I have often been told I am resilient.
And maybe I am, after all. But not like Miri, for sure.

Miriam, that is her full name, is a distant relative of mine. From the extraordinary stock of my great-aunt Klara, and a worthy descendant for sure.

Her childhood has not been an easy one. Miri's mother died when she was just 12, and her father was too busy with his grief to care much for her.

He also was a heavy drinker and over the next years managed to squander the little restaurant owned by the family for generations.

Miri had been working there every evening since her mother’s dead, and after the bankruptcy, she started to waitress in the village’s other inn, while her father sank deeper and deeper into the booze.

When he finally died from liver failure, she had already started an apprenticeship in a good hotel nearby. There, she met her future husband, Lori, second son of the owners.

His parents appreciated the positive and industrious attitude of the young woman and helped the couple to open a small but classy restaurant which soon started to get noticed, featuring in food guides and TV shows.

Life finally seemed on the right course, even more so when Miri found out she was pregnant. They hired another waitress for her to be able to slow down a bit and the couple bought an apartment, as they had been living in two rooms over the business until now.

But just a few months before term, Miriam fell down the steps to the restaurant’s storeroom, broke a femur and lost the baby.
It was a terrible shock, and for a few weeks she seemed just a shadow of herself. But when the leg had healed, she went back to work and soon recovered her friendly, joyful ways.

Her husband found himself less prepared to confront the sad event.
Lori had been telling Miri to slow down for some time before the accident had happened, and now seemed unable to forgive her for deprieving him of his child.

Miri however, with her serene acceptance and unrelenting dedication to work, finally managed to soften his rancour and grief.
For April, they were planning to take part in a Reality TV competition, where several restaurants would battle each other for a coveted title.
For the show, they had invested in new kitchen appliances and furniture to add some glamour to their place.
Lori had worked out an exquisite menu and the staff had been schooled especially for the task.

And then, unexpectedly, the world came to a halt.
At the end of March, the restaurant was closed, the show had been cancelled and what remained, were debts.

Miriam, true to her character, did not give in to anguish or fear.
She decided instead to build up a delivery service.
They scaled down from the luxury menus for selected guests they had been catering out for parties and events even before, producing and advertising high quality but affordable meals instead.

This allowed them to pay the bills, but unfortunately also disqualified them to apply for the government’s emergency support scheme.
Lori got more and more angry, seeing many of his colleagues sitting around and complaining, cashing in monthly checks for nothing, while he, Miri and two of their most trusted employees worked around the clock to prepare and deliver food.

Finally, in May, everything slowly started to open up again. and here too Miri was on top of things, with constantly updated health guidelines and hygiene measures.
Alas, this meant less available tables in the small restaurant too, so less revenue coming in.

And people were slow to come back, to enjoy quality meals, preferring mindless entertainment in beer gardens instead.

To many, the rising numbers in autumn seemed to come as a surprise, but not to Miri for sure.

She had been suspecting this all along and started her own preparations, not listening to those who were telling her she was paranoid and catastrophistic.

In September, she took up the delivery service full time again when the tables in their restaurant more and more often remained empty.

In October, she convinced Lori to terminate the contract for the restaurant, paying quite a bit in early cancelling fees, but not willing to shell out the rent until its end in two years.

From an uncle who after a stroke was not able to drive any more, she bought a sturdy truck, that originally had been used to transport farming supplies.

Then she created a Facebook group, where she added family, acquaintances, and friends, explaining her plans and asking for help.
In exchange for free meals and vouchers, with the help of plumbers (among which my husband), electricians, carpenters and other craftspeople, the van was emptied out and then rebuilt, to become a place where food could be prepared, cooked, cooled and served.

Even I was able to contribute – stencilling and painting the hull of the vehicle in pleasant shades of blue.
My mother sewed an awning and other people did bureaucratic runs, of which there were many to get the necessary permits, and other details.

It was a village’s work, that got ready just in time for the second COVID lockdown in December 2020.

Miri’s stores were still full, because there had been several events planned for the winter, so she advertised on Social Media that the food truck – which we had been calling “Miri’s Kitchen” for weeks – would be stationing every day near another supermarket, the only kind of shop that was still allowed to keep open.

The food preparation happened in the kitchen of the – also closed – hotel of her in-laws. But the driving and the cooking and selling on site was all done by Miri and the only employee she had kept.
They sold homemade pasta, delicious stews and a selection of original burgers. It was an enormous success and they could have sold ten times what they were able to bring. People appreciated the occasion to taste good, fresh quality food after months of having to cook everything themselves.

Lori however declared that street food was beneath him and took to hanging out with a former colleague, dreaming of future glory as decorated cooks but mainly watching Netflix all night and sleeping the days away.

Towards the winter holidays, Miri devised yet another strike of genius, creating food boxes with complete traditional and festive meals to be cooked easily at home, even for one or two people.
Something which in other countries and even in big cities in Germany might have already been a thing, but certainly not in this remote area of the Bavarian Alps.

With only nuclear families allowed to celebrate Christmas together, her original and delicious compositions were a hit. She had been planning for a hundred, what in the end she sold was nearly five times more.
In shifts of never more than 3 people, she, her in-laws and a few temps produced all around the clock for the last weeks in December and the first in 2021.

While all around people fell ill and many died, Miri fanatically cared for the safety of those who worked with her. She managed to procure the – then expensive and rare – lateral flow tests to assure everybody was healthy when starting a shift, insisted on wearing FFP2 masks all the time, even during the strenuous work in the steamy and hot kitchen.

Her attention paid off and nobody got sick. And her glorious food brought a small spark of happiness and joy to so many families, even during this dark and lonely winter.

Early on she had also called the village’s mayor, asking him for the addresses of people who would be alone and not affluent enough to order in a hearty meal. The good man called about 30 of these himself, asking them for their permission to pass on their names and telling them that they’d receive a little food gift for Christmas.

And what a gift that was. While most of the other boxes were sold until the day before the holidays, with people finishing the cooking at their homes, these twenty were prepared and sealed, then put in thermal containers and delivered directly to the recipients.

Obviously she and her team kept respecting the necessary measures of distance and protection, not always easy when they saw the elderly and disabled ones so very desirous of a caress or a hug.

It was hard work, and towards the end of January, Miri was truly exhausted. But she continued to cook and to park her truck every day in another place, keeping only the Sundays to herself.

More and more often though, when she arrived in her apartment, Lori was not at home. Sometimes he didn’t even return until the early morning. When Miri asked, where he had been, he just shrugged and told her, he was working on “stuff”.

When in spring slowly the shops and then the restaurants began to reopen, and the world was full of hope that, with the new vaccines, finally life would return to normal, Miri was planning ahead again.

Suspecting that many people still would prefer to meet out in the open to small and crowded restaurants, she agreed with the village’s mayor on the rent of a beautiful space in just at the foot of the hills.
This had been used before as a campsite for youth groups and sport retreats and was equipped with its own little sewage plant, water supply and solar energy generator. There were also three big tents, somewhat worn but in a style that could easily pass for shabby chic.

Once again, Miri called on her network of supporters.
For a few weeks, groups of people mowed, paved, constructed, painted, sewed, and decorated together, enjoying the beautiful spring weather and the time spent working outside.
Many of them had been waiting for a place exactly like this, to finally celebrate occasions that had not been cherished enough during those past solitary months.

And so, the new location was fully booked very soon. During the week, for children’s birthdays and work lunches and dinners. On the weekends, for weddings, anniversaries, and other big family celebrations.

When it rained – which in our area can happen quite often – the tents offered shelter. But more often, everybody was able to enjoy the wonderful food Miri and her team had prepared, the music offered by several smaller local groups and the possibility to play, walk, dance and just sit outside in a very special place.





Everything could have been perfect, were it not for Lori. Miri had tried from the beginning to involve him in the new project, ask for his help, his ideas, his support. But again, he disdained what he called “cow pasture camping” and continued to spend a lot of time with his own friends.

And then, suddenly, he was gone.
Leaving only a short note on Miri’s bed, for her to find after returning from yet another day full of work.
“I need something else, and I think I have found it. Good luck and bye, Lori”.

I am not sure if she was really surprised, because Miri always seemed prepared for even the most unthinkable events.
Hurt, for sure she must have been, even more so when it became common knowledge that for months now he had been sleeping with the sister of one of his friends, finally moving in with her.
His own parents were ashamed and sad, seeing how their son, who had been sent to the best schools and never suffered a moment of need, was now living off unemployment money together with his new companion.

Miri was not one to wallow in grief, though.
It was August and “Miri’s Village” was in full swing. Many of us helped where we could, and the season was an enormous success.

When in October the weather became to cold and wet to stay outside, Miri rented a former stable from an old farmer and again hired a lot of people to bring it up to shape for rustical but very comfortable winter celebrations, which kept her busy and with a good and steady income over the winter.

At the end of February 2022, she finally decided she had earned herself a bit of vacation before the open-air summer season would be gearing up again.

But then, the war in Ukraine began, and nearly immediately, refugees started to arrive.

Without any hesitation, Miri called on her friends again and transformed the former stable into a warm and safe place to live for 20 women and children, cooking for them and helping with all their needs.
Some of them later she took on to work with her, for others she found more permanent accommodation.

During the summer, she had solar panels, heat pumps and a little wind turbine installed in both her venues, to be prepared for the probable increase of energy costs.
And last I heard, she is thinking about retrofitting her food truck with batteries and solar panels too.

Miri is a force of nature, and an event that finds her unprepared has still to be invented.

To those around her, she is a source of inspiration, and of hope.
That whatever improbable challenge this world will throw at us, we’ll look at her and carry on.