The Pie Table

The idea came to me when I should have been doing something else, such as finishing up the post I already had in draft for today. But inspiration has its own rhythm.

I tossed the idea around the way I toss my pizza crust: gently and with great hope. In my mind’s eye I saw a long, table filled with pie and people.

Community.

I have been to a plethora of business retreats, and after awhile they all seem the same. We read inspirational quotes, listen to the speaker’s rag to riches stories, and leave with promises of transformation. Because that’s what we pay for: to be better than we are.

In all honesty, it’s exhausting to constantly strive to be “better” when what I really want is to feel ok being who I am.

You know what makes those retreats so special, however?

It’s not the promise that if we apply the teachings we will be changed. It’s the coming together and sharing our lives. Our stories, our struggles, the good things and the bad.

To be heard and seen.

And of course, the food. There’s always good food. I find the most inspiration from sharing stories over food.

Through the years, some of my most meaningful friendships have come from business retreats. Rarely, from sitting in a room, moving through the scheduled goal setting activities. But rather, gathering over food and sharing who we are now, not who we want to be. Honesty emerges in these moments, and it forms tight bonds.

What if we could gather with no expectations of doing anything other than sharing our stories. No agenda to be anything other than ourselves, where we are in this moment. No schedules, no speeches, no notes to take.

We’d gather amidst the garden, twinkle lights strung from the trees. A long table holding the main course: pie.

Pies we grew up with. Pies we ate in difficult seasons. Pies we ate to celebrate our wins, or to mourn our loss. Pies that created legacy with every bite.

We line our pies up on a wooden, imperfect table. The kind that has seen weather, has indents from knives and scuffs from elbows and bare feet. There would be wine, forks and mismatched plates. No rush, just stories shared.

Stories that make the whole table weep, then laugh. Peace by piece.

I think we all need a pie table. A reminder that we still know how to gather like this. That joy has a place, even now.

Historically, pies have always meant more than mere dessert. They showed up at church suppers, funeral lunches and harvest dinners. County fair contests awarded blue ribbons for the best in show. Women brought what they could, what they knew how to do well. Pies were contribution. Care. Presence.

Pies weren’t just food, they were an expression of love. A balm for the soul. You didn’t need to explain yourself at a pie table. You simply showed up with something warm and homemade.

Lately I have been thinking about how little space there is for that kind of gathering now. For bringing what you have—not what’s impressive. For sitting long after the plates are cleared. For being known without performing.

Maybe that’s why I like to bake. It reminds me of something older and comforting. Creativity can exist in the simple. We matter because of who we are, not what we do.

Maybe that’s also why I write the way I do. To find people who are looking for that form of community.

I’m not trying to build a platform. I’m trying to build a table. A table where we can gather, all bring a pie we made, and hold space for each other. A place where stories sit next to recipes. Where imperfect lives can rest for a moment. Where success isn’t measured in square footage or destinations, but in connections and being seen, even quietly.

Joy has it’s place at the table. And so do you.

If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.

Dorothy, Wizard of Oz

Someday, I really would love to host a pie retreat. Until then, this space feels like my version of the long communal table. Each post, another dish to set down. Each reader, another chair pulled up. Each truth shared, another glass raised.

Would you come to my pie retreat? What pie would you bring? I’d love for you to bring what you’re good at. Not what you think you should, but simply what you can. Truth and simplicity for the win.

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A note from me:

I write about food, memory and slow living here at Marygold Journal. If this is the kind of gathering that speaks to you, you’re welcome to stay and pull up a chair. If you know someone who belongs at the table, please feel free to share and invite them in.