Every September for the past 15 years, my parents have hosted a “harvest party” at their home in Alaska. It’s really a giant potluck, with the twist that guests have to “harvest” whatever they bring. Since this is in Alaska, people show up with things like smoked salmon, halibut chowder, dall sheep stew, mountain goat chili, moose ribs, and spruce grouse tacos. One year, my brother spit-roasted a porcupine (I’m told it tastes like rabbit).
This year, I happened to be visiting my folks during the harvest party and saw firsthand what an eccentric cornucopia it is. But as the afternoon faded into evening and everyone began huddling around a large campfire, it struck me that all the strange food is really a medium—albeit a delightful one—for something much more important: creating community and tradition.
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