As I wrote last week, my husband and I spent Labor Day Weekend at a remote wilderness lodge on the wild and scenic portion of the Rogue River in Oregon. With no phones, TV or Internet (and no electricity from 10 p.m. until 6 a.m., when the generator is off), entertainment comes in the form of outdoor pursuits — active (hiking, fishing, rafting) or passive (watching the wildlife and river traffic from a hammock or deck chair) — reading, and visiting with your fellow guests and the staff. Everyone comes together at breakfast and dinnertime in the main lodge, where immense picture windows open to expansive views (binoculars placed conveniently close at hand) up and down the river. Served either buffet or family style, these meals provide hearty nourishment for the body and warm sustenance for the spirit as well. While you may sit down hungrily as a disparate group of strangers, you often arise, tummy full, feeling as though you’ve made new friends. This is one of the things I like about B & Bs and similar establishments, where eating side-by-side with folks you don’t know at all is to be expected. Because I’m naturally rather quiet and shy, you might think such dining arrangements would make me uncomfortable; but I find that the food and location often give me plenty of initial small-talk fodder. The natural pauses necessitated by the acts of serving and eating eliminate the awkwardness of lapses in conversation. And, over the course of the meal, people often relax and open up (me included) and discuss all sorts of fascinating subjects. Both evenings at the lodge, Harry and I brought two bottles of wine to dinner to share with whomever might be interested. An immediate ice-breaker, our offer of a glass of wine to each of our tablemates opened up conversations about where the wine originated, where each of us originated, and on from there. We shared stories with a lady from Manhattan and her sisters, touring the West; a couple who had hiked in that afternoon with their dog; and a group that included brothers and sisters and their spouses from Montana in their 70s and 80s. Other tables were filled with three generations of one family on an annual three-day rafting trip down the Rogue and a wedding party and guests preparing for an outdoor ceremony the next day. By the end of each evening, the noise level made it clear that strangers had become congenial dinner companions, and the good feelings carried over to the next morning’s breakfast. How about you? Do you enjoy an occasional meal in this kind of environment, or would you prefer to dine only with chosen companions? — Patty Vanikiotis, associate editor/copy editor