Wednesday, December 7, 2011

The Little Carrot

The Little Carrot

by Geoff Hazel

The clock struck 4:00 and the sun was going down in the west on that cold December Seattle day. Rumor had it that soup was to be made today, and the items in the refrigerator were buzzing with anticipation.

The leftover turkey in the freezer knew his time had some, but the vegetables were in hot dispute as to who was going to contribute to the dinner.

The carrots, of course, knew they would be involved, but there were two bags: the old whole carrots, of which just a few were left, and the new finger size snack carrots. “We are always in the soup” said the whole carrots. “Yes, to be sure you are, but there are only a few of you, and we are confident that some of us will be used also,” said the finger carrots.

There were two celery bunches, each uncut and unused since they had been bought a week before for the Thanksgiving stuffing. While they had a reasonable expectation of being soup, they each acknowledged that if they were used at all, only one of them would get out of the drawer.

A half-bag of whole green beans kept silent, secretly hoping that some of them, if not all, might become tonight’s dinner. There was no point in being vocal if, in the end, not being chosen resulted in scorn or humiliation.

Sure enough, as 4:30 rolled around, the chef started taking items out of the refrigerator and cupboard. Cans of beans, chicken broth and tomatoes were put on the counter. The refrigerator door was opened and all the carrots, some green beans, and the turkey were removed from the refrigerator and set on the counter. The celeries were surprised and saddened as the door closed that NEITHER of them would be chosen. Each took quiet consolation that at least, if he had not been picked, the other had not either.

The canned kidney beans and red beans were the first to get opened. Dumped unceremoniously into a colander and rinsed, they splashed into the waiting chicken broth. Then quickly followed the frozen turkey scraps and a can of tomatoes.

The carrots, both whole and snack size, were set on the counter. In the bag of whole carrots were three thin crisp carrots and a small broken carrot tip. It was just a few inches long, about the size of your little finger – hardly worth mentioning, really. And yet it had sat in the cold, dark vegetable drawer just as long as the other carrots, and had managed to keep his crispness, too. All it had ever wanted was to be made into soup – or possibly carrot salad, but being so small it knew the odds of THAT ever happening were miniscule. Set next to those was one limp carrot that had escaped from the bag and spent the last two weeks in the drawer with no protection from the elements. While wholesome, it had grown limp. None of the other carrots liked to talk about it, or to it. Each had heard stories of what happens to a carrot in the bottom of the vegetable drawer, out of the bag – growing limp, then drying out and shrinking. The only consolation to that fate was that it was better than unused cucumbers which turned to disgusting goo in their plastic bags in just a few weeks. Carrots, properly stored, could last for months, and they were proud of it.

With all the canned and frozen ingredients in the pot, it was time for the vegetables, and the little carrot watched the activity with eagerness and fascination.

It saw the hand reach into the bag and grab the three other carrots. It watched as they were peeled, and then sliced and put into the pot. Then it watched as some green beans were trimmed and divided. And it started to wonder, “Am I so small that, now that the bag is empty, I will get thrown away into the trash and never made into soup?”. It saw the three good carrots go into the pot. Then it saw a handful of the snack size carrots go into the pot. With each addition, the odds of getting picked dropped. And then it saw the lid opened as the chef reached for the limp carrot, peeled and sliced it and put IT into the soup. That was it! There was no way the soup needed any more carrots, much less a little one like itself. Despair washed over the little carrot.

What possible chance would it have now? It wasn’t needed, and furthermore the chef didn’t even know it was THERE. It couldn’t move, it couldn’t make a sound or call attention to itself. It just lay there, and fighting the rising fear, it hoped against hope that it might yet find its way into the soup.

Then it appeared that preparation was truly over. The chef starting to clean up, rinsing out empty cans and putting them in the recycle bin, picking up empty bags, putting the leftover green beans back in the vegetable drawer, and with each movement the little carrot alternated between despair and hope. “Here comes the hand again, perhaps now it will see me. Oh, no, it’s just throwing a paper towel into the compost bin” or “Oh, here comes the hand again. Oh, no, it’s just putting the spices away.”

The hand reached over, lifted the carrot bag and the little carrot thought, “oh, this is the end for sure. I’m off to the garbage can inside this bag. I won’t even get to be compost. What a sad and sorry end for me.” But all of a sudden, it felt the probing fingers of the chef’s hand. He had found the little carrot! The carrot swelled with happiness and pride as the hand took it out of the bag and laid it on the cutting board. “Oh, joy! I will be soup tonight after all!” the carrot exulted.

And an hour later, that’s exactly what it was.