Ayda Sarai was well known for her research at the university, and she toured as far away as Paris as a guest presenter. Her field of expertise was Religious Anthropology. She was widely published and respected, but she always remembered the words of her advisor long ago when she was just starting out: “Decide whether you want to be a small fish in a big pond, or a big fish in a small pond.” For Ayda, the small fish approach offered the opportunity to feel like she was working with local people on their own level, helping with their daily struggles and joys. The institutional competition for power and influence did not work for her, and for this reason she decided to escape the large institutions and search for something deeper than the usual academic research categories. She wanted to find something beyond academia, some form of meaning that transcended superficial cultural and societal structures.
When Ayda received funding to do research in a remote subarctic part of the Yukon, she was more than excited by the opportunity to get away. But then she read further and saw that the villages of Snag and Beaver Creek where she would be going held the record-low temperature for continental North America, −81.4 °F. Still she decided to go. How bad could it be if she only stayed there a few days or maybe a week? It would be a whole new experience to see whether religious concepts played any role at all when the population consisted of a small number of indigenous people, occasional transient fur traders, and about 20 airport personnel.
The small plane arrived on the edge of a snow storm, and the pilot flew out of the small airport immediately, not wanting to be snowed in for days. Ayda checked with the airport office, and was able to get lodging in a nearby cabin often used for short term travelers. “All is well,” she said to herself, “surely I am following the path cleared by the great seekers before me.” After a short time of settling in, Ayda received a phone call from the organizers of a gathering where she was to be welcomed. A major storm had moved in, and the gathering was canceled. They hoped to re-schedule, but had no choice but to protect the lives of the participants.
Ayda hung up the phone and thought for a moment. In times such as these, one must adjust, so she walked over to the airport office and asked where she might get a bite to eat. The office manager looked at her with a pitiful expression, but then responded: “about two miles down the road there is a small place that never closes, and I mean never. They stay open because the food is so bad they have no customers except for drinkers. If you want something to eat, that is your only choice.”
Ayda took the advice and started the trek. The wind was strong and the roads were vacant. She was sure this was one of their famous 80 below zero days – completely uninhabitable for any human being. But hunger matches the call of food, and it drives a person beyond all limitations of personal preference and physical pain. Toes may be frozen, but to stop walking was not an option. The cafe was only two miles, but two miles can seem eternal.
The glimmer of a light was enough to reveal a destination where there would be human voices and warmth. Ayda quickened her pace, ran up to the door, and rushed in, nearly collapsing. To her surprise, no one seemed to notice her entrance. Didn’t they realize what she had gone through to find the place? Evidently not. She looked around the room but saw no small tables where she could sit quietly and console herself. There were only long tables with benches to sit on, what is sometimes called “family style.” The other customers were absorbed in conversations, so she sat down at one of the benches, and waited to learn how food could be acquired.
The bearded cook came to the table to take orders. This was a one-person operation, but the cook was capable – you could tell because his beard was full, and trimmed. He looked Ayda in the eye and said, “Soup and bread only - pay up front.” There was no room for discussion, and everyone in the room was listening. It wouldn’t have mattered if Ayda was a government official, in this cafe she was nobody. She paid the man, and was delivered a bowl of soup and a piece of torn bread. She figured the soup was moose soup because of its dark color and gamey smell, but it seemed to have no meat. She was convinced the soup was made by boiling bones – probably the only protein available this time of the year. She could not bring herself to try it. She decided to sit at the table and watch as others ate, hoping for sufficient motivation to join them later.
As the room rumbled and gurgled with the unreserved, unmannerly behavior of the customers, a woman entered the door dressed in a long coat, with stains on the front left from her previous meals, some of which had never made it all the way to her mouth. She sat down on the corner of an available bench and waited. The cook slowly wandered over to her and said, “Soup and bread only - pay up front.” She looked at the cook, and quietly spoke, “I have no money” to which the cook responded, “no money – no food.” The woman quietly stood up and walked out of the cafe.
For a few moments, the room was quiet, and then two men who had been eating together stood up and walked out. Then, all the customers at the next table stood up and walked out. The shuffling noises of tables and benches filled the air, as everyone in the room stood up and moved toward the door. “Wait, wait, wait!”, shouted the cook. “OK, if you can pay - then pay, if not you have food anyway. She can eat – call her back.” The woman came back in and sat down, and everyone in the cafe quietly returned to their food and conversation.
Ayda looked at her dark soup, picked up the spoon and began to eat. Never in her life had anything tasted so wonderful. She thought to herself, “This is a true feast. This is an incredible banquet. No one is left behind – it is the fulfillment of everything I have ever learned. Now…....I understand.”
Feasting in the North Country
Engrossing! Even the second time around.
When I read your stories I find myself wondering how much is pure imagination and how much is based on life experience. The stories are incredible.