I grew up in a teeny tiny house with a huge oak table in the center of it.
Pretty much every memory of home revolves around that table. Playing under it as a kid, doing my homework on it as a teenager and then of course the meals shared around it.
I was raised by a single working mom, I don't know how she did it, but every single meal was homemade. The meals were simple and almost always really good. But the important part is they were always shared together with respect and love.
Mom has a super power, a creator of community, she brings people together like no other. My sister and I were raised to understand the meaning of connection. Though her power extends far beyond, I bet you can guess, it was often around that table that it was really tangible! I remember so many meals shared with new and old friends but also, and no less meaningfull, those just between the three of us.
My mom, the meals, the table: Magic.
It was not until I left home that I actually started to cook, before then I always enjoyed good food but the kitchen was my mom and sister's domain. I was doing some pretty heavy duty demanding studies at the time, so one could have assumed that quick and easy food would, should or could have been my choice. But no not at all, even if I didn't have the faintest idea of how to cook I knew what a meal was, the soothing reasurance and satisfaction it brings at the end of the day. So before starting to write essaies and study huge volumes I would throw down my bag and start chopping. I had no idea what I was doing but through trial and error I've become a woman that cooks.
I know now that it's the warmth shared around our oak table that made me who I am today.
The Table is a Calling.