Eight years ago, this October, the Butter Community walked a few blocks from Grand Ave to start up in our new space on Nicollet Avenue.  We were ready to get going even as fall was settling around us. But this October, I’ve been thinking a lot about going dormant.

40 years ago, as freshman in college I did go dormant during a long tough winter. I found myself struggling with depression as I sought to cope with the death of my father a couple years earlier. That winter I was shutting down in many ways until friends connected me to a counselor who gave me some tools to manage and move forward. And still, every winter, those feelings return and I need to re-examine my own mental health toolbox for coping.

It is only natural, after all.  Lots of animals and plants choose going dormant to survive long winters.  It’s effective in many ways for those who have the ability to store up fuel and food for a long rest.  And if you are indeed limited by access to the elements you need to survive, then being patient until they return might be the only choice you have.

It takes quite a leap of faith as well – to hunker down in a cozy burrow and wait out the cold and dark.  How can you know for sure the spring will return with its promise of warmth and nourishment?  We put a lot of trust into those cycles and pretty much take them for granted.  Of course, the spring will return! And all will be well!  However, it didn’t happen that way this time around.

After a long, tiring winter of scavenging for whatever we could make use of to get through to March and a return to customer traffic, the pandemic changed Butter Bakery’s business climate drastically.  We were already hungry, thin, and exhausted from trying to stay warm and then we found ourselves without the replenishment we had waited for.  Scrambling through the spring until a large loan came through has only put us in a place where all we have is a cache that needs to get us through a long winter and wondering just how long it can last.

Although many sectors of the economy were able to shift in ways to overcome the general restrictions of the pandemic, we in the restaurant industry have seen little improvement since last March’s closing to dining in person.  And now, especially for smaller, neighborhood restaurants like mine, we look ahead into a time that has always seen a slowdown in traffic and revenue.  I’m feeling like just crawling under the covers with a good book.  Wake me up when it’s over please.

Unfortunately, this little café does not have the wherewithal to go dormant like a frog or apple tree. I have to consider the dozen employees who rely on the sustenance that coming to work provides.  I have to consider the 100 or so farmers, producers, vendors and service providers who include our shop’s little bit of fuel to keep themselves running.  I have to consider the hundreds of neighbors who have made this their connection for refueling as well. 

And then I look at the amount of food inventory that wouldn’t last through a dormant period and how much work it would be to preserve some of it.  It’s not that it’s impossible, after all that’s how many indigenous cultures learned to adjust to northern climates where winter months reduced their ability to find fresh food.  And from what I’ve been hearing, there’s been a movement toward re-learning the craft of canning, drying, preserving and storing foods for later use.  Perhaps many of our customers could learn to go dormant for the winter as well, perhaps we can learn to be better prepared for the long winters.

And then I start to think about the activities that can happen during our long winter here in Minnesota: skiing, skating sledding, snowshoeing, ice fishing, and just playing with our frozen water in so many ways.  Going dormant would mean missing out on the bright red cardinal at the bird feeder and the sparkling diamonds of a new snowfall on a bright winter morning.  I’d have slept through the opportunity to marvel at the way a huge snowfall slows us down to a standstill and then brings us together to dig each other out.

I understand the privilege and recognize my need to be grateful that I can even consider retreating to a warm, safe space when I am daily reminded of those who are living in tents in our neighborhood’s park.  Going dormant is not an option.  Survival this winter comes with the need for even more creative ways to keep each other fed and safe. And so, rationing from the cache will be our choice here at the café.  We’ll keep the heat on and find ways to offer that warmth and companionship to as many as we safely can. And, by faith, we walk into this fall and winter trusting our next spring will bring new growth, new life, and new opportunities to walk this path together.