Last week, I walked into a building many people in town don’t know exists. I, for one, lived here for years before I discovered it: the Minot Adult Learning Center (MALC). As soon as I opened the door, the reason for my visit was apparent. The mingled scents of potluck dishes filled the air as the warm atmosphere jarred me in from the cold. A friend on staff at the MALC met me just inside the door and whispered, “They’re just introducing their foods—come listen.”
I had come for this potluck. A very special event, indeed. I peeked over the crowd into a large meeting space set with tables, chairs, and a buffet line on folding tables. But this wasn’t your average Hotdish Land potluck with a buffet of mushroom-soup-based casseroles and Cool Whip-centric salads.
Many students at the MALC have relocated to Minot from around the globe. On this special day, each was tasked with bringing a dish common or special in their own country. One by one, the students introduced what they had brought to share.
Here, in this unassuming place, in a town filled with folks not from around here, gathered another kind of “not from around here.” Individuals and flavors from far-off places—brought together in this place, at this time. Food has a way of doing that.
I shared a table with women from Mexico, Venezuela, and Indonesia, and men from Mexico, Nigeria, and the son of a missionary raised in Costa Rica. We ate fried tacos, steamed rice, arepas, naan buns, German noodles, and others that were too numerous to fit on one plate. Some of us had been in Minot for several years, others only several months. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I listened and offered a simple, “If there’s ever anything you need…” After all, what can you say to someone who is far from their version of “familiar,” especially at a time of year when nostalgia and togetherness reign supreme?
The humanness of it all was striking—in a beautiful, complicated way.
Several days later, I walked into Thompson-Larson Funeral Home downtown. A different smell greeted me: one of floral arrangements, perfume, and stillness. A staff member met me and pointed ahead to a different meeting room. “They’re straight ahead,” she whispered.
A different crowd was assembled. Different sounds filled the air. Different memories were shared. Instead of recalling life in another country, the recollections were of life in another time. Again, I didn’t know what to say. Again, there was the “If there’s anything you need…” After all, what can you say to someone whose version of “familiar” and “Christmas” has just been changed forever?
The humanness struck me again—beautiful, complicated, heartbreaking, hopeful.
The two gatherings have left me thinking hard about the holidays. No matter where we go, there will be people who are not from around here, people grieving, people feeling lost or the sting of loss as the world around them celebrates.
For me, it’s been a reminder to open my eyes. Not only to those around me and what they are experiencing—but also to those in the community I may never have noticed before.
If you’re established in Hotdish Land, I challenge you to be brave enough to draw someone into your holiday plans who needs a little more togetherness this year. Maybe it’s an international individual, a newly PCS’ed airman, or someone grieving.
If you’re new, or not from around here, I challenge you to be proactive. I’ve spent holidays feeling lonely and sad because I wasn’t invited into a celebration. Those moments left me feeling isolated and bitter. Everything changed when I got intentional and proactive. Instead of waiting for the invite, I started inviting. We filled our home with friends, old and new, who needed togetherness—and traditions and community grew. Maybe this is your year to do the inviting, to take charge of the togetherness, and craft the cozy you’re craving.
Either way, the challenge is the same. Can we set aside the comfort of how we “always” celebrate to set one more place at the table? Or save one extra seat in the pew?
Our community is bigger and more dynamic than we often realize. This year, I hope you’ll stop to appreciate the beauty of being human together—and find a way to connect with someone new, in a new way.
For more stories of Hotdish Land, or to connect with me, visit amyallender.com. Or head to @HeyMinot or @amy_allender on Instagram or Facebook.
