Sandy Bebertz starts preparing for her dinner guests by “de-cluttering” her cozy St. Paul home room by room. Then it’s time to make a ­real mess.
On a recent Saturday at noon, Bebertz pulled out a dozen carrots, 10 onions, 3 pounds of sweet potatoes, 1 pound of pasta, 3 pounds of corn, 4 pounds of mushrooms, 4 pounds of chicken, and “ounces and ounces and ounces” of broth. “I cheat and use cans,” she confesses.
Who can blame her? In about six hours, people will begin streaming through her front door, cold and hungry. How many people? She has no idea. Sometimes, she’s never met them. And that’s the point.
For six years, from October through April, Sandy, 57, and husband Terry Bebertz, 59, the parents of two grown daughters and grandparents of three, have opened their home monthly to friends, neighbors, co-workers and perfect strangers. The evening’s long and alliterative name — Second Saturday Soup Supper and Storytelling — has a simple mission: community-building.

Over the years, the Bebertzes have hosted anywhere from four to 30 guests — professors, doctors, artists, the homeless — from a variety of cultural and faith communities, including Christian, Jewish and Baha’i. “We get a chance to know people at a deeper level than we would at normal social gatherings,” said soft-spoken Sandy, who works in administration for the Ramsey County Children’s Mental Health Collaborative. “Everybody brings their own personality.”
And, she hopes, a hearty appetite. On this particularly frigid evening in early December, the soup selections are a tantalizing vegetarian mushroom and barley, a vegetarian vegetable and pasta, and a white chili with chicken. Another confession, delivered with a laugh: Sandy never tests soup recipes beforehand.
Nobody’s complaining. In fact, guests are encouraged to take a small bowl of each, and many do. “I haven’t had a soup here that I didn’t like,” said artist Alyce Blue, of St. Paul, one of about a half-dozen regulars. There’s also fresh bread, salad, hot drinks and an abundance of desserts, some of it carried in, unsolicited, by guests.
Blue’s precocious granddaughter, Christina, 11, another regular, said she comes for the company, “but the soup’s pretty good, too.” Martea Markunas, unwrapping herself from a red knit hat, scarf and heavy coat, calls the evening “one of those cherished traditions.”
In fact, tradition played a big role in the event’s inception, inspired, Sandy said, by “storytelling circles” passed down among many tribal cultures. Elders and others “sit around the fire during the down time of the winter months and tell stories.”
The burning fire at the Bebertz house is called an indoor fireplace. The dozen or so guests know the drill, making their way from the kitchen to the living room and into a circle where they laugh, eat heartily and make small talk until Terry Bebertz blows on an ear-piercing bicycle horn. Time for their own brand of storytelling.
Themes are provocative,
poignant
Every month, the Bebertzes pose a question or choose a theme (Sandy gets the last word, said Terry, a photographer). Participation is optional. Sometimes topics are playful, such as November’s question, “What bugs you?” (which most people took literally, recalling creepy encounters with centipedes and spiders).
Other times, seemingly simple ideas unleash painful memories.
When Sandy picked “water,” for example, a guest who had recently immigrated from Africa remained silent for much of the evening. Finally, he spoke: “As a boy, he and his friends loved to go swimming in their native Africa,” Sandy recalls. “One day, they emerged from the water and realized that one of the boys was missing. He had drowned. Even now, [this man] is uncomfortable taking a shower.
“We get everything,” she said, “from deeply moving to downright hilarious.”
Tonight’s invitation to bring a favorite poem falls somewhere in between. Katie Colby-Newton goes first, captivating her listeners with a riveting recitation of the late Australian bush poet Andrew Barton (Banjo) Paterson’s “Clancy of the Overflow.” Robin Bloom, wearing a storyteller sweatshirt he purchased in New Mexico, recites from German poet Rainer Maria Rilke. It’s hard to imagine a more perfect choice for this evening:
“Whoever you are: Some evening, take a step out of your house, which you know so well. Enormous space is near, your house lies where it begins, whoever you are. …”
Then things get really eclectic. Markunas leads the group in “The Twelve Days of Christmas” (apparently, poetry is defined broadly by this bunch). The singers break down in laughter over a string of botched lyrics. Michal Moskow (one of Terry’s former teachers at Metro State University) jumps up and lights a menorah. Liz Pawlak recites the Native American story, “How the Rabbit Got Its Long Ears.” Alyce Blue recites from Jane Austen and Emily Dickinson.
At a little past 8 p.m., people stand to stretch and grab dessert. A few say their goodbyes, but guests have been known to stay as late as 1 a.m., Sandy said. “It depends on what energy comes through the door.”
One sure thing is that plenty of good energy goes out the door. Every guest is encouraged to leave with a large plastic container of leftover soup. “Taking something home with you,” Terry said, “is a tradition, too.”

Gail Rosenblum • 612-673-7350