Redwood Christian Park a park surrounded by trees and the breeze of the mountain air fills the lungs. As you head through the kitchen, each creak as the wood compresses to each pound of my weight there are voices like echos, but quieter. The voices resonate, growing stronger, as through the dark. The light is bright enough to see the walkway and you realize there is hope. In the bleak darkness, the taste of dust fills the lungs and forces coughing at an acceptable pace. The sounds of raindrops slamming the poorly designed metal roof — some drops touch the hair. The rain drops keep count to the pace of seconds as the voices are still growing stronger through the traversal of this room.
What are you to find in this place? Your curiosity fills you with everlasting glee as the smells of something fresh is in the air. Chinese, Japanese or even Taiwanese food — your nose cannot detect the very Asian culture of the food being prepared. The sounds of pots and pans crashing and clanking. Oil moving north, south and then back in place. The smells grow stronger with each footstep as the wooden creaks, alerting your presence.
With open arms and positive faces these men and women greet you. Your optimism of getting food is getting increased. As they start scrambling to grab what you think is an ordinary plate and food is splashed, flung and splattered upon it. “Eat” they will tell you the sound of your stomach expanding and contracting giving a vulturous roar. The food is rather delicious and one feels the sense of home in this odd place. You feel as if you are at home even though those preparing the food are strangers.