My First Supra

Sitting down at a table that would unexpectedly change my life (for the better).

There’s only one hill in the southeast corner of North Dakota, and we were perched on its northern slope. On that slope is the Coteau Des Prairies Lodge, a huge timber house with a two-story window in its great room, out of which you can watch tall towers of cloud storm over the prairie, casting mile-long shadows over the corn. The genetically-modified fields stretch off into infinity.

This was perhaps the last place I would have expected to discover a powerful medicine for our cultural malaise. 

And yet, when I stood up after our Supra at the Lodge, I was a different person than I had been, three hours prior. I had a group of new friends. I had some answers to questions I’d never thought to ask. The Supra had found me.

About an hour into dinner, our hearts were warmed up. Our Tamada* John Heers, leader of First Things Foundation, offered a toast to the theme of Home: We were making that table, on that night, our home, together, whether we came from North Dakota or Sierra Leone. John’s entree inspired a local farmer named Joe to propose a toast of his own.

*Tamada is the Georgian word for “Toastmaster”.

The Farmer’s Toast

“This is a toast to the resilience in our community.” 

Joe stood, ruddy-faced, hand cupping the bowl of his wine glass. 

“Today the hail came with the wind, and it ripped the roof off of the barn. And it knocked down a hundred acres of corn. And within an hour, the neighbors were... they–” 

Joe paused and leaned back. His eyes were tight and blinking fast to staunch the tears.

“The neighbors were over, and within the hour we’d cleaned everything up. And that’s helpful, but… it’s more that they came by. I don’t even remember asking anyone, but they dropped what they were doing because the storm had hit my farm the hardest. So… to you all. I appreciate you. Gagimarjos.” 

“Gagimarjos!” came a chorus back, and wineglasses clinked.

How many times had the community helped Joe? And how many times had he helped his neighbors? I’m sure I don’t have enough fingers to count. But something told me that this sort of acknowledgement was rare. 

Something beautiful, hidden in the heart, had been coaxed into the light. Not by me, not by the other guests at the table, and -believe me- not by the wine. 

It was the Supra itself that created a unique atmosphere at that table. An atmosphere where emotions could be expressed, convivially shared, and contained. We were enfolded in a spirit of trust. 

We were all gathered at the Lodge for a retreat for First Things Foundation. At the table were board members, Dakota locals, and field workers doing service work on three different continents.

Before the Supra, most of us didn’t know each other. But afterwards, we were like a loose-knit extended family.

We had gone on a journey together. With simple words, we had made a little world and welcomed one another into it. 

Getting past the brain

Eventually, I found the courage to stand up and make my first Supra toast. At the time, I thought that I didn’t know how this all worked. I didn’t know what to say. 

But now I realize that this very thought – “I don’t know how this works,” was the only misconception I had. 

The truth was that I did know how it worked. The deepest part of my heart already knew. I just had to get my brain out of my own way. 

“For years, I’ve worked on small organic farms,” I said. “And in that world, out on the west coast, there’s a perception that the big farms, the corn farms, here in the middle of the country, are the bad ones. There’s a stigma against anything conventional and, quote-unquote, ‘industrial.’ But…” 

For a moment, the words faded from my mind’s eye. My brain, the impish tinkerer, wanted to get it right… Clouds of disaster loomed.

Then I took a breath, and the Supra blew my clouds away. My heart offered the words: 

“Today, I’ve seen the beauty of this place. I’ve seen the vastness of it all, and how a community can be tight-knit in spirit, even if physically everybody lives a mile, or ten miles, apart. It has an old-world feeling to it, in spite of the new-world machinery being used. I’ve seen something I want to bring back to the west coast. So. Thank you… for being what you are. And for welcoming me here. Gagimarjos!” 

The Supra’s little revelation

When I sat down, it occurred to me that I’d learned something.

I had never thought those thoughts, before I spoke them. They simply flowed through me, glimmering as they passed by, en route to find new friends. 

That night, I found out the Supra is more than a gathering. It is a ritual that ennobles and emboldens us to be humble and true. It can make us all into poets – or rather, it can reveal to ourselves the poets that we already are. 

Cheers to the poet inside your heart. May your inner poet and mine break bread together, someday.

David Mericos Rhodes is a co-founder of Supra Dinner Society.