As I mentioned yesterday, I was gone for the weekend on a mushroom class trip. The trip was overnight and we spent it at a camp near Big Creek, Montana. We slept in bunkhouses and shared a mess hall. The students shared a pot luck dinner on Saturday night and breakfast on Sunday morning.
The shared meals were relaxed and inviting. The array of food choices was amazing and all of it lovingly created. As we were getting ready to cook up breakfast, I couldn’t help but notice how everyone had brought a bit of their home into the woods with them. People brought favorite, comforting foods and pooled it all together in what could have been a rather disjointed meal but in reality what was supremely good and packed with whole food nutrition to get us through a day of hiking.
It struck me that despite being in bunkhouse that was merely a temporary place for us, a place that on Sunday became home to 14 middle-school aged children, it still felt like home. It was a kitchen in which we gathered, shared stories, cooked and ate together. It became apparent to me that whether or not we had intended it to, we’d all packed home into our cars and backpacks before heading to class on Saturday morning. that little tidbit of a realization knocks my socks off and thrills my little homebody soul. I’ll be sure to remember this lesson the next time I take a trip, I’ll be sure to pack a little of home with my extra socks.