The tables are overcrowded with chicken enchiladas, Swedish meatballs, organic salad greens, pasta with sun-dried tomatoes, dishes as varied and predictable as the 60 of us who sit on wooden benches waiting to eat. We’ve gathered at the Stehekin Community Hall this November evening to bid farewell to a family that’s moving. The day has been gray, as the past several have been, ever since an inversion settled into the valley. We needed, all of us, to get out of the house, to share some food and company. The kids feel it, and they romp excitedly in the tree-hemmed parking lot in the slopover glow from the hall windows.
Black-and-white photos dating back to the turn of the last century adorn the walls. They’re posed community shots, grainy and indistinct. Some of the faces are younger versions of folks here tonight; others are ancestors of people whose characteristics—large ears, toothy grins, a certain prideful tip of the head—identify them easily. Others are long gone and forgotten, short-timers. Native Americans named this place Stehekin, meaning “the way through,” because of the narrow mountain pass that facilitated east-west trade routes. The natives only used the valley seasonally, and the legacy of transience remains. Farewell potlucks, up here, are as common as weeklong inversions, and this one has given us a fine excuse to gather on the grim cusp of winter.
Ours is doubtless the largest gathering—of humans at least—for a minimum 30-mile radius in every direction. No roads go in or out of Stehekin. You can take a boat or you can take a float plane, or in summer you can hike. But you can’t drive. This time of year, the boat runs every other day, and a plane could not navigate this weather, so tonight we are effectively cut off. We’re tucked into the famously wet Cascades, in a small valley separated from the outside world by steep jagged mountains and long skinny Lake Chelan. By now, people who live in this valley in north central Washington do so precisely because there are no roads in or out, and if one were to be proposed, a furious uproar would ensue.
Read more:
http://www.utne.com/Mind-Body/Pass-The-Populism-Farewell-Potlucks.aspx#ixzz1YgqB6Cj7