutter, noticed that they had dropped a round stone into the pot. Unable to contain her curiosity, she ventured into the open, approached the cluster of men around the pot, and after looking in the kettle, "What pray tell, are you cooking there?"

The soldiers looked up and replied, "Stone soup, my good woman, a wondrous dish and so, so much better if we were to have a single onion or two to drop herein!" "I am but a poor peasant and have hardly enough to eat for myself," she answered, "but perhaps there is a sad onion or two on my kitchen shelf". I will bring them here for your soup if you will share a bowl of your fine repast with me." They consented, and she quickly disappeared, hungry with anticipation at the meal.

As she returned and added the onions, a querulous old man approached and after looking into the kettle, called out, "What pray tell, are you cooking here?" "Stone soup, my good man, and a right good banquet it is," they answered, "but how much better it would be if only we had some simple carrot to add." The poor man shook his head and replied, "I am but a starving peasant, but perhaps my good wife has some carrots hidden away for our last bite of food. I would share them with you if you would share a bowl of your fine soup with me and that good woman." They nodded appreciatively and awaited the return of the old man, his old wife and the carrots. After a while, return they did, and added their meager bounty to the pot.

They all sat down and waited. A young girl with a small basket full of herbs from the meadow entered the square and joined the group around the large and bubbling pot. She too was persuaded to add her share and she too waited. One by one, the hungry peasants of the village came out to see what the excitement was about. And one by one, they added a few potatoes, a handful of beans, a small green cabbage and a bone.

There soon appeared in their midst the town butcher, who had long since closed his door. Huffing and puffing, and mopping his brow with with a large red handkerchief, he called out, "What is all this commotion? What pray tell, smells so wonderfully good here in this poor village, which has nothing to eat?" "Stone soup, Sir," said the soldiers, "a creation fit for a king. All that is lacking to gibe it truly proportions is a chicken."

Oohs and aahs were heard throughout the crowd of hungry peasants. It is said that one old woman fainted from the heavenly nature of the thought. The butcher quietly disappeared. Within a matter of minutes he returned, clutching a scrawny chicken, his very last, and dropped it, with applause from the crowd, into the pot.

There was a great merriment in the town that night. It had been a long time since they had laughed and sung and danced - and a very long time since they had eaten so well.

great story, Dea....and each time we give or trade plants, seeds and knowledge....we help people create better soups in many gardens across the country and around the world.

I've just realized more than half of my garden is from DG - whether gift, trade, or co-op and more than 75% of the knowledge came from here. I started here almost two years ago, knowing nothing, having almost nothing and now have quite a pot of soup in my yard.

This message was edited Oct 18, 2003 6:51 PM

Very nice, Dea!

sbarr, you didn't make stone soup, you make Canna Consomme!

John - I have several places in my yard that could say: "from a dear Pardancanda" - hostas, pardancandas, tomatoes, castors... It's almost like a complicated DG family tree....these are from....those are from... oh, another one from...many delightful associations!

Glad you are enjoying your garden, sbarr! I always think of you when I see the 'Phantom' (how flattering! must think of associations when giving gift plants!!).

And many of us are enjoying Dea's astilbes. :-) That's how I think of them when I see them.

Maybe silly or sentimental, but I like to think of these exchanges as enduring gestures between people, often ones that will last many seasons!

Later today I get to share some of Dea's astilbes, John's pardancanda lilies, and Sandra's Morning Glory seeds amd cuttings grown from brugs gotten from Calalily with members of the Idaho Water Garden and Koi Society who will be at our home for a benefit for a dear dear member who is fighting leukemia. I am very happy to have such nice plants and seeds to share for this cause. And the three of you above may share in helping to save a life.

God Bless you all for your gifts to me that make possible a gift of life to another.

Ponditis - that's wonderful!! Thanks John and Sandy - pretty amazing place this is :)

Dea, what a lovely story!

Yes, it does seem like that's what we do here in DG. I'm like sbarr (and so many others)... sooo much of my garden is from folks here, and most of my garden knowledge, and now most of my friends.

Having just returned from the GARU, I'm keenly aware of the generosity... the generosity of Plants, Knowledge, Time, and Friendship.

I too have been blessed by additions to our yarden by friends and family here on DG. As we each add 'ingredients' to the repast I think it pleases GOD very much. I think perhaps we could think of JESUS and the FATHER has the soldiers in this lovely old story and we are the villagers.

Dea, thanks for sharing this, you are so right, I have so many things that I can point to because of people here at Dave's Garden. I agree with Leaflady, I think this kindness and sharing is what is very pleasing to Our Lord. The fruit of Dave's Garden is definitely good, very good.

Dea, so true.......just yesterday, catlady and I shared a truckload of plants from our homes and had a wonderful lunch and 4 hour visit.......the visit is never long enough!!

"eyes"

Yea, I'm bumping this cuz there seems to be lots of "stone soup" going on :)

I may not post often, but I surely have benefited from DG in ways unknown :)

Thanks everyone !!

Dea

Thanks, Dea... and you are right... Lots of "Stone Soup" being made here!

What an apt analogy for DG, Dea. Beautifully written - "ways unknown" rings bells I can't find words for - Thank you.

I missed this the first time around. Thank you so much for bumping it! What I love about this story is how it shows that no one person has to have everything to give in order to be a blessing. We each bring our own unique gifts and strengths to the table, and when added to those possessed by others, all benefit.

Absolutely wonderful story! God does work in miraculous ways through all of us.

Kelly

What a beautiful story. It seems I spend a lot of time crying these days.
Hugs&blessings ... Elaine

I remember having that story read to me in School. DG is so much like that. This place has brought us friendships and blessings abound. Dave you should be pleased with what you have created here. Life would not be the same without our DG family. I was just telling Kimberley how I hate reading the news because of all the bad stuff that is going on. I told her it is so nice to have a place like Dave’s Garden to come to and see how good the world is. You see post like the hurricane victim threads and now the Christmas threads and it just does you heart good to see how many truly good people there are in the world.

I also missed this thread the first time around. I'm glad it was bumped up again. I needed to read this to realize how blessed we are, and our troubles are minor. When a group of people pull together, awesome things come out of it.

Thanks Dea!

I just found this thread. I receive (ask questions)more then I give (answers) and am continually edified by the generosity and kindness here in the garden. I routinely offer prayers for the dear ones here, one and all. mary

Many here have shared their knowledge and plants with me over the years and I have met lifelong friends here that are friends in the purest sense and I keep meeting more wonderful friends here that I now consider my extended family. I am so blessed.

My stone soup has overflowed with love and gifts as we continue to share with each other through the months and years. Sadness, happiness and sharing. What more can we ask for?

Hugs for all,
Lani

ooooooooo, getting teary eyed again,,,,,,

Kelly

Just found this and you are all so right. Being a part of DG is like another extended family.
Sharon

"Bless Us, Everyone!"

Isn't it all sooo amazing? Just think what could be accomplished for someone in *need*. My Christmas dream would REALLY be answered. Saying soft gentle prayers ... Elaine

As somebody told me in recent months, pay it forward. It's a good principle to live by.

Ah Yes Pay it Forward,,,,,wouldn't it be Awesome if Everyone did that? I try to any chance I get.

Kelly

You are a wise man, Howie. I read *all* your posts.
Hugs&blessings ... Elaine :)

Howie ... I have a feeling this is what you're talking about?

What Goes Around, Comes Around

He almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road – but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.

Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was the chill that only fear
can put in you.

He said, "I'm here to help you, ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson."

Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she
rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough
for coming to her aid. Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk.

The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a JOB to him -- This was helping someone in need, and there were plenty
who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.

He told her that, if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed -- and Bryan added, "And think of me."

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile -- one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase.

The lady noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan.

After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a $100 bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something
written on the napkin. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: "You don't owe me anything. I have been there, too. Somebody
once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you. Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.

That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard. She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her. She gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's going be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.”

Yes, I think that about sums it up ... at least the way I'm feeling right now.
Have a blessed day ... Elaine

I have read that it's a great story. I was just sent this one from a friend and thought it would make a nice addition to these storys.


In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either. If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck. The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything.

I had to have a job. Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop. It was called the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.

She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could start that night. I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep. This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.

That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel. When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money--fully half of what I averaged every night. As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.

The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home. One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered.

I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.

I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing
patches on top of patches on the boys' pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.

A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up. When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning I hurried to the car.

I was hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and get the presents from the basement and place them under the tree. (We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side of the road down by the dump.) It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the car-or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what.

When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. My old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the driver's side door, crumpled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.

Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

... Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.
--

This message was edited Dec 1, 2005 2:47 PM

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman
in his 80's, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated
that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour
before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch
and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate
his wound. On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the
doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his
wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation I asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease.

As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now. I was surprised, and asked him. "And you still go
every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?"

He smiled as he patted my hand and said. "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, "That is the kind of love I want in my life."

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

OH my, get out those tissue Howie! I need the man-sized right now!! Like I said, I'm going to have to buy stock in the Kleenex company if y'all keep this up!!! :) I love it. Thanks for sharing Howie.

BTW, I've been the recipient of similar experiences in the past when I was raising my children alone. I could feel her excitement and amazement!!! I know!

Many Blessings,
:) Kathy

O.K. That has now done it,,,,Crying Again,,,, for the good reasons. You all know this stuff does this to me,,,,LOL And I Love It,,,,Makes my Heart so Happy.

I have seen the older lady with the flat tire story before but not the other ones. Thanl-You so much for sharing them.

Kelly

My mom was much like the woman in this story. She really struggled trying to raise all six of us.

My Mom also,,,however there were only 2 of us. O.K. My turn to share. I Love this.