NAIL SOUP

They are talking about snow tonight, but that didn’t stop me from putting on my down jacket and picking a sunny spot on the Rocking Chair Porch to read a good book. I hadn’t been there more than a few minutes before Raymond Wilcox showed up. He was delivering some goat cheese. Raymond sat for a spell and then got to talking about his lady friend who has a house across the way on Montford Avenue. He got up and said, “I reckon I’ll head over to Miss Jane’s and make us some Nail Soup.” Well, of course, I couldn’t just let that go, could I? “What kind of soup did you say,” I asked? Raymond repeated, “Nail Soup—actually, it’s Rusty Nail Soup.” “Now Raymond”, I said. You’re pulling my leg. There’s no such thing as Nail Soup.” “I beg to differ, Mr. Collins. The men in these mountains have been making Nail Soup for generations, and it has kept us well fed. If you would like, I would be happy to tell you how we got started making our famous soup.” To that I said, “You will have to do just that, Raymond Wilcox, because until you do, I’m not believing a word of it!”

“It was like this, Mr. Collins. There was this fellow named Jack back in the 1800s, before the war,  who lived in a shack on Bearwallow Mountain. It was a day like this, with snow coming, and he was running short of supplies. So, he headed into town. Jack was getting mighty hungry by the time he got near town. He came upon a little log cabin with smoke coming out of its chimney. So, he figured he would go there and ask for lodging and something to eat. It turned out to be the home of an elderly widow, Mae Thomas. When Jack asked her for lodging, she agreed if he would give her one of his hats. Jack was wearing two hats to keep is head warm. He agreed and gave her the one he had made from a racoon skin. But when he asked for food, she told him her place was no tavern and besides, she didn’t have any food in the house.

Jack was a smart mountain boy, and after he had thought on it, Jack said, “Well, that won’t do. I’m going to make you a big pot of soup to fill your belly and mine.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out an old rusty nail, looked at it thoughtfully, smiled and told the widow, “I am going to make you my famous Rusty Nail Soup.” To which, she said, “I never heard of such foolishness. You can’t make soup out of an old rusty nail.”

“But Jack didn’t pull back none. No sir, he didn’t!” He said, “Why ma’am, I tell you I make the best Rusty Nail Soup in these parts. You just get me a big pot of water on that stove of yours, and I promise to make you the best soup you ever ate.” Well, she just had to see this. She got the pot up on the stove and once the water was boiling good, Jack dropped that rusty nail into the pot and stirred in a little salt. In a little while, he began tasting. He would dip a big spoon in, sip and smack his lips. Widow Thomas followed his every move with big wide opened eyes. Then Jack said, “It’s getting there. It’s a shame though that we don’t have a couple of potatoes because that would really smooth it out, but seeing as you don’t have any, we will just have to have it plain.” The widow jumped up and declared, “I just might have one or two that ain’t gone to seed yet. She began looking about in an old wooden food trunk and came out with two good size potatoes that Jack cut up and dropped in the pot. Directly, he tasted again—smacking those lips. “Now, that’s better,” he said. “It’s a shame we don’t have some vegetables to toss in just to give it a little color.” Mae Thomas hurried over to the food box and came back with a bunch of wild greens, onions, and carrots. “Oh, that will be fine,” said Jack, as he chopped them up and put them in the pot. He went back to stirring and tasting and smacking. Finally, he said, “The soup is almost ready for us to eat but what would really set this off would be a little meat, but since you don’t have any, we will just have to make do.” The widow said, “Hold on. I just might have a little squirrel meat and a pig knuckle or two.” She waddled off to the food trunk and came back with a good bid of squirrel and four or five knuckles. Jack thew the knuckles in whole and cut up the squirrel and added it to the pot. After a while he announced with pride. “Get yourself a bowl, it’s ready to eat. But you know, what would really be nice is a little bread to sop in the soup.” The smell of soup was making Mae mighty hungry as she said, “I just might have a bit of cornbread leftover and she did. Jack filled their bowls and they feasted on his famous Rusty Nail Soup. And Mr. Collins, that widow never could stop telling everyone about the amazing visitor who made his delicious soup with nothing but a rusty nail!”