Feeding the Soul

Winter is one of those seasons people either love or hate.  For some reason, there doesn’t seem to be much of a gray area in between.  Perhaps it’s because it can be so extreme, and this year has shown us how very extreme it can be.  With wind chills in the 60 below zero range up north, even those die hard winter fans are starting to mumble that it’ll be good to see the spring come.  And as much as this native Miamian loves experiencing an honest to goodness winter, I can’t say that I disagree with them.  

Though I live in the Appalachian Mountains, in North Carolina, our seasons are moderate most of the time.  But several weeks ago, we got 19 inches of snow that fell in a day and a half.  It broke records, and was all that people could talk about – when they could finally get out to talk about it.  It immobilized much of the community for several days, and wrecked havoc on everyone’s everyday normal routine.  However, when we compare that to the 6-10 feet the High Sierras got this past week, 19” is just a drop in the bucket – or a snowflake in the bucket, as the case may be.  Still, it’s been plenty cold here; cold enough to make businesses close their doors early – especially those businesses that are in the food and leisure industry.  In this cold, people would rather stay home and warm up a can of chicken noodle soup instead of venturing out in 20 degree weather to have a bowl of some yummy concoction at a restaurant down the road.  

During one of the most frigid days last week, a friend of mine and I piled on the layers and headed out into the bone-chilling cold.  The day was beautiful.  The sky was a brilliant blue and sunshine was in abundant supply.  So, we cranked the heaters up in our cars and headed to one of the local eateries in town; the aptly named Mountain View Restaurant.  

When we arrived, the parking lot was as empty as a church’s on Monday morning, but there was the restaurant’s neon orange sign brightly blinking “Open”, like a lighthouse in a storm, beckoning to us to come in, which we did.  Just like the parking lot suggested, we were the only ones there, except for the cook and one waitress.  

We took a seat at one of the tables by the window with the million dollar view, and before we even had our coats thrown over one of the empty chairs, the waitress took our drink orders and ran down a list of specials – specials no one but us was there to enjoy.

“Y’all been this dead all week?” I asked her.

“All month, actually,” she clarified, shaking her head.  

“How y’all makin’ it?” I had the nerve to ask, though I did so because I love the restaurant and would hate to see them close as so many others have in our town over the last few years.

“We barely are,” the waitress candidly replied.  “We’re just not sure what we’re gonna do.  We can’t keep the doors open if things keep goin’ this way.”

Suddenly, our sunny day had dark clouds roll in.  

“It’s hard,” the waitress continued.  “We know the area needs good restaurants, but when we can’t buy a customer, it just seems like the thing to do is close up – at least for the winter.  We’re hopin’ things’ll pick up soon.”

Twenty minutes later, as I sat there stuffing a hot and crispy sweet potato fry into my mouth, I watched the restaurant’s owner (who is also the head chef), carry a bag of bird seed out the door and onto the deck.  There he stood, in a stiff wind that was making it feel like 2 degrees, lifting the top of the bird feeder and filling it full of food.  As he did, a cat strolled past, flicking its tail and cocking its head at an arrogant angle, just as cats are so good at doing.  There was nothing skinny about the feline, I noticed.  It, too, had been well fed.

I pushed my nearly empty plate away from me and sat back, watching the man who was barely able to keep his restaurant’s doors open, but was still able to keep his heart open to those who desperately needed him; and at that moment, it was the animals.  And I knew without even having to be told that he would give his last bit of food from his kitchen to them, and would do so without giving it a second’s thought.  

He’s feeding their bellies…and my soul,” I thought.

Quickly, I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture.  It was a moment that captured an act of love and selflessness; even when the one so generously and quietly giving it could hardly afford to do so.  

Today, I took my husband to the Mountain View, and as we drove up, I said a little prayer that the bright neon “Open” sign would still be flashing, and sure enough, it was.  But this time, when we pulled open the front door, the sound of many other diners inside washed over me like a cool rain shower on a hot August day.  

“What can I get y’all to drink?” a different waitress asked as soon as we sat down.  With the number of people eating, they’d needed to bring in another server.  

“Diet Pepsi,” I replied.  “You’re busy today.” I smiled as I took off my coat.

“Yeah,” she said, slightly turning to look over at the other diners.  “It’s been this way all day.”

“Keep the bird feeder full.  It’s good karma.”

“Huh?” she asked, looking rather confused.

“Never mind,” I chuckled.

Behind her, through the pass-through kitchen window, I saw the bird man busily preparing someone’s lunch.  And I knew that no matter how many two-legged diners he’d serve that day, his feathered friends would still have a full feeder by the time the sun went down, and the cat would have its fill, too.

All things considered, we need more than food to fill us, we need love.  And when we give it away, expecting nothing in return, it has a wonderful way of coming back to us…ten-fold.