There was a mountain woman in the southern Appalachian hills they called the soup lady. She could make soup out of anything, they said. Some of the old-timers said she could make soup out of an old piece of barn wood. In fact, she could.
One day one of her neighbors who lived on the next mountain over came by with his sick wife and asked if there was some kind of soup that might help cure her of whatever it was that was ailing her. The sick woman had a fever and a headache, and a serious case of the shakes and a sore throat.
The old man pulled up on his mule wagon.
—Howdy. Th'old lady's got to hackin' again and she's got the shakes real bad and her throat's ahurtin'er. I'uz wondering if you could cook'er up sump'n that'd help'er?
—Howdy, Lester. I'm shore sorry to hear that. We'll see what we can do. Let's ease her down off that wagon and get her in the house. Hey darlin', we gonna try to get you to feelin' better.
The old man climbed down and helped his woman as she eased down from the wagon, and he and the soup lady helped her onto the porch and into the house.
—You go on back and take care of yore place and we'll take care of what's goin' on here. I'll set up with her if I need to. I'd say come back in about three days. She walked the woman over to a straightbacked chair and helped her sit.
—I shore appreciate it. The man left and the soup lady went back inside and helped the sick woman onto a cot near the fireplace.
—You need a pot before I go out?
The woman shook her head. —I don't think so. I had the runs yesterday, but I ain't had'em this morning.
—Awright, I'll be right back. We're gonna cook you up some medicine. I'm gonna set this chamber pot rightchere just in case.
She went out back to her shed and found a couple of old leftover boards that she had tossed into a corner when she had patched her corn crib a few months back. The wood from which these boards were sawed was heart pine. With a sharp blade the soup lady scraped a couple of the planks and smelled the spot where she had scraped. She picked one and went back in the house and started shaving wood from the plank in paper thin curls. She took a double handful of these shavings and put them in an iron kettle and covered them with water and set the kettle on the fire to boil.
The soup lady then went out to a willow tree that was growing at the edge of her place and with her blade she carefully sliced some bark from a stout branch, making sure that she got the inner bark, and took that back to the fire where the heart pine shavings were simmering. She would wait to put the willow bark in the simmering liquid near the end. She didn't want to kill the good of the bark by heating it too much. The old Cherokee women had taught her that. The sick woman lay on the cot staring blankly and shaking from time to time as the soup lady worked.
After a few minutes the soup lady fed her fire and tossed in the willow bark and stirred the liquid. She would let this simmer and then cool just enough so that the alcohol would not cook off when she poured the warm turpentine and willow broth into the whiskey.
The whole process took about an hour. Once she had her potion mixed up properly it should work quickly. The sick lady should be feeling better long before her husband got back to their place on the next mountain over.
The soup lady had enough potion now to last a few days thanks to a generous measure of whiskey in the mixture. She poured some of the potion into a clay mug, almost filling it, and took this to the sick woman and eased her up into a sitting position. She wanted her to take a heavy dose of this medicine on the first go round. She could sip it later, but she needed to chug it now.
—I want you to take all this right down. Take as big o' swallows as you can.
The woman drank the warm liquid in three or four swallows and exhaled deeply.
—That's good, Sweetie. Let's get you back down now and you rest. I'll put you a pot rightchere. And here's you some fresh spring water to drink. You just keep drinkin' on that. If you feel like you need to go to the outhouse you let me know. We're gonna whup this thing.
Three days later the old man came to fetch his wife. She was up walking around tending a kettle of greens cooking on the fire. She looked good. They all three ate dinner which consisted of greens and cornbread and side meat and clabber. When they had finished the old man helped his wife up onto the mule wagon.
—How much I owe ya?
—Nothin'. It's been a real pleasure havin' her here with me. Just bring me a jug the next time you run off a batch.
—I'll do it.
He done it.