Part 15 - Formal Meal

It was nearly 1 pm: lunchtime at L'Abri.

A handful of us walked casually down the long road stretching east out of the village of Huemoz towards the woods. With every head hatted, every coat zipped to chin, we grasped hands to form a human chain as we veered from the road and down a steep field path. The slant and snow and fearful giggling all made me feel like Anne, traipsing through the deep winters of Prince Edward Island.

We made our way around the back of a dark chalet named Minchuletta, until we came to a side entrance. Wet things removed and stacked on the wooden bench outside, we tiptoed across a tile-floored foyer and into a wide open room. The top level of this 2-tiered room was a dining area into which we were welcomed. One long table stretched across the middle and a pedestal table fit in on the side. Seventeen of us scrunched behind our plates of choice, each set to simple perfection on matching tablecloths. Spotless windows lined the opposite wall, exposing the snowiest view I had ever seen.

The meal began with a brief silence before the prayer.

"Bon Appetit!"

Then, eyes darted; awkward clinking of forks to plates and nervous gulps taken from small glasses,

Our formal meal began.

Two weeks into my ten-week stay, I now knew what to expect at one of these formal meals. Not fragile china or mandatory pantyhose, the formality of this daily L'Abri tradition was in the conversation.

...