Making Soup on a Cold Day | Warm Up with Winter Comfort:

Step outside and breathe in the hush of a winter morning, take a gentle stroll through snow-dusted streets, twinkling market stalls, and the comforting ritual of cooking on a cold day. This story invites you to wrap yourself in the season’s soft layers—the cozy weight of boots and mittens, the cheer of local voices floating through frosty air, and the comforting act of stirring a simmering pot on the stove. If you’ve ever longed for the simple pleasure of a hearty soup shared with a kind neighbor, this tale is your invitation to find warmth in both the bowl and the company beside it.

👉 Listen to “Making Soup on a Cold Day” as an audio story HERE 🎧

👉 SHOP The Slow Life story-inspired printable greeting cards HERE 🛒

This story is called Making Soup on a Cold Day, and it’s about an organized maze, vibrant colours, and an Evergreen candle.

Boots must be worn out of necessity on a day like today, but my soft brown ones with the faux-fur lining make me feel put together and keep me warm at the same time. My lavender jacket with the big hood will protect me from the wind, and my dark purple mittens and matching scarf are so soft that I could just wear them all the time.

Stepping outside, I prop my scarf up a little higher, feeling the softness on my skin. I can tell the air is cold, but I’ve dressed for it and make my way easily through the dusting of snow on the sidewalks.

The sky hangs low, and the clouds look plush and grey, promising more snow before the day is through. I make a few puffs to watch my breath form in front of me, vanishing almost as quickly as it appears.

I’m heading to the village square with a plan in mind. Today is the farmer’s market, and with the cold weather have come thoughts of cozy food. I’ve decided that this is a hot soup kind of day.

The cheerful hum of the market grows as I get closer to the buzz of it all. There are indoor vendors as well, and the ones outside have heat lamps and portable fire pits, aside from being dressed for the weather just as I am.

I approach a stand offering carrots, onions, and potatoes. These vegetables are what I need for my soup, so I smile at the vendor and tell them I’ll be back before I leave.

A stroll through the indoor stalls first is always the order of my visit. It’s an organized maze of folks selling their handmade items. A beautiful array of wood carvings and cutting boards, crocheted and knitted toques and mittens. And clean burning candles scented by natural oils. I imagine myself sitting at the table this evening, and after eating, putting a bit of my puzzle together before curling up with a book. All of these things would feel even cozier with candles lit beside me. I choose one called Evergreen in the Village, and a second called Spiced Apple Cider.

Back towards the building’s entrance, another thing not on my list, but that would go great with my supper of hot soup, is a warm biscuit - or two. I get a package of six, already looking forward to the leftovers tomorrow. At the next table over, I see an older neighbour of mine selling her pies and cheesecakes. I happen to know that she also sells them by the slice. I tell her about my soup, and she hugs her hands to her chest as if she can feel the first warm taste of it going down.

Answering my question, she says that the peanut butter cheesecake is her favourite. I take a slice of that and a piece of the blueberry as well. She packages them in a pretty box, and I add it to my bag of goodies.

Making my way out to the veggies, I’m drawn to the vibrant colours set against the white of the snowfall. There’s the orange of the sweetest carrots that I never make a soup without. The different shades of green beans and broccoli. The beautiful purple of the onions that perk up any meal I make, both in colour and flavour.

I pick each vegetable carefully, feeling their firmness and their weight in my hands. A butternut squash catches my eye. Although muted in comparison to the other ingredients, I know it’s what’s inside that counts, and I add its soft tan colour to my collection. As the final complement to the palette, I pick some baby red potatoes. What I don’t use of them today will be irresistible when roasted in the oven in the days ahead.

I’ve gotten all I need for the soup and some added touches too. It’s time to head home and put it all together.

My house is warm, and I appreciate this kind of greeting. After unloading the bags, I light the Evergreen candle, keeping it near me on the kitchen island. 

I set the large pot on the heat of the stove and drizzle in olive oil, its golden sheen spreading on the bottom. I add the onions, and they sizzle gently, their aroma changing to a sweetness that fills the rooms.

I rinse and chop the carrots, munching on a few of the orange cubes as I go. As they sauté with garlic I think of how not only the obvious senses of smell and taste are used while cooking; I notice the sound of the knife tapping on the cutting board and the muffled drumming of the potatoes and other veggies as they tumble into the pot.

I’m careful with the splash of the liquid vegetable stock - watching it transform the contents into soup.

For the herbs and spices, I tap in a mixture of basil, oregano, rosemary and thyme, and two bay leaves that will be easy to find while dipping up later on. With this type of seasoning, I decide to add some diced tomatoes for a fresh taste, topping it off with a grind of black pepper and a dash of smoked paprika for warmth.

While the soup simmers, I start to put together my idea that had come to me earlier at the market. The sky is darkening, and I see lights come on in the windows across the street. I pack up some biscuits in a container and smile as I rub the smooth label on the box that holds the two pieces of cheesecake.

A taste test confirms that the soup is ready. The flavours are rich and comforting, a perfect balance of sweetness from the carrots, a subtle earthiness from the potatoes, and a hint of brightness from the tomatoes and herbs. I ladle some of it into a travel container, covering it tightly.

I step outside again into the blanket of snow. My boots leaving prints in the powdery surface as I walk across to my neighbour’s house, her porch light glowing softly.

The door opens, and her friendly face lights up before she even notices my basket in hand. Upon seeing my offering, her smile spreads, and I’m ushered inside.

We enjoy our easy conversation as the steaming soup is ladled into bowls. The biscuits have been warmed in the oven, the butter melting over them on our neatly folded napkins. And, as we take our first spoonfuls of soup, she hugs her hands to her chest as if embracing the warmth she’d so gratefully imagined only a few hours ago. 

I wish you sweet dreams.

👉 Listen to “Making Soup on a Cold Day” as an audio story HERE 🎧

👉 SHOP The Slow Life story-inspired printable greeting cards HERE 🛒