Greed Food

Did anyone else grow up in the
Eat it or starve time?
Times have changed. There are more options now- So many it can be hard to keep up and encouraging children to appreciate their own mother’s cooking is no longer the end all be… it may even be frowned upon.

Here is my favourite homemade 🐓 chicken noodle soup recipe anyways

The weeks worth of:
Old carrot ends
Old broccoli stems
Last nights chicken bones
Slow cooked for hours & hours in water
Strain (throw out or freeze for one more use bones and veggie mush)
Add salt to broth
And the last handful of whatever noodles have been in misproportion in the cupboard for a while -cook till soft.



Buy some mechanically separated meat chunked into nuggets with a side of fake potatoe fries with whatever sugar based sauce is most appealing  served to you by a woman making less than childcare costs, complain about the service and feast on the emptiness. This is the glory, a treat or highlight of the mass value system our culture has strived for at present. Substance-less erasure of heart. Limitless options.

And what was the heart and where did it go?

📚Some unpopular thoughts about various things that may be considered mother’s/women’s  issues including banning books in elementary & highschool or censoring access in homeschool;
Surprisingly, I’m for it.
After spending sometime researching which books have *in the past decade* come into question- it’s appalling what is included as core reading for children and what is left out.
It use to be that books like:
🐗Animal Farm,
🐶White Fang or 💧 🐰Water Ship Down were dis-included/ banned despite being excellent bases for encouraging critical thought.
Now, rather than a celebration of more liberal approach to thinking and information access which would make books like that easily available & discussion as well as critical thought development in critical years; books that are regularly included as “edgy” or forward thinking in general children’s curriculum are nothing more than horrific and poorly written control, and violence scenes against women or the earth with little more then shock, trauma or learned inferiority or disrespect and dehumanizing of anything viewed female, natural or home made as an educational result.
It’s so gross and backwards that there was this opportunity to introduce a wider view in thought process, self sufficiency and empathy through reading- but instead the idea of not banning or censoring children’s books has been hyjacked by the lowest minds possible to no benefit for anyone. Except perhaps those wishing to exploit others. Actual trash literature. Grooming. Normalized hatred.
The term literary classic has changed in  meaning. What once guaranteed true fight till the bitter end stories with useful, strategic and empathic lessons which always included enduring option/choices to take or leave anything while mentally illustrating exactly how integrity should prevail has been replaced by:
Take and take more. Take it all and destroy  beyond use anything leftover. Demand more. Better. Different. Ask for options while contributing nothing. Detract from and distract others from creating anything as actual hero stories.

What older literary classics offered for hundreds of years was a balancing or spiritual view, shining light on the oppression against those who most need voices heard and authentic stories of hope for newness or change.
This has been pirated, appropriated and re-purposed in recent years to celebrating and glorifying those who are and have always been the loudest anyways…
We’re not healthier, living longer, safer, more satisfied. Nothing.
The heart of things, the respect, substance and depth- it’s gone.
It’s actually fucking ridiculous and just maybe starving, going without and by choice is the better option sometimes.
Garbage in = Garbage out.

Tonight’s story is not my own creation. This author has been banned in various countries during his time as well as hailed genius. I first read this short story when I was about 12 years old. This is what I wish was mandatory reading.

How Much Land Does a Man Need?
By Leo Tolstoy

An elder sister came to visit her younger sister in the country. The elder was married to a tradesman in town, the younger to a peasant in the village. As the sisters sat over their tea talking, the elder began to boast of the advantages of town life: saying how comfortably they lived there, how well they dressed, what fine clothes her children wore what good things they ate and drank, and how she went to the theatre, promenades, and entertainments.
The younger sister was piqued, and in turn disparage the life of a tradesman, and stood up for that of a peasant.
“I would not change my way of life for yours,” said she. “We may live roughly, but at least we are free from anxiety. You live in better style than we do but though you often earn more than you need, you are very likely to lose all you have. You know the proverb, ‘Loss and gain are brothers twain.’ It often happens that people who are wealthy one day are begging their bread the next. Our way is safer. Though a peasant’s life is not a fat one, it is a long one. We shall never grow rich, but we shall always have enough to eat.”
The elder sister said sneeringly:
“Enough? Yes, if you like to share with the pigs and the calves! What do you know of elegance or manners! However much your goodman may slave, you will die as you are living — on a dung heap — and your children the same.”
“Well, what of that?” replied the younger. “Of course our work is rough and coarse. But, on the other hand, it is sure; and we need not bow to anyone. But you, in your towns, are surrounded by temptations; to-day all may be right, but to-morrow the Evil One may tempt your husband with cards, wine, or women, and all will go to ruin. Don’t such things happen often enough?”
Pahóm, the master of the house, was lying on the top of the oven, and he listened to the women’s chatter.
“It is perfectly true,” thought he. “Busy as we are from childhood tilling mother earth, we peasants have no time to let any nonsense settle in our heads. Our only trouble is that we haven’t land enough. If I had plenty of land, I shouldn’t fear the Devil himself!”

The women finished their tea, chatted a while about dress, and then cleared away the tea-things and lay down to sleep.
But the Devil had been sitting behind the oven, and had heard all that was said. He was pleased that the peasant’s wife had led her husband into boasting, and that he had said that if he had plenty of land he would not fear the Devil himself.
“All right,” thought the Devil. “We will have a tussle. I’ll give you land enough; and by means of that land I will get you into my power.”
Close to the village there lived a lady, a small landowner, who had an estate of about three hundred acres. She had always lived on good terms with the peasants, until she engaged as her steward an old soldier, who took to burdening the people with fines. However careful Pahóm tried to be, it happened again and again that now a horse of his got among the lady’s oats, now a cow strayed into her garden, now his calves found their way into her meadows — and he always had to pay a fine.
Pahóm paid up, but grumbled, and, going home in a temper, was rough with his family. All through that summer, Pahóm had much trouble because of this steward; and he was even glad when winter came and the cattle had to be stabled. Though he grudged the fodder when they could no longer graze on the pasture-land, at least he was free from anxiety about them.
In the winter the news got about that the lady was going to sell her land, and that the keeper of the inn on the high road was bargaining for it. When the peasants heard this they were very much alarmed.
“Well”, thought they, “if the innkeeper gets the land, he will worry us with fines worse than the lady’s steward. We all depend on that estate.”
So the peasants went on behalf of their Commune and asked the lady not to sell the land to the innkeeper offering her a better price for it themselves. The lady agreed to let them have it. Then the peasants tried to arrange for the Commune to buy the whole estate so that it might be held by them all in common. They met twice to discuss it, but could not settle the matter; the Evil One sowed discord among them,

and they could not agree. So they decided to buy the land individually, each according to his means; and the lady agreed to this plan as she had to the other.
Presently Pahóm heard that a neighbour of his was buying fifty acres, and that the lady had consented to accept one half in cash and to wait a year for the other half. Pahóm felt envious
“Look at that,” thought he, “the land is all being sold, and I shall get none of it.” So he spoke to his wife.
“Other people are buying,” said he, “and we must also buy twenty acres or so. Life is becoming impossible. That steward is simply crushing us with his fines.”
So they put their heads together and considered how they could manage to buy it. They had one hundred roubles laid by. They sold a colt, and one half of their bees; hired out one of their sons as a labourer, and took his wages in advance; borrowed the rest from a brother-in-law, and so scraped together half the purchase money.
Having done this, Pahóm chose out a farm of forty acres, some of it wooded, and went to the lady to bargain for it. They came to an agreement, and he shook hands with her upon it, and paid her a deposit in advance. Then they went to town and signed the deeds; he paying half the price down, and undertaking to pay the remainder within two years.
So now Pahóm had land of his own. He borrowed seed, and sowed it on the land he had bought. The harvest was a good one, and within a year he had managed to pay off his debts both to the lady and to his brother-in-law. So he became a landowner, ploughing and sowing his own land, making hay on his own land, cutting his own trees, and feeding his cattle on his own pasture. When he went out to plough his fields, or to look at his growing corn, or at his grass-meadows, his heart would fill with joy. The grass that grew and the flowers that bloomed there, seemed to him unlike any that grew elsewhere. Formerly, when he had passed by that land it had appeared the same as any other land, but now it seemed quite different.
So Pahóm was well-contented, and everything would have been right if the neighbouring peasants would only not have trespassed on his corn-fields and

meadows. He appealed to them most civilly, but they still went on: now the Communal herdsmen would let the village cows stray into his meadows; then horses from the night pasture would get among his corn. Pahóm turned them out again and again, and forgave their owners, and for a long time he forbore from prosecuting any one. But at last he lost patience and complained to the District Court. He knew it was the peasants’ want of land, and no evil intent on their part, that caused the trouble; but he thought: “I cannot go on overlooking it, or they will destroy all I have. They must be taught a lesson.”
So he had them up, gave them one lesson, and then another, and two or three of the peasants were fined. After a time Pahóm’s neighbours began to bear him a grudge for this, and would now and then let their cattle on to his land on purpose. One peasant even got into Pahóm’s wood at night and cut down five young lime trees for their bark. Pahóm passing through the wood one day noticed something white. He came nearer, and saw the stripped trunks lying on the ground, and close by stood the stumps, where the trees had been. Pahóm was furious.
“If he had only cut one here and there it would have been bad enough,” thought Pahóm, “but the rascal has actually cut down a whole clump. If I could only find out who did this, I would pay him out.”
He racked his brains as to who it could be. Finally he decided: “It must be Simon — no one else could have done it.” So he went to Simon’s homestead to have a look round, but he found nothing, and only had an angry scene. However, he now felt more certain than ever that Simon had done it, and he lodged a complaint. Simon was summoned. The case was tried, and re-tried, and at the end of it all Simon was acquitted, there being no evidence against him. Pahóm felt still more aggrieved, and let his anger loose upon the Elder and the Judges.
“You let thieves grease your palms,” said he. “If you were honest folk yourselves, you would not let a thief go free.”
So Pahóm quarrelled with the Judges and with his neighbours. Threats to burn his building began to be uttered. So though Pahóm had more land, his place in the Commune was much worse than before.
About this time a rumour got about that many people were moving to new parts.
“There’s no need for me to leave my land,” thought Pahóm. “But some of the others might leave our village and then there would be more room for us. I would take over their land myself, and make my estate a bit bigger. I could then live more at ease. As it is, I am still too cramped to be comfortable.”

One day Pahóm was sitting at home, when a peasant, passing through the village, happened to call in. He was allowed to stay the night, and supper was given him. Pahóm had a talk with this peasant and asked him where he came from. The stranger answered that he came from beyond the Volga, where he had been working. One word led to another, and the man went on to say that many people were settling in those parts. He told how some people from his village had settled there. They had joined the Commune, and had had twenty-five acres per man granted them. The land was so good, he said, that the rye sown on it grew as high as a horse, and so thick that five cuts of a sickle made a sheaf. One peasant, he said, had brought nothing with him but his bare hands, and now he had six horses and two cows of his own.
Pahóm’s heart kindled with desire. He thought:
“Why should I suffer in this narrow hole, if one can live so well elsewhere? I will sell my land and my homestead here, and with the money I will start afresh over there and get everything new. In this crowded place one is always having trouble. But I must first go and find out all about it myself.”
Towards summer he got ready and started. He went down the Volga on a steamer to Samára, then walked another three hundred miles on foot, and at last reached the place. It was just as the stranger had said. The peasants had plenty of land: every man had twenty-five acres of Communal land given him for his use, and anyone who had money could buy, besides, at two shillings an acre as much good freehold land as he wanted.
Having found out all he wished to know, Pahóm returned home as autumn came on, and began selling off his belongings. He sold his land at a profit, sold his homestead and all his cattle, and withdrew from membership of the Commune. He only waited till the spring, and then started with his family for the new settlement.
As soon as Pahóm and his family arrived at their new abode, he applied for admission into the Commune of a large village. He stood treat to the Elders, and obtained the necessary documents. Five shares of Communal land were given him for his own and his sons’ use: that is to say — 125 acres (not all together but in different fields) besides the use of the Communal pasture. Pahóm put up the buildings he needed, and bought

cattle. Of the Communal land alone he had three times as much as at his former home, and the land was good corn-land. He was ten times better off than he had been. He had plenty of arable land and pasturage, and could keep as many head of cattle as he liked.
At first, in the bustle of building and settling down, Pahóm was pleased with it all, but when he got used to it he began to think that even here he had not enough land. The first year, he sowed wheat on his share of the Communal land, and had a good crop. He wanted to go on sowing wheat, but had not enough Communal land for the purpose, and what he had already used was not available; for in those parts wheat is only sown on virgin soil or on fallow land. It is sown for one or two years, and then the land lies fallow till it is again overgrown with prairie grass. There were many who wanted such land, and there was not enough for all; so that people quarrelled about it. Those who were better off, wanted it for growing wheat, and those who were poor, wanted it to let to dealers, so that they might raise money to pay their taxes. Pahóm wanted to sow more wheat; so he rented land from a dealer for a year. He sowed much wheat and had a fine crop, but the land was too far from the village — the wheat had to be carted more than ten miles. After a time Pahóm noticed that some peasant- dealers were living on separate farms, and were growing wealthy; and he thought: “If I were to buy some freehold land, and have a homestead on it, it would be a different thing altogether. Then it would all be nice and compact.”
The question of buying freehold land recurred to him again and again.
He went on in the same way for three years: renting land and sowing wheat. The seasons turned out well and the crops were good, so that he began to lay money by. He might have gone on living contentedly, but he grew tired of having to rent other people’s land every year, and having to scramble for it. Wherever there was good land to be had, the peasants would rush for it and it was taken up at once, so that unless you were sharp about it you got none. It happened in the third year that he and a dealer together rented a piece of pasture land from some peasants; and they had already ploughed it up, when there was some dispute, and the peasants went to law about it, and things fell out so that the labour was all lost.
“If it were my own land,” thought Pahóm, “I should be independent, and there would not be all this unpleasantness.”
So Pahóm began looking out for land which he could buy; and he came across a peasant who had bought thirteen hundred acres, but having got into difficulties was willing to sell again cheap. Pahóm bargained and haggled with him, and at last they settled the price at 1,500 roubles, part in cash and part to be paid later. They had all but clinched the matter, when a passing dealer happened to stop at Pahóm’s one day to get a feed for his horses. He drank tea with Pahóm, and they had a talk. The dealer said that he was just returning from the land of the Bashkírs, far away, where he had bought thirteen thousand acres of land, all for 1,000 roubles. Pahóm questioned him further, and the tradesman said: “All one need do is to make friends with the chiefs. I gave away about one hundred roubles, worth of dressing-gowns and carpets, besides a case of tea, and I gave wine to those who would drink it; and I got the land for less than twopence an acre” And he showed Pahóm the title-deeds, saying: “The land lies near a river, and the whole prairie is virgin soil.”
Pahóm plied him with questions, and the tradesman said: “There is more land there than you could cover if you walked a year, and it all belongs to the Bashkírs. They are as simple as sheep, and land can be got almost for nothing.”
“There now,” thought Pahóm, “with my one thousand roubles, why should I get only thirteen hundred acres, and saddle myself with a debt besides. If I take it out there, I can get more than ten times as much for the money.”
Pahóm inquired how to get to the place, and as soon as the tradesman had left him, he prepared to go there himself. He left his wife to look after the homestead, and started on his journey taking his man with him. They stopped at a town on their way, and bought a case of tea, some wine, and other presents, as the tradesman had advised. On and on they went until they had gone more than three hundred miles, and on the seventh day they came to a place where the Bashkírs had pitched their tents. It was all just as the tradesman had said. The people lived on the steppes, by a river, in felt- covered tents[22]. They neither tilled the ground, nor ate bread. Their cattle and horses grazed in herds on the steppe. The colts were tethered behind the tents, and the mares were driven to them twice a day. The mares were milked, and from the milk kumiss was made. It was the women who prepared kumiss, and they also made cheese. As far as the men were concerned, drinking kumiss and tea, eating mutton, and playing on their pipes, was all they cared about. They were all stout and merry, and all the summer long they never thought of doing any work. They were quite ignorant, and knew no Russian, but were good-natured enough.
As soon as they saw Pahóm, they came out of their tents and gathered round their visitor. An interpreter was found, and Pahóm told them he had come about some land. The Bashkírs seemed very glad they took Pahóm and led him into one of the

best tents, where they made him sit on some down cushions placed on a carpet, while they sat round him. They gave him tea and kumiss, and had a sheep killed, and gave him mutton to eat. Pahóm took presents out of his cart and distributed them among the Bashkírs, and divided amongst them the tea. The Bashkírs were delighted. They talked a great deal among themselves, and then told the interpreter to translate.
“They wish to tell you,” said the interpreter, “that they like you, and that it is our custom to do all we can to please a guest and to repay him for his gifts. You have given us presents, now tell us which of the things we possess please you best, that we may present them to you.”
“What pleases me best here,” answered Pahóm “is your land. Our land is crowded, and the soil is exhausted; but you have plenty of land and it is good land. I never saw the like of it.”
The interpreter translated. The Bashkírs talked among themselves for a while. Pahóm could not understand what they were saying, but saw that they were much amused, and that they shouted and laughed. Then they were silent and looked at Pahóm while the interpreter said: “They wish me to tell you that in return for your presents they will gladly give you as much land as you want. You have only to point it out with your hand and it is yours.”
The Bashkírs talked again for a while and began to dispute. Pahóm asked what they were disputing about, and the interpreter told him that some of them thought they ought to ask their Chief about the land and not act in his absence, while others thought there was no need to wait for his return.
While the Bashkírs were disputing, a man in a large fox-fur cap appeared on the scene. They all became silent and rose to their feet. The interpreter said, “This is our Chief himself.”
Pahóm immediately fetched the best dressing-gown and five pounds of tea, and offered these to the Chief. The Chief accepted them, and seated himself in the place of honour. The Bashkírs at once began telling him something. The Chief listened for a while, then made a sign with his head for them to be silent, and addressing himself

to Pahóm, said in Russian: “Well, let it be so. Choose whatever piece of land you like; we have plenty of it.”
“How can I take as much as I like?” thought Pahóm. “I must get a deed to make it secure, or else they may say, ‘It is yours,’ and afterwards may take it away again.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” he said aloud. “You have much land, and I only want a little. But I should like to be sure which bit is mine. Could it not be measured and made over to me? Life and death are in God’s hands. You good people give it to me, but your children might wish to take it away again.”
“You are quite right,” said the Chief. “We will make it over to you.”
“I heard that a dealer had been here,” continued Pahóm, “and that you gave him a little land, too, and signed title-deeds to that effect. I should like to have it done in the same way.”
The Chief understood.
“Yes,” replied he, “that can be done quite easily. We have a scribe, and we will go to town with you and have the deed properly sealed.”
“And what will be the price?” asked Pahóm.
“Our price is always the same: one thousand roubles a day.” Pahóm did not understand.
“A day? What measure is that? How many acres would that be?”
“We do not know how to reckon it out,” said the Chief. “We sell it by the day. As much as you can go round on your feet in a day is yours, and the price is one thousand roubles a day.”
Pahóm was surprised.
“But in a day you can get round a large tract of land,” he said. The Chief laughed.
“It will all be yours!” said he. “But there is one condition: If you don’t return on the same day to the spot whence you started, your money is lost.”

“But how am I to mark the way that I have gone?”
“Why, we shall go to any spot you like, and stay there. You must start from that spot and make your round, taking a spade with you. Wherever you think necessary, make a mark. At every turning, dig a hole and pile up the turf; then afterwards we will go round with a plough from hole to hole. You may make as large a circuit as you please, but before the sun sets you must return to the place you started from. All the land you cover will be yours.”
Pahóm was delighted. It was decided to start early next morning. They talked a while, and after drinking some more kumiss and eating some more mutton, they had tea again, and then the night came on. They gave Pahóm a feather-bed to sleep on, and the Bashkírs dispersed for the night, promising to assemble the next morning at daybreak and ride out before sunrise to the appointed spot.
Pahóm lay on the feather-bed, but could not sleep. He kept thinking about the land.
“What a large tract I will mark off!” thought he. “I can easily do thirty-five miles in a day. The days are long now, and within a circuit of thirty-five miles what a lot of land there will be! I will sell the poorer land, or let it to peasants, but I’ll pick out the best and farm it. I will buy two ox-teams, and hire two more labourers. About a hundred and fifty acres shall be plough-land, and I will pasture cattle on the rest.”
Pahóm lay awake all night, and dozed off only just before dawn. Hardly were his eyes closed when he had a dream. He thought he was lying in that same tent, and heard somebody chuckling outside. He wondered who it could be, and rose and went out and he saw the Bashkír Chief sitting in front of the tent holding his sides and rolling about with laughter. Going nearer to the Chief, Pahóm asked: “What are you laughing at?” But he saw that it was no longer the Chief, but the dealer who had recently stopped at his house and had told him about the land. Just as Pahóm was going to ask, “Have you been here long?” he saw that it was not the dealer, but the peasant who had come up from the Volga, long ago, to Pahóm’s old home. Then he saw that it was not the peasant either, but the Devil himself with hoofs and horns sitting there and chuckling, and before him lay a man barefoot, prostrate on the ground, with only trousers and a shirt on. And Pahóm dreamt that he looked more

attentively to see what sort of a man it was that was lying there, and he saw that the man was dead and that it was himself! He awoke horror-struck.
“What things one does dream,” thought he.
Looking round he saw through the open door that the dawn was breaking.
“It’s time to wake them up,” thought he. “We ought to be starting.”
He got up, roused his man (who was sleeping in his cart), bade him harness; and went to call the Bashkírs.
“It’s time to go to the steppe to measure the land,” he said.
The Bashkírs rose and assembled, and the Chief came too. Then they began drinking kumiss again, and offered Pahóm some tea, but he would not wait.
“If we are to go, let us go. It is high time,” said he. VIII
The Bashkírs got ready and they all started: some mounted on horses, and some in carts. Pahóm drove in his own small cart with his servant, and took a spade with him. When they reached the steppe, the morning red was beginning to kindle. They ascended a hillock (called by the Bashkírs a shikhan) and dismounting from their carts and their horses, gathered in one spot. The Chief came up to Pahóm and stretching out his arm towards the plain: “See,” said he, “all this, as far as your eye can reach, is ours. You may have any part of it you like.”
Pahóm’s eyes glistened: it was all virgin soil, as flat as the palm of your hand, as black as the seed of a poppy, and in the hollows different kinds of grasses grew breast high.
The Chief took off his fox-fur cap, placed it on the ground and said: “This will be the mark. Start from here, and return here again. All the land you go round shall be yours.”
Pahóm took out his money and put it on the cap. Then he took off his outer coat, remaining in his sleeveless under-coat. He unfastened his girdle and tied it tight

below his stomach, put a little bag of bread into the breast of his coat, and tying a flask of water to his girdle, he drew up the tops of his boots, took the spade from his man, and stood ready to start. He considered for some moments which way he had better go — it was tempting everywhere.
“No matter,” he concluded, “I will go towards the rising sun.”
He turned his face to the east, stretched himself and waited for the sun to appear above the rim.
“I must lose no time,” he thought, “and it is easier walking while it is still cool.”
The sun’s rays had hardly flashed above the horizon, before Pahóm, carrying the spade over his shoulder went down into the steppe.
Pahóm started walking neither slowly nor quickly. After having gone a thousand yards he stopped, dug a hole, and placed pieces of turf one on another to make it more visible. Then he went on; and now that he had walked off his stiffness he quickened his pace. After a while he dug another hole.
Pahóm looked back. The hillock could be distinctly seen in the sunlight, with the people on it, and the glittering tyres of the cart-wheels. At a rough guess Pahóm concluded that he had walked three miles. It was growing warmer; he took off his under-coat, flung it across his shoulder, and went on again. It had grown quite warm now; he looked at the sun, it was time to think of breakfast.
“The first shift is done, but there are four in a day, and it is too soon yet to turn. But I will just take off my boots,” said he to himself.
He sat down, took off his boots, stuck them into his girdle, and went on. It was easy walking now.
“I will go on for another three miles,” thought he, “and then turn to the left. This spot is so fine, that it would be a pity to lose it. The further one goes, the better the land seems.”
He went straight on for a while, and when he looked round, the hillock was scarcely visible and the people on it looked like black ants, and he could just see something glistening there in the sun.
“Ah,” thought Pahóm, “I have gone far enough in this direction, it is time to turn. Besides I am in a regular sweat, and very thirsty.”

He stopped, dug a large hole, and heaped up pieces of turf. Next he untied his flask, had a drink, and then turned sharply to the left. He went on and on; the grass was high, and it was very hot.
Pahóm began to grow tired: he looked at the sun and saw that it was noon.
“Well,” he thought, “I must have a rest.”
He sat down, and ate some bread and drank some water; but he did not lie down, thinking that if he did he might fall asleep. After sitting a little while, he went on again. At first he walked easily: the food had strengthened him; but it had become terribly hot, and he felt sleepy; still he went on, thinking: “An hour to suffer, a life- time to live.”
He went a long way in this direction also, and was about to turn to the left again, when he perceived a damp hollow: “It would be a pity to leave that out,” he thought. “Flax would do well there.” So he went on past the hollow, and dug a hole on the other side of it before he turned the corner. Pahóm looked towards the hillock. The heat made the air hazy: it seemed to be quivering, and through the haze the people on the hillock could scarcely be seen.
“Ah!” thought Pahóm, “I have made the sides too long; I must make this one shorter.” And he went along the third side stepping faster. He looked at the sun: it was nearly half way to the horizon, and he had not yet done two miles of the third side of the square. He was still ten miles from the goal.
“No,” he thought, “though it will make my land lop-sided, I must hurry back in a straight line now. I might go too far, and as it is I have a great deal of land.”
So Pahóm hurriedly dug a hole, and turned straight towards the hillock. IX
Pahóm went straight towards the hillock, but he now walked with difficulty. He was done up with the heat, his bare feet were cut and bruised, and his legs began to fail. He longed to rest, but it was impossible if he meant to get back before sunset. The sun waits for no man, and it was sinking lower and lower.

“Oh dear,” he thought, “if only I have not blundered trying for too much! What if I am too late?”
He looked towards the hillock and at the sun. He was still far from his goal, and the sun was already near the rim.
Pahóm walked on and on; it was very hard walking, but he went quicker and quicker. He pressed on, but was still far from the place. He began running, threw away his coat, his boots, his flask, and his cap, and kept only the spade which he used as a support.
“What shall I do,” he thought again, “I have grasped too much, and ruined the whole affair. I can’t get there before the sun sets.”
And this fear made him still more breathless. Pahóm went on running, his soaking shirt and trousers stuck to him, and his mouth was parched. His breast was working like a blacksmith’s bellows, his heart was beating like a hammer, and his legs were giving way as if they did not belong to him. Pahóm was seized with terror lest he should die of the strain.
Though afraid of death, he could not stop. “After having run all that way they will call me a fool if I stop now,” thought he. And he ran on and on, and drew near and heard the Bashkírs yelling and shouting to him, and their cries inflamed his heart still more. He gathered his last strength and ran on.
The sun was close to the rim, and cloaked in mist looked large, and red as blood. Now, yes now, it was about to set! The sun was quite low, but he was also quite near his aim. Pahóm could already see the people on the hillock waving their arms to hurry him up. He could see the fox-fur cap on the ground, and the money on it, and the Chief sitting on the ground holding his sides. And Pahóm remembered his dream.
“There is plenty of land,” thought he, “but will God let me live on it? I have lost my life, I have lost my life! I shall never reach that spot!”
Pahóm looked at the sun, which had reached the earth: one side of it had already disappeared. With all his remaining strength he rushed on, bending his body forward so that his legs could hardly follow fast enough to keep him from falling. Just as he reached the hillock it suddenly grew dark. He looked up — the sun had already set! He gave a cry: “All my labour has been in vain,” thought he, and was about to stop, but he heard the Bashkírs still shouting, and remembered that though to him, from below, the sun seemed to have set, they on the hillock could still see it. He took a long breath and ran up the hillock. It was still light there. He reached the top and saw

the cap. Before it sat the Chief laughing and holding his sides. Again Pahóm remembered his dream, and he uttered a cry: his legs gave way beneath him, he fell forward and reached the cap with his hands.
“Ah, that’s a fine fellow!” exclaimed the Chief. “He has gained much land!”
Pahóm’s servant came running up and tried to raise him, but he saw that blood was flogging from his mouth. Pahóm was dead!
The Bashkírs clicked their tongues to show their pity.
His servant picked up the spade and dug a grave long enough for Pahóm to lie in, and buried him in it. Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed.

🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories written by Canadian Author  Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailers by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌


🥕Courtesy Soup🍲

🍲Good evening, and welcome back.
God(ess)willing: The summer days were long and enchanted.
The fall equinox has passed and its time to enjoy the bounty of the sun, long after its set. Hot fires, warm nourishing soups and delightful company. Again, standing at the stove or if you’re lucky (or just too busy) an Instant Pot.
Tonight’s Soup is Carrot Ginger
2 cups of water
About 10 carrots
1 onion
4 toonies size of ginger (2 to cook with everything, and 2 to add raw & blend with soup after)
Pinch of salt
Cook for 1 hour on stove top. Cool. Blend.  Reheat.
Or 👩‍🍳
Cook for 20 min in Instant Pot, and use an immersion blender.
Tonight’s story is about cutting corners.
Which ones are okay to skip and what leaves us running in circles rather than getting anywhere? Does the end always justify the means or did something important get lost along the way to faster and easier?
Has efficiency without a multifaceted point become meaninglessness?
I don’t know, but it’s a good exercise in thinking.
This soup reminds me of my Grandma.
Earlier, a thought came to my mind of how women went from my Grandmothers’ generation to where we are now. looking at the leading female roles in movies:
In Grandma’s generation movies showed men always standing simply when a woman entered or left a room (unless she was a maid)
Mom’s generation movies showed James Bond; love them and leave them maids and princesses alike
My generation, wow – cool movies centred around a female lead. The Pretty Woman movie. 🙃What a bad example.
To this generation-The Hunger Games.
It’s a good thing we aren’t  influenced by media as a species or women would have went in only 4 generations from idolizing only being shown in media representation for being respected (or potential) wives or mothers,
To disregard for any of that
To glamorized prostitution
To literally obliterating the need for any man and being at war against them.
So what happened? Maybe men did just lose their manners. It was men who dreamed up those movies. It’s a slippery slope. And maybe women just came tumbling after.
I like my new instant pot… but, maybe it’s not a bad thing to have to stand once and a while to cook, to watch over, put the work in and really cherish what I know will nourish my family.
🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author and Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌


Cat on a tea cup
Good day Dearest reader,
Once again we are right out of soup for tonight. Sometimes there is just not enough of things to go around…
But, this is okay. Sometimes we need a bit more substinance than watered down words or ingrediants. Sometimes the complexity and confusion of following a pre-set recipe is too much at the moment.
The feeling of overwhelm.
The cure is called:
and getting some healthy perspective.
Nettle or cammomile is ideal.
Simply place in hot water and allow to steep.
Sit and relax.
Perhaps, think about making something later. The sort of filling stuff mom made as a child. Wait until all feels calm and the tea has worked it’s magic.
Overwhelm happens…
There seems to be many of these times in womens’ lives where there should be a level of understanding to the emotional and spiritual complexity invovled for us; puberty, childbirth, marraige, menopause, becoming a widow- ect. But, true support to flourish through the natural cycles is just not there or encouraged and in fact the opposit seems to be perpetuated against us as women.
Sadly, we live in a culture that expects us to almost preform a certain way during these major life events as women or just basically dissapair in natural form and we’re seen to be shameful and inviting our own pain and abuses by others if not.
Not allowed to transition out of childbaring years gracefully, Not allowed to birth without trauma, Not allowed to marry without total self sacrifice, Not allowed to transition into womanhood without shame, Not allowed to even greive and experience any small still needed joys as well.
But who the fuck is it that we allow to decides these terms and dictates for us?
*Onset of puberty for most women means getting a bra and having to become overly conscience not to offend anyone with our bodies. Or risk being distracting and getting assulted.
*Childbirth for most women means losing all say or control over our own bodies to those better qualified or risk everybody dying.
*Marriage means losing our original names and sometimes aspirations for his name. His dreams or being a total feminist bitch
*Menopause (like childbirth) is viewed by most as a pathology to be controlled…Ha, but it can’t be and the shock of realizing this fact about our bodies so late in life is just crazy making.
*And becoming a widow…
Show me a well known media example where the woman is not either portrayed as a self isolated, wearing black, silent mess OR someone who’s only appearent connection to others is to be financially abused.
Our world needs more people respecting these natural passages, developments and times in womens’ lives as sacred. Protecting and allowing the space for each woman to set her own unique course rather than dictating stereotypes and fear mongering for falling outside the two dimensional sociatal standards of feminity.
Realizing these are specifically vulnerable as well as powerfull times in our lives to be a woman and if our basic rights to simply live our lives and exist as we are are not seen- emotional wellbeing suffers drastically and permenantly.
It just breaks my heart all these totally unecessary, damaging, judgemental and nonsensical constraints still being placed upon women to be totally appeasing to others especially at these pivital moments in our lives and god fucking help us if we do chose to just live our lives because we know innately the sociatal standards of *NOT* respecting women as whole beings are currently wrong.
Look at the extreme body hatred many pubescent girls face.
The high incidence of post partom depression new moms experience.
Domestic abuse in marraiges.
Removal of female parts as the solution to onset of menopause.
And I do try not to dwell on these things as areas for improvement that mainstream feminism chose to ignore in favour of simply erasing puberty, childbirth, marriage, menopause, partners death as valid experiences woman still have…
But, these experiences are all still here for us as women and still potentially isolating as well as more pain inflicted upon us than necessary due to achetypal shackles placed on us from the minds eye- when in truth these times are a huge oppertunity for growth, love and connection.
🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author and Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌

🍅How to ruin Chili forever🌶

A sweaty man consuming some chili

Hello and good evening Dearest dinners,

Chili is quintesential for a stereotypical man soup. The ingrediants are overkill. People have been socialized to have loud opinions about it. There’s lots of meat, farting and most times I’ve had it, somebodies’ mom or domestically inclined life partner just happened to whip up a big batch casually for everyone to enjoy while watching whatever bullshit sporting event she “Really enjoys just hosting and cleaning up after.” Often, there’s a convenient pile of grated cheese (and grating cheese is the fucking worst kitchen job) next to all the bowls and sometimes an almost magically whimsical placed bag of fritos as toppings.

I don’t think Im alone in having no taste for that type of chili. I simply don’t like it on so many levels…although, cheese and chips are pretty appealing and I actually do really appreciate when anyone else serves this- I guess I just won’t ever make it like that myself again.

Did you know that the vast majority of domestic violence murders happen on the same days as major sporting events? For a long time, anyone in position to take note of this such as ER doctors or police chalked it up to simple coincidence; however, a funny thing happened when more women started becoming doctors and police officers too- they discovered it was not just a weird coincidence at all but a real pattern.

Domestic violence counselors equipt with better information from women in places of power began warning their repeat clients of these chilling stats. Telling them not to try and make their standard chili because if his team loses it’s better not to be in the house at all. It won’t matter how nice or tasty the snacks were.

Alternative Vegan Chili Recipe

2 cans diced tomatoes

1 can black beans

1 onion chopped

1 orange pepper chopped

1 garlic chopped

2 celery stalks chopped

1/2 cup brown rice.

1 tablespoon chili powder

1 teaspoon salt

Cover and simmer for about 1 hour. The whole meal (serves 4) costs about $4.00 and by consuming both beans & rice together you get an easy to digest complete protein. A great, cheap and easy alternative to bring camping. It’s pretty nice as a vegetarian dish (rather than vegan) with a big scoop of sour cream as the topping too, which is a good way to add more healthy fats if possible.

Tonight’s story is called,

❄The Last Time Winter Camping🏕

It wasn’t actually winter, but early spring and the snow was still falling. This time, I had packed appropriatley for the 3 day trip into a secluded area of woods I knew well. Everything was all set and it was going to be fun and relatively easy compared to winter survival camping.

On the first night, making and keeping a fire was hard but I managed really good. There was yummy, hot food to eat and I stayed very warm.

On the secound night, there were strange noises in the woods that sounded like possible Sasquatches. In the morning, many of the things left out were missing. I decided it was time to go home. I lived on my own at that point, so home was more appealing than winter camping ever was.

After some research, and discovering Moose mating season happens at approximately the same time I was camping, I’ve concluded this was the noise I heard…

Pretty wild, check it out.


Doesn’t explain the missing items though. Perhaps I will just always be a few pegs short of a proper tent set up? hahahaha🤔😉✌


🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author and Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌












Crazy Beans

Pythagoras crazy green beans
Good evening dearest reader,
Tonight’s dish is lovingly and cringingly referred to (depending on who you ask) in our home as Lentil Soup!
How dumb is a picture of green beans atop a lentil soup recipe?
And why the heck would someone who doesn’t appear to know the difference between green beans and lentils know anything about any recipes?
Hold your fucking horses, because  tonight’s story will be a historical bean comparison analysis centered around the science of a famous bean avoiding cult you may or may not have heard of before and it’s facinating.
Lentil soup has four ingredients.
1/2 bag of red lentils
1 chopped onion
Cooks covered for about an hour or forever.
Mix regularily with a fork.
Lentil soup is crazy simple. Very filling and comforting. Lentils are a high source of natural, easy to digest folate. Folate is required for healthy fetal development during pregnancy and it’s a little different in structural make up than synthetic folic acid which is in prenatal vitamins.
Did you know there is a significant portion of our population who currently are highly allergic to synthetic folic acid but not folate? This is due to a gene mutation called mthfr. No joke 😐
Prenatals make these people feel very ill and actually build up folic acid in the blood stream which inhibits absorbing actual folate. It’s not just the synthetic vitamins from a plastic container making some people sick it’s literally everything from the grocery store that has folic acid added to it -which is most boxed food.
For tonight’s story I want to talk about Pythagoras and green beans.
Pythagoras was a greek philosopher, known as a wise man. He invented math.
In his day, he had a devoted following of disciples keen to learn math- but, it was a very small group. Math seemed insane and even dangerous to most people. This is true fact although hard to believe; even more difficult to believe is the fact that Pythagoras had one main rule for his minions if they wanted to learn anything he taught.
That was honesty his main rule. There are stories of Pythagoreans choosing death over so much as touching a green bean and biting their own tongues off rather than speak about why they were being so weird about beans.
For a long time since people speculated on the metaphysical reasons for this lunacy.
The shape of the beans?
   The colour of the beans?
      The problem of a person’s essence               being made of breath and perhaps,
           Someone who ate beans could                     lose their spirit/essence through                 Farting?
Songs and poems that are still known today came into existence to encourage bean consumption and dispell pythagorean fears. it wasn’t until more recent times it was discovered that actually many folks in the Pythagorean era had a gene mutation similar to todays’ mthfr problem and would die or at least become unwell if they consumed green beans. So, it wasn’t crazy at all afterall.
Just some food for thought.
When I was a small girl about 4 years old I would not eat green beans. I gave my parents a very difficult about this.
*tears, gaging*
After (more recently) learning about Pythagoras’ crazy bean theory this may be an excellent arguement for reincarnation 😂 or at least sympathy for the picky eaters.
A few links attached for research.
 🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌

🍲🐱🌱Seasonal Celebration Soup🌟🐁🌺1 of 4

Summer solstice ancient wisdom compass

Happy Summer Solstice Dearest Dinners!🌟⭐🌞☀️

What a magikal time of year this can be filled with wonder and a bounty of fresh, wild foraged herbs and vegetables!

Tonights recipe and reading will be quick and simple. Spend as much time as possible in the outdoors. Living.

🍲Nettle & Brown Rice soup✌

Fresh foraged Nettles (3 handfulls woŕth *if you’re expert)

1 cup high quality, cooked brown rice

1 1/2 cups raw milk

1 1/2 cups water

pinch of salt/pepper

***Store bought kale & GMO milk can be substituted for those less resource inclined/experienced/daring***

Blend all ingrediants and simmer gently for 5 minutes.

We enter a shift in time and energy as the most masculine portion of our internal barometers flux in harmony with father sun taking his highest stance of the year, so far from earth yet never felt more in warmth of presence. Later, with the sun’s return a harvest- equinox. Sprouts to bloom.

A short Poem about Summer

🐁Too Much, Too Hot🐱

A star rose to the center of our sky

To mark this time.

It’s coming. He is coming back home.

But, it will not be bliss. It will be too much, too hot.

He is like the guest who demands access to all and ruins your things. He lives here though and will never leave.

Yours is not the only home he has keys.

But, for now he is out like a tomcat in the night.

Relax little mice, there is still time to play while the sun shines high,

become busy, grow, multiply.

The hunger is mutual.☀️


🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author and Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌




🍄Cream of Mushroom Encounters👻

A place for thoughts. Little fairy house.

Good Evening Dear reader,

For tonight’s soup you will need a can of cream of mushroom soup and water or milk if you’re rolling in it. Yes, commercial canned soup has issues, BPA coating ect ect ect. Yet, sometimes that is what we have to work with.

I have an especially weird love for this soup. My mother made it (opened it) for me. My grandmothers made it (opened it) too. I usually keep a flat of it in the pantry in case the world ends or something only slightly less dramatic happens like I don’t fucking feel like or have time for actually cooking.

To me, this soup has some good fats, B12 and lots of salt. Substinance food. I’d say it’s just probably the most normal comforting food there could be in a store bought can. But, there was a time where I’d cook it up and strange things would happen. I dont blame the soup though.

About a decade ago, I regularily worked the grave yard shift alone (as the only staff) in a group home a short drive from the city that was surrounded by nothing but farms/farmland. The house was built to look like an everyday home on the outside but the inside resembeled a hospital corridor only warmer. This was home to five lovely men who are non verbal and non ambulatory. The government funded the building of their home, their move, and staffing needs after one of the larger institutions in Canada was shut down permenantly for completely deplorable, unethical and abusive conditions. Many patients were displaced/lost during that time, so I always look at that home as a nice, sort of magical place where at least some comfort and stability could be offered and I still visit the men there whenever Im nearby.

My responsibilities during night shift were to do rounds every hour, practice comfort measures, give nighttime and am medications, audit the previous daily meds given and any money accounts, some meal planning, change breifs, cleaning, and log entries. Because night shift could not leave or take a real undisturbed break (in case the men would require care during that time and only one staff on), the union agreed that a meal would be provided for night shift staff in lou of overtime pay. And can you guess what the meal was?

That’s right, a can of cream of mushroom soup. It was the only thing which made sense because unfortunately anything else would have come out of the men’s food budget/rations as per the original agreement- it was overlooked in that part of the bargaining and planning that they usually did not eat during night shift so making a whole extra meal would have negatively effected what food quantities was left to work with for them. Most night shift staff knew to bring their own meal, but the cream of mushroom soup was there if not.

I would take my “break” at 3am most nights. This consisted of throwing breifs in the outside laundry bins while my soup or whatever I brought warmed. Two times very strange things happened and both those times I had mushroom soup on, which is most likely just coincidental.

The first time, I was outside and what looked like a very muscular bullmastive dog came jontily walking down the dark desolate street right towards me wagging his tail. I was thrilled because I absolutely love dogs. I softly called out in the friendly stupid voice I reserve for dogs,

“Hey big fella! You gonna come get some pats!?!” As I playfully tapped the palms of my hands to my knees.

Well, this took the dog by surprise and he had to stop for a moment to think about it- which I thought was strange. A feeling hit me, pretty hard that this was a very strange dog indeed as he was now only ten feet away but still in the shadows walking weirdly slow and holding his tail pretty funny up behind him. I cooed to him,

“Are you hurt buddy? Commere let me take a look at you.”

Five feet away now in full light, he fucking smiled at me! With fangs!


Went trough my head more times than necessary. I backed back into the home, somehow, without actually moving.  Locked the door and checked my soup.

My confidence in my ability to recognize basic animal traits was so shot after that that I still wonder if it was a cougar or some sort of friendly demon?

Either way, I still feel scared just thinking about it.

The secound time a really strange thing happened there was years later while I was again warming cream of mushroom soup. I was outside again at about  3 am and i just got the feeling to run. Like for no reason I could know of at all. So, I did it. Right back into the home- still holding the bag of breifs I was trying to take out. This time, I slammed the door and locked it hard.

I took a step back and put the bag on the floor. I laughed at myself a little for my panic. And then I screamed! A young man in a bright orange hoodie was looking at me through the door window!!! He was standing completely still, not even blinking.

‘This can not be real.’ I thought to myself. But, he was still there just the same. Doing nothing. I ducked down low out of sight, sorta crawled the few steps towards the door and slid the curtain shut, but it did not help me feel much better because there where many bare windows in this home. I realized that I should probably do something, and that thought seemed worse than doing nothing, yet more reasonable.

I stood up and quickly peaked out the curtain.

“Oh Mi God!” He was still there!

I pulled the curtain back closed stayed low (for what reason Im not sure) and sort of half bent over shuffle ran to the office to get the phone.

“Fuck!” The office did not have blinds either. I grab the phone and peak out that window. He’s still there, and now he’s having a fucking cigarette and talking to himself!

‘Is this an emergency?’ I think to myself. Well no. The doors are pretty heavy. The windows are all solid. We are pretty safe in here, but it’s scary. I grab the phone and the phonebook and find the non emergency police number.

“Yes, I am working here________ and there is a strange man just hanging about the property, looking in the window.”

“Okay, we’ll send someone right out.”

“Thank you.”

“Is he still there?”

“Um, I crawl out from under the desk and peak again.” Breathing a sigh of relief.

“He’s walking away.”

“Okay good. We’re still sending an officer, do you want me to stay on the line until he arrives?”

“No. That’s okay, I need to do rounds and don’t want to wake anybody up.”

My soup burnt. I see flickering blue and red lights several times passing by out the window.  An uneventful hour passes filled with cleaning the elements and stove and then that heavy knock at the door. The officer tells me they’ve picked the guy up, says he’s known to them and asks if we keep medications on site.

He tells me not to be afraid to call again if anything like this ever happens again.

I wonder how the guy knew this was a group home?

Anyways, those were the two super strange things which happened at that home while making cream of mushroom soup. Lots of other just kinda weird things and sorta shitty meals happened during grave yard shifts there and while working at hospitals too – seems to go hand in hand I guess. Chaos, eating poorly and working in health that is.

But how amazing to have been so close to a mountain lion, if that’s even what it was?

🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌





Tao Soup

Hands on an empty bowl. Whats for dinner? Fasting. Starving.
Good evening,
There will be no soup recipe tonight.
It must be noted here for those who are foolish that nothing I am writing should replace common sense. Here, fasting will be discussed (*lecture form) strictly as a spiritual idea rather than advice or in place of any sort of expert opinion. By continuing to read you take full responsibility for your own spiritual practices, body, thoughts. I would hope most people are above being influenced to any degree in the negative by a simple blog filled with many things that can be chalked up to little more than whacky ideas…but there is a reason lawnmowers have stickers on the blades (*With illustrated images too!*) warning not to put hands in while the engines on. Somebody did it. If you are someone who requires more in depth warnings than I will give as a factor in decisionary processing skills- kindly fuck off. This isn’t for you. At all. It’s for people who do their own research and already have their own working ideas about things before comitting to anything.
Still here?
Tonight, I invite you to cultivate your inner being using a sort of kitchen tao and will give you a recipe for your mind and a purge for your body.
Contrary to the popular belief,
“People can not learn on an empty stomach.”- I know an empty stomach to fuel motivation and spirit like no other means in the world and I believe a better common phrase could be,
“People will look inward, become crafty, and not be the slightest bit responsive to oppression when fasting.”
I think this is why fasting is not recommended or generally encouraged. Full people are compliant people.
There is a very large difference in effect upon the individual’s sense of being and ability to reason between consciously choosing to fast for a set period of time/number of meals or wanting yet being denied access to good/ample food. I have experienced both perspectives when I was a younger women, as Im sure many single mothers who do not compromise on their children’s food quantity or quality in todays econmoy/wage gap do too.
It seems sometimes that although women/mothers still do most of the buying, cooking and dishes around food in the average home- we are still and perhaps always will be the ones to go with out as well.
Ever purposely wait until after dinner to ask someone to do something they might not enjoy doing as much as you would enjoy them doing it for you?
This may be why and how going out for dinner became the most popular courting ritual in our culture. And why men say they don’t like girls who only eat salads on dates- but also loves girls who look like they only eat salads. Hahaha.
If food has the power manipulate a persons actions (what would you do for a klondike bar?), food most certainly can be used as a tool to master ones own will power as well. Self control. Connection to a non material source for nourishment. Crazy talk.
I could go on and on about this;
The whys
The wheres
The whens
The whats
The whoms (is it serving?)
Of our current ideas around food.
But for tonight I will stick to the how’s of fasting as a philosophical theory only.
To learn new and complex things the brain requires optimal blood flow. This does not happen when blood is centered towards digestion. For the same reason men can not function if thinking about much else during and become exhausted after sex -all mammals become sleepy, and fight the urge to shut down when attempting to raise intelligence just the same. It tires us out if there’s anything else going on in the body. More so, when our bellies are full and the life force that runs in our blood is diverted between tasks of digestion and thinking.
The head becomes too heavy for it all and a nap feels much more appealing than learning.
Want a super solid night’s sleep? Try learning something new on a full stomach. Sleep will win.
I would rather run into a full tiger than a hungŕy one.🐯
But no one is here tonight reading this to discover exciting new ways to come across as pleasent, appealling and possibly more compliant to the rules of civility. People who really, truely enjoy soup have a little higher blood/brain ratio in general for the simple reason that it’s easier on the digestive tract.
On another note,
Perhaps pigs are simply tigers devolved from lack of need?🐷
How can one start to make sense of what fasting can accomplish specifically as a meditative/spiritual tool? A general understanding in praticing personal metaphysical analysis during daily life as well as the ability to look for the tao in simple things are crucial starting points.
(in Chinese philosophy) the absolute principle underlying the universe, combining within itself the principles of yin and yang and signifying the way, or code of behavior, that is in harmony with the natural order.
the branch of philosophy that deals with first principles and seeks to explain the nature of being or reality (ontology) and of the origin and structure of the universe (cosmology): it is also closely associated with the study of the nature of knowledge (epistemology)
speculative philosophy in general
esoteric, often mystical or theosophical, lore. The theory or principles (of some branch of knowledge). POPULARLY, any very subtle or difficult reasoning.
These are deep questions that only the hungriest people can ask, while daring to expect answers too.
Most of history’s greatest game changers give credit to learning some version of the above philosophies along with periods of fasting and prayer for all major accomplishments contributed to humanity.
I wonder what bite sized versions can look like in regular life or must we really be constantly consuming and regurgitating everything that is put in front of us without question?
🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌

Pink Bisk Pink Rose

Beautiful pink sitka rose. Wild flower.

Good Evening Dear Reader,

Would you like to learn how a beautiful colour can heal a broken heart?

It happens to the best of us, if we are lucky and have truely lived- multiple times. A broken heart is not always caused by a jilted love affair (although sadly these are the stories that seem to be valued in repetition as warnings to young women); we cañ be hurt by anything we give our time, love and creative energy towards and this has the potential to devestate. Some may say, when these instances occur it is due to an inherent weakness of the individual. There are multiple proffesions that would have zero value or importance if it was not for the monetization of this belief in ego tripping victim blaming.

But, I will tell you a secret…

When you can’t eat, can’t sleep and things that use to make sense stop holding any meaning; it is not because of a design flaw or bad karma or poor decisions. People do not lose their abilities to maintain standards of living or confidence in life because they made an other wise avoidable mistake. Yet, it would be a comfort to ignorantly believe we have so much control. Much easier to face than the scary truth which is sometimes shit just happens. Bad shit to good people.

The only way to heal a broken heart is by softly recognizing where the seperation occurred and sprouting completly a new from that point. Before this can happen, the roots must be gently nourished out of  the pale shock and shut down. Interracting with warm colours helps, they speak to the etherial self like fairy tales, saying in a soft whisper

“There is still hope and beauty in this world.”

Pink Bisk


1 cup coconut milk

1/4 cup corn

1 red pepper

1 clove of garlic

Pinch of salt, Pinch of Cayenne pepper

Blend thoroughly (*blender) and bring just to a simmer before enjoying from a mug for ease.

Enjoy your soup and this sweet little story, remember when things were simple and fun.

The Pink Wild Rose.

The smell is tart like vitamin C and it is easily found in spring. It grows in pretty clusters. I use the pettles in the bath or to make a nice freshening water for travel.

Primarily known as the Sitka Rose, there are many beautiful legends associated to this useful flower, they are not mine though and would be better heard straight from the original people to create them.

I can tell you an original story of my own creation about the wild rose.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had a doll named Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart and she loved the doll as if it were a real friend. People would laugh at her doll’s name and she found that quite rude- but she did not let that change what she called her.

Queen Vivian Rainbow heart had many outfits and a few hats that the little girl’s mother had bought from the store on a few different occasions. The little girl loved her mother and had fun with the assortments, however today was a special day and nothing Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart already had would do.

Today Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart was going to walk a tight rope that the little girl had set out of floss all the way across the whole house! It started at the little girls door knob and ran all the way to the refrigerator. There was a reason she was The Queen after all, everything she did was entirely, amazingly impressively intricate. It had taken most of the morning to set up just right…

Well, that last bit was not completely true. After tripping and becoming caught serveral times, the little girl’s mother had told her to take it down and sent her outside to play which the little girl did after some crying at and reasoning with the mother who agreed to help her put it back up AFTER some outside time and lunch. The mother had actually hoped the little girl would forget, but the little girl was like an elphant.

Now, the time had come and the pressure was on. The other not so daring dolls, some okay stuffed animals and the little girl’s mother all stood at a complete stand still in anticipation for Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart to do her feat of greatness, but she needed a hat and none of the hats were quite fitting this event.

One was too drab.

One kept falling off and frustratingly ruining everything.

And the last one, well it was just stupid and never got used or was very good for anything anyways.

The little girl started to become very disheartend.

“How can Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart ever do anything if she doesn’t have what she needs to do it!?” The little girl whined.

The little girls mother smiled gently,

“Perhaps Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart needs a crown?”

The little girl liked this idea very much and set about the house to create a small crown, but nothing was right for what she imagined and then she remembered all the pretty pink flowers she had picked earlier while outside. She strung 3 together and placed them atop Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart’s head. Perfection…

Yet, things still did not seem just right to the little girl. Something was missing. She sat there for a moment admiring Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart’s spendor before she decided that she must have a crown for herself as well. Seven flowers later everything was in place. And, just in time too as the little girl’s father had just returned home from work and would surely not want to miss this.

Oh my, he was walking towards the refrigerator.


The little girl screamed but it was too late. The tight rope snaped. Luckily Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart was not yet on the line at this time. A minor setback not worth dwelling on.

For the third time the tight rope was set for Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart and this time, she had everything in place. The walk took only thirty seconds to complete but felt to the little girl as though it was an eternity. Everý step Queen Vivian Rainbow Heart took mattered very much.

She got to the end, took a bow and then tidied up because soon it would be time for dinner, and it was always so nice to start fresh again the next day.

The end

🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌
















The Bones part 2

The bones. Bone chicken. Bone broth

Welcome Back,

Where were we?

By now the home should smell of delicous, nurishing- slowly cooking bone broth if you are making it as well. For smaller families or single persons- it’s quite easy to freeze individual serving sizes. The same bones can be used with *recipe* repeated a few times too. Just be careful to use good foodsafety sense if doing this (which Im sure most have).

Did you know it might be possible to support your injuries in healing by eating food that is similar. Bones for bones. Yellow for liver. That sort of thing. I didn’t believe this until some years back…

As I was saying,

Picture me just gliding down the mountain. Not a care in the world. Im listening to Joker by Steve Miller. I scare myself a few times by going too fast and straight shooting the large ice patches. Luckley, most crowds congested lower on the hill and I had most runs up here to myself.

I traverse the mountain towards the beginer runs. My legs throb from holding a low tuckish position longer than the muscles are use to. I am out of my once usual shape.

I find my man sitting near the horrible green carpet. Less people are here now too. It’s easy to get tired quickly for most of us on the mountain no matter where we are- the begining of the day is always busier. Oh, and he looks more tired than I’ve ever seen him. His eyes look sad, but he smiles at me.

“Let me show you what I’ve figured out so far.”

He winces as he pushes himself up off the ice.

“What happened?” I ask, seeing he is favouring his right wrist.

“Nothing. Im fine.”

He’s fucking tough as nails. And if that wasn’t the most impressive first day run I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what to say.  We reach the bottom. He tenderly pulls off his gloves.

“Yup.” He says looking at his grotesquely ever swelling hand, as he begins to look green in the face.

“Yup.” I say, as I shake my head, catching my son out of the corner of my eye, leaving his group to meet us for lunch. He dilly dallies with his friends.

“Common buddy, quickly please.”

“Whoooe! What happened to his hand?”

“We should go to ski patrol” I say.

“No. I just bashed it a little, Im fine.”

“Well…I think we are done for today anyways.”

“I said Im fine.”

I drive us towards home and we get fast food on the way- but he can not eat his, which is unusual. I slow down to a crawl as we approach the hospital.

“I want to go home and get out of this stuff first” he says.

The secound outfit was 100% better than the snowsuit for sure…Big beard. Crazy hat hair. Miss buttoned dress shirt. Grey track pants and of course, well worn cowboy boots.

“Maybe we should’ve went straight to the hospital?” He says still wincing.

“Probably.” I say.


We walk into emergency and its empty. The admitting nurse looks him up and down, she begins smiling most likely because although he is obviously quite hurt he is also beyond so sweet looking in his ensemble.

“Dressed yourself eh?”

But, he’s in no mood to be made fun of, although he smiles politely at this.

“What happened to you?”

“I was learning how to snowboard and fell on my wrist.”

And I shit you not she actually said,

“That’s ridiculous!”

Thinking, there is no shortage of opinions here, I look around and notice there is multiple pro-life posters and literature and I feel instantly thankfull our visit tonight is not due to a rape or abortion complications.

I start to feel the disparage of needing expert opinions found no where other than processed air filled stail, steril smelly hospitals.

“Lucky for you, we have a doctor in tonight. I’ll take your vitals and get you processed. Sit here.”

“Oh, you’re in allot of pain.”

An hour later, while he gets x-rays, I am left wondering why I found it so quietly  funny how offended the Doctor became when I asked him if he was Australian rather than taking proper note that he was white south african.

“Are you sure, you sound Australian?”

I probably shouldn’t have told the doctor that offering a perscription to what seemed to me an obscene amount of perks was evil, or said  “By all means please do dope him up now and quickly though. Perhaps before twisting his arm this way and that might have been kinder? And maybe before he’s jostled any further?” It’s not usually a good idea to tell a doctor anything. Most of them already know everything anyways.


“You can see here and here where the fractures occured * pointing at the x-ray. But it’s too swollen to do anything other than brace it right now. Come back next week for more x-rays once the swelling is down. Guess you’re not going to try snowboarding again anytime soon.”

*He never did try snowboarding again.

“We’ll have to get clearer images to determine how much more extensive damages are present and what treatments are needed.”

We get home and it’s still a reasonable hour. I sadly think this could be a devestating injury.  I begin to make the bone broth. I pray silently and think about his strength. I think about our strength together. For 5 days I serve bone broth with each meal. I add more salt than usual too because of all these x-rays happening and coming.

He goes back to the hospital. He gets re-X-rayed. His wrist is not broken or fractured at all. Perfect bones. No need for the brace anymore either. They said there must have just been shadows on the original. Nothing more than a strain.

Less then two weeks later, we became engaged, A month after that, drove across BC and got married. There has been no problem with his wrist since. Weather or not it was the bone broth is up for debate. I think it helped.

🍲☠💖 Soupmeyer is a series/compilation creation of 32 cost effective soup recipes accompanied by short stories writen by Canadian Author Melissa McLarty. Feed the mind/body. New release every friday while series is ongoing. Books by Melissa McLarty available through all Canadian Libraries or for purchase at and major retailors by request.📚 Melissa McLarty is also the developer of Children’s Creative Expression Literary program/groups; free copies of program and simple ideas to support children & youth in Literary skills aquisition available by request.✌