POST: Wednesday, September 22, 2021, TIME: 1731 

 

It began simple enough, a comment from the General: “Sometimes, you just want steak.” The General was not complaining, nor was he ungrateful for the bountiful food people had been bringing to his doorstep over the last few weeks. However, casseroles had far outpaced other possible meal contenders. It’s true if you’re a carnivore; sometimes, you just want steak.  

 

Now, Dana and I being moved by the comment, and the wistfulness of the General’s face, and because we just happened to have a 16-ounce, buffalo flank steak in our freezer, couldn’t help but volunteer for the mission. “We’ll bring you dinner. We’ll bring you steak!” 

 

So yesterday, on the autumnal equinox, which was surely auspicious, but not necessarily relevant to the story, we arrived at the Ranch with a steak dinner just as the sun was softening the evening landscape. We carried a bowl of roasted cauliflower and potatoes, a bowl of still steaming green beans and chard fresh from our garden, and of course, the steak around to the back where we could hear Tuesday afternoon tapas winding down. Or so we thought.  

 

Inside his tent, “The Elk Hotel,” we found the General holding court; present and accounted for were his beloved wife, Rebecca, fellow caminoheads, Jim and Jen, and old friend, Will. The empty wine bottles, dirty plates, two left over slices of salami and half full jar of Spanish olives said it all; tapas was over. The Tapas revelers, however, were just getting started. Suddenly, dinner for four needed to stretch into dinner for seven. There was the usual polite resistance: “Oh, no, we really should be going.” But as soon as Dana, and I produced another bottle of wine and started plating food, it dissolved completely.  

 

The food was plentiful, the laughter hearty and the stories kept unfolding, with each person having their turn. Meanwhile, overhead the stars danced. The air cooled, but the tent only grew warmer. Call it love, or grace, or the steady flame of friendship; we were toasty in there. (OK, admittedly, there was also whiskey and a propane heater involved, but you know what I’m talking about here.) 

 

One of the greatest gifts of the Camino was experiencing the many small moments that seemed like miracles, the way total strangers felt like instant friends, the way a conversation could turn intimate on a dime. No one in the General’s tent was a stranger to me, yet I felt like I was meeting them for the first time; hungry for their stories, curious about their thoughts, delighted by their presences. Time seemed to stand still, as is the way with magic and miracles. It was as if I lived a whole rich life in a matter of hours.  

 

Eventually, the General lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, smiling – sated. The Party was over, we gathered the dishes washed them up, said our goodnights and headed home – full. How did that dinner for four, stretch into dinner for seven? When I unpacked our dishes I found two slices of potato and a small slice of steak – leftover.  

 

Loaves and Fishes, Loves  

 

Posted by Cris on behalf of Catherine Johnson