The sky went dark early today.
It was the Winter Solstice.
A short, short day.
A long, long night.
On this day the daylight is shortest.
The night is longest.
The cold comes in.
The family stays in.
Grandmother said, “Come. We are making dumplings.”
The child ran to the table.
Grandmother mixed the dough.
She used both hands.
The dough was white and soft.
Flour stuck to her hands.
It was white.
Soft and white.
Like a fall of snow.
Grandfather chopped the filling.
Chop, chop, chop.
There was cabbage and there were mushrooms.
A little sesame oil went in.
A little salt went in.
It smelled good.
Father rolled the wrappers.
The rolling pin went round and round.
The wrappers were round and thin.
Thin as paper.
One.
Two.
Many.
Stacked up, they looked like a pile of small moons.
Mother folded the dumplings.
Her fingers were quick.
The dumplings looked like little gold coins.
Shiny little coins.
One row.
Then another.
They sat on the tray, all in order.
Like little soldiers.
The child helped too.
The child stood on a stool.
The child made one dumpling.
It was small.
It was crooked.
It was fat.
It would not stand up.
The child said, “I made this one.”
It was the best one.
The child pointed at it.
Everyone looked.
Nobody was allowed to eat it.
Not tonight.
Everyone laughed.
The pot was ready.
The water boiled in the pot.
It went bubble, bubble.
It went bubble, bubble, bubble.
The dumplings went in.
At first they sank to the bottom.
They looked like white stones.
Then, one by one, they came up.
When they come up, they are done.
Grandmother knew by looking.
Grandmother said, “Look, the dumplings are swimming.”
They turned around.
They turned over.
They were almost ready.
Grandmother put the dumplings in a bowl.
She used a big spoon.
White and fat.
A little soup went in.
The bowl was warm.
Steam rose from the bowl.
It curled up.
The steam drifted up.
It drifted to the ceiling.
It drifted to the child’s face.
It was warm.
The child smiled.
In China, on the Winter Solstice, every family eats dumplings.
Some families make a hundred.
The old people say: hold your dumpling bowl that night, or the cold will come and bite your ears.
The child touched one ear.
Then the other.
The ears were still there.
One bite of dumpling.
The juice was hot.
Warm.
Warm from the mouth to the fingers.
Warm all the way down.
Warm from the fingers to the ears.
Grandmother said, “After dumplings, your ears will not fear the cold.”
The child took another bite.
Then another.
The child counted.
He counted out loud.
One.
Two.
Three.
Eight dumplings in all.
The child was full.
This was the longest night of the year.
It was also the warmest night in the house.
The windows were foggy.
Outside, the night was longest.
Inside, the lamp was brightest.
It was the family lamp.
After the dumplings, they washed their faces.
They soaked their feet.
The water was warm.
The child climbed into bed.
The bed was cozy.
The pillow was soft.
The blanket smelled of sun.
It had dried in the sun that day.
It smelled of summer.
Outside, the wind blew.
Outside, the snow fell softly.
The lamp in the room was orange.
The lamp threw shadows on the wall.
The shadows were warm too.
They moved a little.
The shadows of the whole family stayed close.
Grandfather turned the lamp down a little.
Mother tucked in the blanket.
The night was long.
Nothing had to happen.
The dream was sweet.
The child closed both eyes.
The room grew still.
The child had a warm dream.
The dream was long.
The dream was soft.
The dream was full of steam.
There were white fat dumplings in it.
There was one warm bowl of soup.
There were two small ears.
Both of them were warm.
Outside the dream, the wind still blew.
Outside the dream, the blanket stayed warm.
That is the old story of the dumplings of the Winter Solstice.
It is a gentle Chinese folktale.
It is also a Chinese fairy tale, and one of the oldest Chinese bedtime stories for children.
Now it is time to close your eyes.
Good night, little ears.
Good night, dumplings.
This is a very old Chinese bedtime story. It is not long, and it is very gentle. Best read slowly, with the lights low.
