Growing up, I enjoyed time at our family’s cabin in Cuchara. The town center had the General Store and the Chuck Wagon restaurant. My parents became friends of the couple that owned the two establishments.
When I was a teenager, my siblings and I would sleep later than our parents. One morning Dad came back from breakfast at the Chuck Wagon and urged us to get up and dressed. The owners needed help. Suddenly, I was waiting tables in the diner, my sister Donna had the dining room where a private luncheon was being held. My brother Bob and sister Laura took over dishwashing while the owner cooked with my sister Linda’s assistance.
To make matters more challenging the ice machine was broken and we had to make runs to the general store for ice as needed. We had all eaten out regularly so we knew how to take an order and how to set and clear a table.
It was a busy morning and got busier as the private party showed up for the dining room. A bit harrassed Donna asked one woman if it was okay if she had iced tea without the ice.
The owner was also the local coroner. As fate would have it, someone in the community had a heart attack and died. The coroner was called out leaving me and my siblings in charge of the busy restaurant.
Since the Chuck Wagon was the only restaurant in the community, our pitching in not only helped the owner but allowed visitors to have a place to eat on that chaotic day.
Maybe my father’s belief in our abilities to help at the restaurant gave me courage to buy an art gallery with my husband and believe we could succeed.