In the outdoor backpacking community, and I suspect beyond, there is an adage that ‘you pack your fear.’ My fear is starvation. To offset this, I overpack food for myself and anyone else in my group. I have no past evidence that I will be without food for an extended time. My fear is misplaced and more than likely ancestral. On one side, I recognize my misplaced anxiety, and on the other side, I feel better being prepared.
*Me eating pizza on the Winner Creek Trail near Girdwood, Alaska. There are more snacks in my backpack. Photo credit Heather Phelps.
During the Covid-19 pandemic, I am focusing on food during small chunks of my day. Before going to sleep, I consider my breakfast choice. At breakfast, I decide my lunch and look forward to supper that I helped plan days before. My reading/listening choices include Save Me the Plums by Ruth Reichl and dropping into the Instagram scroll hole feeds of @smittenkitchen and @rancho_gordo among numerous foodie hashtags.
Food can nourish, heal, harm, and create hope. Turns out, my mom is an accidental prepper. We planted her bounty of seed packets. Selecting the cucumbers and rosemary, touching the soil, and now misting the prepared plastic trays soothes me and temporarily grounds my fear and sadness. I worry about people who aren’t eating and not eating enough. I am cycling through an emotional wheel during the day. I suspect most people are. I acknowledge I’m lucky and well-positioned to shelter-in-place. I don’t know what big change the next day will bring, but knowing the meal plan for the day makes me feel better.