The Joys of a Pandemic Picnic

by Hannah Rosenberg

Nothing says pandemic-social-life quite like an outdoor picnic on a snowy January

day. Home for winter break and eager to socialize in a Covid-safe way, my friends and I set out to craft a comforting cold-weather menu and lay on beach towels, in a rebellious act of finding joy in the thick of the pandemic.

After a few days of deliberating the food, location, and optimal time, we decided on our location: Rockwood Hall State Park, only the finest yearsovergrown park that lies adjacent to a hospital and overlooks the Hudson River. Its eeriness, infrequent visitors, and scenery made it the perfect spot for a socially-distanced sojourn.

Lunchtime on a below-freezing day arrived, and Jacob, Ab, Madeline, and I filled our canvas bags with an assortment of cheeses, crudités, and desserts. Sticking to the now-ingrained pandemic protocols, we drove separately. We lugged our pounds of goods up a dirt path, mugs clinking against our sides, and journeyed to the top of the hill. Peak winter golden hour, the Hudson shimmered beneath us, orange huges streaked the trees, and an atmospheric haze drifted above the water. Snow fell, wind blew. It was exquisite, and I soaked in the moment.

Once we landed at a flat plot of grass (grass is the new sand), we spread out beach towels (fake summer until you make it), arranged the food, and began the feast. I had made a quinoa salad, filled with fresh herbs and chopped vegetables, rounded out with a citrus-balsamic vinaigrette, a bright dish for a cold day. We scooped that on our paper plates. Alongside this healthfood classic, Ab had brought a collection of cheeses, salt-flecked olives, roasted red peppers, and a baguette, begging for us to rip it with our hands. Not a picnic without this classic combo, we took turns ladling Ithaca Hummus with carrots and gruyère-infused breadsticks. The food melded in our plates and danced in my mouth. All the dishes complemented each other, even the generic-brand Nutella, and the love I had for my friends in a time of isolation during that moment heightened the rich flavors of our picnic. We chatted, laughed, and interrupted bites of food to express the exuberance we felt enjoying the food together, the views, and our commitment to finding joy with each other during a time with so many restrictions.

When the cold whittled our fingers numb, we packed up, and headed back down the hill to the hospital parking lot, full of food and an abundance of happiness.

As we left, I reflected on how our friendship had evolved since the early days of the pandemic. From early May, when we rounded up our cars in a train station parking lot, sitting in trunks and on the warming concrete, as kids rode bikes past us. Over the summer, we would spend hours each week lying in each other’s backyards, gazing at the stars, engaging in deep, questioning conversations about each other and life in this new world. The connection we yearned for roamed free. Crickets would chirp, dewy grass would embrace us, and 2:00 a.m. would soon arrive.

So thank you, to my picnic pandemic pals, for helping me to remember to devour the small joys in the world, one quinoa salad and star-filled night at a time.

PHOTO: Hannah Rosenberg