Purple Soup in the Shed

"I don't want to eat that," said Olivia, and she pushed her bowl away.

The soup was purple. It was the colour of a plum, and it had little green squiggles floating in it.

Olivia was hungry, though. Her tummy had been rumbling since lunch. And Grandpa had made this soup from the beets in his garden, and he was so proud of it.

"Just one taste," said Grandpa. "Then you decide."

"No," said Olivia. "It looks strange."

She carried her bowl out to the garden shed to think. The shed was stacked high with flowerpots, all different sizes. Olivia sat down on an upside-down bucket and stared at the soup.

She sniffed it. It smelled like warm dirt and sweet onions. That was not so bad.

She dipped in one finger and touched it to her tongue. Then she made a face. It was too hot!

"Ow," she whispered. "Too hot, not too yucky."

Next she tried something different. She lifted a little clay flowerpot and set it over her bowl like a hat. Now she could not see the purple at all. She took a spoonful with her eyes squeezed shut.

Slurp.

It tasted soft and sweet, a bit like a cooked carrot. Olivia opened her eyes. Her spoon came out with a green squiggle on it.

"What is this one?" she asked the spoon.

She tried it. Crunch! It was a chive, and it tasted like a tiny onion.

Olivia laughed. The flowerpot hat wobbled and went clunk on the floor.

Grandpa poked his head in. "Well?"

"It looks strange," said Olivia. "But it doesn't taste strange."

"Ah," said Grandpa. "Plenty of good things look like that."

He sat down on a bucket beside her. Olivia held up the clay pot, and Grandpa put it on his head like a hat. They ate their purple soup together, slurp, slurp, slurp, while the last light came through the dusty window and the soup went warm and quiet in the bottom of the bowl.