Sunday Dinner

So how do I report the details of what I do? The last moment of doing nothing was back on May 28, as I sat on the deck of the Camp Denali offices at the east end of the park. The breeze carried birdsong; across the Nenana River, lights of the southbound train wound along the bluff. Then the bus pulled in from Anchorage, bags were loaded on, and the trip into the Park began.

Now that guests have arrived on site, the days are all work. Schedules at my level of job are all ten-hour days, five days a week. Last Sunday, I worked a split shift--my second on-the-job day of the season. First chunk of the shift found me being Kitchen Helper at North Face Lodge; second piece--the shorter--had me serving dinner at North Face Lodge. I live up the hill, 1.1 miles away, at Camp Denali. After a Saturday's long, learn-it-as-you-go day, I looked forward to improving my efficiency.

So Sunday began at about 5:30 a.m. I rolled out of bed, visited the outhouse (we will hear no further talk about how cold people are, living there in the land of indoor plumbing), scrambled into clothing, donned heavy plaid shirt, fleece vest, wool watch cap, and gloves. Upon exiting the cabin, I dashed back in for the camera--Mt. McKinley was Right There, every crevasse and rock ledge visible, the rest of the Alaska Range standing, a serrated line separating the dry land from the firmament!

After a brisk 25-minute walk, I started my shift: grab the orange juice thawing in the fridge, turn on the dishwasher, fill a tub with soapy warm water to presoak dishes, fill the utensil tubs with warm soapy water, rack the dishes left from the previous night, send them through the washer. Then rack the plates for breakfast to run them through the dishwasher (to warm them) when the cook signaled. Next was a "yuck job." These once-a-week tasks occur for each job, and the sooner you get them out of the way, the closer to on-schedule you are. I washed down the food storage shelves in the "Back 40," a long room for pantry storage, laundry facilities, linen closet.

That done, I scampered back to help plate the breakfast entrees. Once the waitstaff take the plates out to guests, I go back to dishwashing tasks--keeping this up until all breakfast dishes are cleared. There followed the "Run," the delivery of food items from the root cellar to the kitchen up the hill at Camp Denali. Back down at the Lodge, I grind the coffee for Camp (I'll take that up when I go for lunch at 12:30). I've eaten a quick breakfast in there somewhere--don't ask me where/when. Coffee all bagged, area cleared, I go back to the kitchen, and remove all carts, buckets, plate racks, dishwasher rack dollies, mats, and sweep the staff room floor and the kitchen floor. Dustpan the little piles. Grab the correct mop, fill the mop bucket with warm soapy water, mop both floors, empty the water, clear the sink--oh, shoot, clean the kitchen sinks thoroughly, run the last dishes through, put all the wheeled carts, buckets, etc. back into place, pick up any remaining items to be taken up the hill (like the ground coffee), and drive the kitchen truck up the hill, remembering to turn on the truck lights while on the park road, and to call on the CB "Kitchen truck on the hill, bottom to top" to ward off any meets on the single lane switchbacks up the ridge.

End of first half of shift.

Nap. Shower. Change.

Walk back down the hill and prepare for the evening meal. Set the tables (place mats, linen napkins, are-we-having-soup-or-salad--so we can put out salad forks or soup spoons), fill water glasses, make coffee.... The list goes on. It's like having a formal dinner--well, it IS having a formal dinner for 30 or so of your dearest friends for whom you want everything to be perfect.

Just about the time, last Sunday, I started feeling frazzled and just plain pooped, we sat down to staff dinner. Sunday dinner. We filled our plates with lamb, broccolini, wild rice/sweet potato dice (I think), salad, freshly made bread. Climbing over the benches to sit at the table covered with cream and forest-green-checked oilcloth, drinking water out of a chunky coffee mug, talking about the weather, the animals, the park, hikes, jobs, laughing....

And there it was. The reason I'm here. Suddenly I wasn't tired any more, didn't miss anything I didn't have. Since February I've been anticipating this summer of adventure. It's not something that happens along the way, sitting there waiting to be recognized at the side of the road, or even details and dates listed in an itinerary. You can't plan an adventure. You can only prepare for it. And I've found that this adventure is living with the laughter, the conversations, the different people who have become friends. It's delicious food shared as a family around the same table; it's working together, all rising early on cold mornings, squishing about in the rain, looking upward into the sun, and loving it. I knew the work would be hard; I did not plan on loving the challenge of physical work and long hours after years of sitting at a desk and trying to leave a few minutes early.

Here in Denali National Park, so far away from the world I know for the rest of the year, I've found again many of the things that slipped away as my own family grew older, and more geographically distant. As I get deeper into the summer and welcome more and more guests to this very special world, the bonds will strengthen. And as my new family broadens, I shall appreciate even more the family I have in daughters, siblings, and cousins.

Not bad insights to glean on Day Two of the season!