Fado, fado, long ago, the sea was a giant lake full of

clear, fresh water. Two brothers lived by the sea on a

cliff, each in his own home, one on top of the hill and
the other below.

Each brother began life with the same inheritance. One

brother grew wealthy while the other grew poor. In
those faraway times, salt was the measure of wealth.
Salt was rare because it was transported from distant
lands. Salt was necessary to preserve food because
refrigerators hadn’t been invented. Salt made food
tasty. The richer someone was, the more salt he used.

Each morning, the poor brother walked along the beach

searching. One day, his toe scraped a hard edge in a big
sand-hill. He dug away the sand and uncovered a large
salt grinder. A tiny rock of salt remained in the
chamber.

“Lucky me! Salt on my potatoes tonight!” He raced

home. He plunked the mill onto the kitchen table and
began to turn the grinding wheel. The wheel refused to
budge.
“Broken!” he grunted. He leaned on the handle to twist
the wheel. “Come on, grind!”

The grinding wheel turned on its own. Salt poured from

the mill and streamed onto the table. His hands
scooped up the precious salt.
“Salt I’ll trade at market.” The poor man laughed at
thoughts of a full cupboard and a crackling fireplace.
He scooped the salt into a bag. “Salt enough for
everything I need. “ He tried to halt the turning salt
grinder, but the wheel kept turning and the salt pile
grew larger and larger. He shook the grinder. “Oh,
please stop.”

The wheel stopped.

So it was. Each market day, the grateful man held the

salt grinder over a basket. “Come on, grind.” Salt
gushed filling the basket until the man repeated, “Oh,
please stop.”

Each week, the rich brother opened his shutters and

saw changes at his poor brother’s house. First a goat
appeared, next a cow, finally a pig grazed in the yard
next door. Curiosity pulled the rich brother downhill.

The rich brother asked. “I’m pleased as punch that

you’re doing well! What’s your secret?”

The humble brother removed the mysterious salt mill

from the shelf.

“Watch! When I say “Come on, grind!” The mill pours

salt. And to stop you must say “Oh, please stop!””

“May I please borrow it for one night?”

“Right enough!” came the reply. In two shakes of a
lamb’s tail, the rich man was out the door grasping the
salt grinder. He scurried uphill and plunked the salt
grinder on his table. “Come on, grind!” He shouted as
he dragged a bucket under the salt grinder. He raced
through house and barn gathering buckets, bushels,
baskets and cans. Brimming containers soon filled the
rich man’s market wagon.

The hall clock chimed twelve. The wagon was full. “I’ll
get gold for that lot tomorrow.” He sighed. “Brilliant!
Now stop.” But the salt kept flowing. “Good enough!
Stop!”

The grinder kept turning. “Bad cess to you! Stop!” he

yelled.

Salt poured onto the table and spilled onto the floor.
The man rushed for a container, but his greed had left
nothing in reserve. Salt continued to flow. Salt
streamed into the parlor. Salt covered the couch, the
piano, and the pictures on the wall. Salt flooded every
room. The foundation strained to hold the house and
finally broke. The house rolled downhill into the ocean.
Salt still gushed from the mill. Salt burst the front door
and poured into the sea. White clouds billowed
underwater. The sea passed it from one wave to the
next. When the salt reached the rivers, the rivers
pushed back. The marsh grasses of the deltas fenced in
the salt, protecting the fruit and flowers blossoming
inland. Fish couldn’t swim upriver and died or changed
unrecognizably. Nests were burned by the harsh
crystals. Even today, the rivers push the salt water back
to sea in the marshland and river deltas, protecting the
upper river and the inland lakes from the salt and
keeping them clean, clear and fit for life.