Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
About a year ago, I hosted the Friday night party/potluck that spawned the official Tuesday Night Dinner Club. I had a few glasses of wine, and I was sitting there between friends, and I realized that what the idea-- this crazy idea of communal meals that I'd had since moving here-- needed was a SHOVE.
A few weeks in, I wrote this, about the first four meals, which we hosted, which were mostly quiet affairs. Attendance was six.
They didn't stay quiet for long. Like furry iron filings sensing the presence of fun and, well, youth, we came together. We jelled. We became raucous at times. We got our dance on.
Summer hit, and the need for communal huddled-up meals receded. We converged at art openings, though, and at birthday parties, and on the porch at the Empire.
And now, with those shortening days, those close dark evenings, the instinct for togetherness has been making itself felt-- and it seems like everyone has been feeling it too. This Tuesday there was talk of the "season kick-off," which seemed just right. Yes. Let this be a cold season thing that we do. We're only animals, after all: flocking together for migration or huddling together in a den for warmth. Just like that.