SUSAN TIPPETT BRAITHWAITE

Never get attached. That was the lesson I learnt at a young age. It wasn’t that I had a heart of stone. I was being practical, protecting myself from inevitable heartache. Growing up, I quickly realised that whether due to someone’s ‘need’ being more important than mine or the destructive force of rage or jealousy, getting too attached was a guaranteed path to sorrow.

Discovery in the Dirt

But, against all odds, one item captivated my heart – a small, unassuming object that I fiercely guarded. This object was merely 2.5 x 1.5 x 1 cm in size, of an odd shape and russet hue, almost camouflaged in the dirt.

I was fourteen, clarty (Scots leid for muddy) from weeding the front garden, and at the end of my energy reserves. I’d found several baby potatoes as I dug down to get the roots of the hardier weeds. But as I smoothed out the disturbed soil, I found another wee tattie (potato), but it was solid. It took a moment to realise it was a stane (stone).

Beyond Its Physical Form

Most people would have just tossed it back in the ground, but if you have a stone-collecting problem, that bad boy is staying with you. Up until that point, I’d found so many beautiful stones that this ‘ugly’ wee thing shouldn’t even have been on my radar.

But I couldn’t let it go. It captivated me. The Stone Soup story played in my head as I held it tight in my hand, hiding it from any possible prying eyes.

If you don’t know the story, it’s about a hungry traveller who has nothing but a pot and a stone. The villagers refuse to help him out with some food, so he comes up with a plan: he’ll convince them to give him food. He fills the pot with water, chucks the stone in, and starts ‘cooking’ it over a fire.

A villager asks him what he’s doing, and the traveller tells him that he’s making the most amazing soup. His description of how flavoursome this soup will be hooks the villager.

He tells the villager that some carrots would make it that much tastier. The villager runs to his home, retrieves some, and gives them to the traveller. This happens with all the villagers, with various ingredients needed to up the awesomeness of the soup to the point it becomes a communal pot of soup. It’s a great lesson in sharing.

Another Lesson in Stone Soup

To me, there was an added lesson, one that hit harder than sharing. The lesson I gleaned was that words and stories had the power to affect change. They could soften hearts, build communities, and put dinner on the table.

A Journey with My Stone

My wee tattie stane was a constant, journeying through the pivotal moments of my life: exams, driving test, navigating the trials of the Royal Navy, I even tucked into my wedding bouquet. It’s been a lucky charm from the moment I found it.

Where is My Stone Now?

Tattie has found its rightful place on my desk, occasionally travelling in my pocket for an extra dose of luck. Beyond being a mere object, this stone has become a symbol of resilience, a testament to enduring through life’s more challenging moments, and a reminder of the joys in life. It’s my literal creative touchstone, reminding me of the power of words and storytelling.

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Do you have any odd items that have journeyed through life with you? Let me know in the comments. I’d love to hear about them–nothing to do with me wanting to know that I’m not the only weirdo here!