A Rural Experience in Four Dinners

It was the end of February and after a streak of freezing weather, Alberta was getting its first tease of “fake spring”. The result was that my mid-morning commute from Edmonton to Jasper featured the promised mountain peaks and forest, without the white knuckled driving that accompanied those views just a few days beforehand. I was in the process of starting my family medicine rotation as a third year medical student, and as someone who had never lived in a community smaller than Edmonton, I requested the entire eight week rotation be in a rural setting. A few weeks earlier, to the envy of my classmates, I’d found out I’d been placed in Jasper. 

As I pulled into town, getting settled and oriented to a new place began to weigh on me. Being a medical student in third year essentially means changing jobs every few weeks as you gain experience in different clinical settings. Like the rest of my classmates, I’d spent the first half of the year jumping between jobs as different as helping deliver babies to managing psychosis in the emergency room. I was incredibly grateful for all the learning so far, and it’s safe to say I’d been required to become more comfortable with uncertainty. 

Still, the start of this rotation felt different. That morning I had frantically run around throwing stuff into my car, worrying about all the little details that come with temporarily moving your life for two months. I was wondering what my assigned accommodations would look like, what my preceptor would be like, and honestly what my schedule even was for the next day. The temporary goodbye required when leaving my fiance and dog back home certainly compounded those worries and I had a feeling of unease as I opened the door to the small flat I’d been provided. 

Like any experience in a new place, some of that uncertainty started to resolve as I became oriented to the town. I quickly dove into my clinical duties, and soon, time was flying by helping patients. I got a first taste of the medical management needed in a smaller setting and was learning a ton each day, though what I didn’t realize was how much I’d soon be learning about the community itself and the amazing impact it would have on how I view medicine. 

While my days were busy, I had many evenings free to explore and often found myself walking around town without any particular aim. In such a beautiful place it was easy to get lost just looking at the scenery and sights of Jasper, but what I was really looking for was a way to engage with the community itself. There’s something about being alone in a new place that makes you crave new connections. I was curious about the people of Jasper and what life was like in the area. From the short time I had spent there so far, I could tell that Jasper was a special place. I was itching for an opportunity to chat with locals about their day-to-day lives. Every tourist quickly sees the allure of the place, but I was wondering what the realities were like under the exterior. What drew people to live here? What does an ordinary day look like? And importantly, how did they handle these insane grocery store prices? You’d think you could get a sense for most of these things just chatting with patients, but I was finding that a busy clinic isn’t always the best environment for those questions.

You’re there to help people and advocate for their health, not grill them about the social fabric of Jasper in a ten minute appointment. 

Towards the end of that first week I was spending an afternoon at the local coffee shop. I was sheepishly leaving after filling my role as the “buy one coffee, then study for three hours” customer that every cafe owner loves. A flyer at the entrance caught my eye which was advertising a community dinner on the upcoming Sunday. I was intrigued, mostly because of the promise of the local connections I had been hoping for, but the word “dinner” also never hurts. I spent the rest of the weekend debating whether I should go and as Sunday evening crept closer, I was torn. It was hard to believe the ‘everyone welcome’ message on the flyer. I imagined the dinner as a gathering of about 20 locals who’d lived in the community for years, and worried every head would turn if I walked in. Did “community dinner” even apply to a medical student who was only in town for a few weeks? Worst of all, I wondered if the dinner was intended for more disadvantaged members of town, and whether it would be purely selfish of me to show up. There was no way the town was just giving away food to everyone, right? Ultimately, I figured the risk of embarrassment was worth the chance to find out for myself. 

Dinner one: Saved by the seniors 

As I walked myself over to the local activity centre where the dinner was being held, my path was intersected with a steady stream of locals, all clearly making their way to the building. The smell of something delicious hit me, and I could immediately tell I was in the right spot. The promise of food brought me to a small line waiting outside the gym where my fears about crashing an intimate weekly dinner with a few close friends were quickly relieved. There were probably 200 people gathered, sitting around long plastic tables. Every stage of life was represented, from families with young kids in tow to residents of the local seniors’ lodge. In fact, there were tons of young people who seemed to have just finished shifts at the nearby ski hill. Clusters of people chatted over plates filled with food, while the line snaked towards a central food table with volunteers scooping food out of big metal trays. I timidly walked towards two older ladies at the front door who were welcoming everyone, each holding a manual attendance counter. They clicked away enthusiastically as each new person entered the gym. I wanted to make sure I was truly welcome, and it's hard to describe just how enthusiastic they were about my attendance. They kindly explained that “everyone and anyone” was welcome, and the goal was simply to bring the community together once a week. Somewhat not believing them, I made sure they realized I was only there for two months. The response I got, with a big smile, was “Sweetie, do you think that full table of ski employees over there is here for longer than a few months? Grab food!”. 

As I neared the front of the line I realized for the first time just how serious the meal was. This wasn’t some event where everyone gets handed a pre-packaged turkey sandwich. Instead, my plate got heaped with steaming lentil curry, rice, naan bread, lemon-steamed chicken breast, greek salad, and a nice scoop of vanilla ice cream for dessert. After collecting this feast, I turned around and was immediately hit with a wave of panic, what now? It was that sinking feeling you get when alone in a setting where everyone else is already very familiar with each other. Who should I sit with and how do I manage this without being that creepy guy who wrecks a conversation? Suddenly, I was thrown a life preserver when I heard a calm voice say, “feel free to take a seat with us if you’d like.” I looked directly

to my left and an older man with a greying beard and kind face was looking up at me. He had clearly seen me staring out into the sea of people and known exactly what was going through my head. I quickly took my seat amongst a friendly group of four older Jasperites, ranging in age from about 60 to 75. They immediately made me feel at home. 

Did I ever find the right group to field all my questions about the community. It turns out they were all very long-time residents, and I soon began peppering them about Jasper. Their love for the town was clear as they told me all about the history of their various favorite buildings, 

how the demographics and people had fluctuated over the years, and the things that I should do and see while in town. They proudly talked about the many jobs they had done, the different hobbies they pursued, and how each of these contributed to Jasper. Throughout all that time, they mentioned they had been helping and attending these community dinners. I learned that for several decades, the dinners had been held each Sunday solely as a time for residents to get together and enjoy time with one another. Absorbing this information felt like I was being handed the hidden details needed to truly understand a place like Jasper. 

This also became one of the first conversations in which I learned about the impact that Jasper’s recent fires had on the community. I won’t get into too many specifics, but for the first time, the true picture of resilience and hardship was laid out for me in detail. I had seen the devastation on my walks through town, and words can’t describe some of the stories relayed through brief conversations I had with patients in the clinic, however, this was the first time I learned about the realities facing everyone who lived there. They spoke of rent increases nearing 40%, huge numbers of residents having no housing to return to, the multitude of local businesses they dearly missed, and countless tales about how friends and neighbours had been affected. Even after all this hardship, they spoke with a tone of resolve and true dedication to Jasper. That attitude really struck me as I looked around and saw families and friends sitting down to enjoy a meal together. 

Dinner 2: You work here too? 

The next week flew by in a blur of clinic appointments, but there was one major difference. It was as if attending that dinner unlocked a hidden thread of community woven through the center of each day. In the city, patients had been strangers. The most I could do was briefly help them along their path while attempting to learn medicine. But here, those roles were shifting and patients would transition into people I would run into every day. I’d be refilling prescriptions for the owner of a cafe I studied at each evening, or helping the grocery store clerk I talked to each day fight a cold. Even my new friend (saviour) from my first community dinner came by for a driver's medical, which resulted in an invite to the local board game night. I began noticing these small interpersonal connections filling the clinic waiting room, which essentially resembled an impromptu town square. Every patient seemed to know one another and the space doubled as a spot to catch up on recent events, rather than read six month old magazines. By the end of the week, I was eager for Sunday to come around for the chance to interact with everyone once again. 

I walked into the activity centre the next Sunday, once more unsure of what to expect. Sure, I wasn’t as nervous about being there, but who I’d sit with and if I’d be alone was nagging at me again. Fortunately, the worry dissolved when after grabbing a delicious meal cooked by the local Indian restaurant, a nurse from the hospital waved me over. We’d worked a shift or

two together in the ER, but apart from that, hadn’t got to know each other very well. As I reached the table, I suddenly realized it was filled with a few nurses and other health professionals from the hospital, along with some of their family members. Suddenly, the evening became the most amazing way to get to know the incredible team who kept acute care running in Jasper. I had seen many of their faces before, possibly in passing during a shift or while running around in the small emergency room. However, this was my first opportunity to really get to know the people who supported everything I had been doing. I got to learn all about their lives in Jasper, their families, and what brought them to the town. It truly felt like a welcome into the local healthcare community. By the next week, the hospital felt different. I suddenly knew exactly who a physiotherapy referral for my patient would go to, I could call up x-ray technicians by name, and checking on inpatients became a conversation with new friends at the nursing station. 

Dinner 3: The blind leading the blind 

By the end of my fourth week I felt like I knew the drill. I was suddenly feeling more comfortable and welcomed by the town with open arms, offering an amazing opportunity to integrate into the community. Coming off another great clinical week, I continued to learn more about family medicine, but also meet more locals who’d tell me all about their unique relationship with Jasper. When I walked into the activity center for my third community dinner, shamefully accustomed to free meals at this point, I was surprised at how many families I recognized. That day, I had been taking full advantage of a work-free weekend by skiing in the mountains and walked into the activity center exhausted. My social battery was so low that I planned on quietly finding a group of people I already knew, eating, and making a quick exit. Those plans quickly took a 180 when I saw the lineup snaking out the door. Turns out it was taco week... which was the most sought after meal of the whole program. I resigned myself to a nice spot at the back of the line, fully expecting to end up spending the next 45 minutes staring at my phone. 

Suddenly, a nice looking family slotted into line right behind me, and I heard a friendly french-accented voice from the mom asking “is this line really for free food?” After brief introductions, it turned out that the small family of four with two young boys had just moved to Jasper to work for Parks Canada, arriving with all their belongings earlier that afternoon. Like that, the medical student who had been in the town for all of four weeks became the person introducing them to the community. Of course, I was not under the illusion that I remotely understood what it was like to be a Jasperite, but it felt meaningful to be on the other side of sharing the welcoming dinner experience. We had a great discussion throughout the hour in line and shared a wonderful meal together. We talked all about Jasper, their journey living in small towns across Canada, and the logistics of settling into a new place. I was even able to introduce them to a few people I had met at past dinners, and suddenly it was me helping share the picture of a welcoming community. For an evening that started off with pure exhaustion, I left energized by the spirit of Jasper. 

Dinner 4: I’m back to ramen noodles 

As suddenly as the community dinners had entered my life, they ended. I returned to Jasper after a whirlwind weekend filled with visits and errands in Calgary. Still carrying the urgency of the city with me, I rushed over to the dinner, perhaps viewing it as one more checkbox

item to tick off for the weekend. But as I settled into the relaxed atmosphere and shared a calm dinner with the many friends I’d met over the past few weeks, I was brought back to the more measured pace of the small town. That was when I was saddened to learn it was the last community dinner for the season, as it turned out that the dinners only ran for a few weeks during the winter. And just like that, my weekly dose of community energy was over. 

So what’s the point of even sharing these dinners in the first place? While these stories may seem as trivial as “medical student goes to town and gets free food,” the experience was genuinely eye-opening. I learned so much during my rotation in Jasper, and while medical skills and knowledge were important, I also took away the profound value of community. Going from knowing no one in a rural setting to feeling connected to the people around me was an amazing opportunity. I came to appreciate how rewarding it is to feel like you’re giving back, even in a small sense, to that community. Especially when vaguely worried you’re mooching food every week. It was incredible seeing how a simple chance for engagement with others could provide such a sense of belonging in a new place. What seemed like a simple weekly dinner acted as a way to meet other people, uncover the history of the town, learn about the unique struggles facing residents, and gain an overall sense of their daily lives. I have no idea if I’ll practise rurally in the future, but I do know that working rurally has shown me how much people's community and the networks around them can affect their overall wellness. The takeaway for me has been that whatever the size, location, or speciality of my future practice in medicine, I should be looking for ways to connect outside the silo of a medical appointment. At a time when the negatives of healthcare are constantly in the news cycle, and patients feel like a number stuck in an overloaded, impersonal machine, maybe what we need is to encourage more community. Maybe what we need... is a few more “community dinners.”