Because there is time
I cannot believe
I get to spend moments
under these trees

Time to soak in
this goodness that breathes,
to inhale what’s given,
to exhale what frees

Not missing what matters,
knowing just who to see
Today I am grateful
for what I get to be

Understanding that no one
agrees with me
I find in this respite -
community

Immersed in love
and the truth in this breeze,
but for many the picture
is only painted partly

Because there is time
it is us that find we
and in peace, love, and justice
there is space to agree

For us, the differences
are seen easily
But in we and the others,
there is similarity

Our truth in a lens
and that’s all we can see
until our experience
wants its own validity

To give with love
and be one who can see
that the others are not other,
we are all us and we

When I left the last restaurant I’ll ever work in again, there were many reasons. Time. Stress. Pain. Family. Self care. Health. Freedom. Peace. I left with my hands up, in surrender. Not sure of how to navigate my next steps, as I was choosing to exit an industry that I knew well, and a job that I was very good at. Fast and loud, full of fury and fun, the life was a hurricane and I had always lived comfortably in that kind of chaos.

Once, when I was the GM at Five Senses, my favorite ever manager came in to eat. I had worked for him many years before, and I was excited that he was there. I crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t be a crazy busy night so I’d get to spend a little time with Schaeffer and his wife. He taught me more about the job than I think he meant to - just by being. He’s a real character, funny and kind, and pulling the absolute best out of every employee with a little elbow grease. A people reader and an incredible salesman and marketer, he showed me how to get the most out of every ingredient, every dollar, every soft spatula’s swipe, every person, and every moment.

They sat at the kitchen bar, and we got slammed. I didn’t get to give them the attention that I had hoped to, and during their meal I found myself disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to make it evidently clear that I was humbled by his presence. The time was not mine. There was so much to do. There was ALWAYS so much to do. I went into the walk-in cooler and took a deep breath and a piece of really good cheese to make myself feel better. That’s what I did to exhale then. There was only a second to spare, and cheese always makes me feel better.

As they were leaving, I found a way to open the door for them. I apologized for being so unavailable, and thanked them for coming in. He laughed, and called me impressive - a compliment that will forever live on a pedestal in my mind. Then he said, “Anna, I watched you expedite a board full of tickets while you directed your front of house staff, sat the door, burned a brûlée to a perfect golden, and answered the phone all at the same time. That was impressive. I’m so glad you didn’t have time to talk to us.” This is one of my favorite memories. I don’t take compliments very well. They never feel quite right or welcome in my soul. But I’d never argue with David Schaeffer. I believed him.

I was that kind of busy for a lot of years. Five Senses was a home to me, and the people in it were a surrogate family. I loved the regulars and all the people I worked with. Mitchell, the owner and chef, took me under his wing and taught me everything I could ever hope to know about food. And in an industry that usually doesn’t allow for happy home-life, he and Krista were an example in how to love well and create time for each other. I am a better person because I was there, and I am also a better person because I left.

When that happened, I told myself that if I ever worked in a kitchen again, I would only feed hungry people. I was not unappreciative of the ones who I was so lucky to be able to “take care of” for so long, but I knew that it wasn’t good for me to have to agree with unnecessary complaints. I spent decades apologizing profusely, telling people they were right to be upset about things that absolutely do not matter. Decades of agreeing with ingratitude. We were working hard, and were always happy to do the work again so that these scallops would not ruin your day.

A little advice for the angry foodie: If you know that you are impolite enough to yell at a sweet little server, you should instead be rude enough not to wait for the rest of your party’s food to arrive. Cooked to a perfect medium-rare with a two minute sear on each side, your scallops, my friend, are still cooking. They are hot, you see. And every single second that you pretend to be a nice person is an invitation that you yourself are creating to show soon how much of an asshole you actually are.

I digress.

It is the hope to feed hungry people that brought me here. Here, to this thought and to this place. It is my fifth summer at camp. They call me Chef Anna, although I am not a chef. I’m pretty sure I’m just the only cook who has ever fed them real food. The first summer I arrived, the food reps showed me a list of “camp food,” pre-prepared, frozen, sad excuses for meals. I declined, of course, as I could not possibly fathom being a person who would make children ingest such misery. I did have to bend a little. The kids don’t like parsley on their garlic bread, and they prefer not to have beautiful delicious sauces on their protein. I learned that pretty plates don’t go over well with the little ones, and unfortunately they demand chicken tenders. This is not my fault. It is a whole bunch of other people’s faults. I get it. You’re busy. No worries. It’s an easy lunch, and I guess I’m grateful for the extra time it gives me to have a few things that require no skill on the menu.

These adorable eaters-of-fowl play hard out here. They hike and rock climb. They go caving and paddling down rivers. They play in the trees, and they hardly stop moving. These kids are starving after their hard work outside. They each eat as much as I would prepare for two grown men, and now I feed hungry people. They don’t complain about silly things. It is not often that anyone doesn’t like what’s put in front of them, and when it happens, I am truly happy to accommodate them. They eat gumbo and gyros and vegetable curry, and they like it, and then they go back to what matters. These kids do not miss moments by focusing in on their little lens. They play hard, and they enjoy the moments. When they need help, they ask. When they are homesick or worried, they find someone they trust to have a good conversation with. When they hurt themselves, they go to the nurse. And somehow, when they feel like no one understands them, they come to the kitchen.

How do they know? Insightful, little babies.

I believe that each of our truths are attached to the experience that we get to live in. I believe in sunshine and rainbows, in the peace of the trees. I believe that God is love, and that humans ruin that for the ones who aren’t same enough for the masses. I believe that BLACK LIVES MATTER, that immigrants are treated horribly, that the LGBTQ+ community should be allowed to be who they are. I believe that our idea of what is right should not be put on the shoulders of those who we think are wrong. I believe that to understand is what it means to be a good person. I believe that we all deserve to be heard, validated, and loved. I believe that peace comes from sunsets and bodies of water. I believe that the people who need to know this are moved to be near me. Because there is time for us to sit and talk even if we think different things, and maybe by the end of our conversation we will see the other’s perspective a little better.

We are all in the middle of a long walk to what is right for us, and it doesn’t do any of us any good to tell people that they are on the wrong road. Your path to peace may be a different one than mine, and that’s the beauty of what we get to do here.