posted by Sandy Fails 0 comments

A friend who's a nutrition/health consultant talks about primary food versus secondary food. Our primary nutrition comes from the things that feed us on the deepest levels: our relationships, spiritual connections, exercise, nature and other genuine satisfactions. When we're not getting fully nourished by those things, we rely unduly on secondary food – the edibles we put into our mouths and bellies.

When our crew set out for Gothic, we were so well stocked in the secondary food department that our packs looked expeditionary. Our ages ranged from 19 to 60-something, and two among our ranks had little experience on cross-country skis. “No worries,” we told them. “It’s all downhill to Gothic. You’ll just slide gently the whole way.”

 Around mile two, Tyler (a Nordic newby whose iron-heavy pack served as our portable liquor cabinet) discreetly inquired as to our proximity to our destination. A lovely spring snowfall had turned the trail mushy-sticky; it was like trying to ski through four inches of half-dried wallpaper paste.

 After four sweaty miles, we reached Gothic’s picturesque cluster of cabins, mostly buried by snow. We climbed down a snowbank onto the porch of the Maroon Hut, where we found most of the comforts of home: electricity and running water, a kitchen with refrigerator and oven, bathroom with shower and sink (no toilet, mind you), and a ground-source hydro heating system that kept the place toasty warm. Four bedrooms upstairs held cots on which to put our sleeping bags and windows framing the dramatic spires of Gothic Mountain fading into the clouds.

 The most deceivingly picturesque scene was the twin outhouses to whence nature called us. Ah, so cute with their four-foot muffintops of snow. And so uncute when we opened the doors and our nostrils puckered in protest. Nobody dallied in the outhouses.

 We re-convened in longjohns on worn, cushy couches for snacks and storytelling (spontaneous topic: what trouble did you get in as a kid?). Then the younger set drifted to the picnic-style table for games while the elders assessed the state of the world. After dinner, birthday cake, cheers and laughter, we once again braved the snowy path to the outhouse and then reported to our sleeping bags.

 The next morning I woke to patchy clouds playing around Gothic Mountain outside my window and the smell of bacon frying downstairs. After breakfast, easy conversation, clean-up and packing, we gathered for photos and headed back out. A few inches of snow had fallen overnight (a fraction of the foot that was forecast), but that snow stuck to our skis like soggy papier mache. We persevered, buoyed by the beauty of the valley around us, for the four miles back to our cars. After hugs and a final sharing of trail mix, we dispersed to be swallowed up by our daily routines.

 We’d been gone about 20 hours. But with the concentrated dose of companionship, laughter, movement, beauty and relaxation, I felt extremely well nourished. And the thought occurred to me: In our daily busy-ness, let us not forget the truest ways that we can feed ourselves and each other.