It was so fun to look out across the orchards and rolling hills to see silhouettes floating through the tall grasses with glowing orange glasses in hand. Meanwhile, Chef Daniel Sabia of Wood Fire Food was stoking the cooking fires to prepare a midsummer feast of local treasures, showing off this region’s spoils. We sat down together for dinner against the beautiful backdrop of the farm, the heavy grey skies of the cloud-covered day serving to brighten the greens of the surrounding grasses and set the white fur of the goats in their pens gleaming.

Nestled within a residential community, this little agricultural wonderland with a sliver of seashore on display from the fields was the perfect place to set the table for a Supper celebrating local sourcing.

This Supper experience felt a bit like summer camp, from meeting excited guests at breakfast the day before to closing down the lobby bar after the Supper. We were able to feel transported to a different world deep in the woods, while everyone was still able to wander back to their rooms on foot at the end of the night.

The day of our Seattle Supper was one of those rare, perfect, late-spring days in Washington. Each of the many greens of the manicured gardens at Jardin del Sol stood out against the bluebird sky, which perfectly matched the floral tablecloths we selected. The cloudless sky was decorated with wisps of cotton from the surrounding dogwood trees drifted gently in the warm air. Two half-moon tables fit just about perfectly in line with the sharp-edged hedges framing the garden’s lawn, creating a cozy nook in which to serve a very special meal from De la Soil.

The grounds of Deep Creek Farmstead are delightfully untamed, full of beautiful pockets begging to be explored. We wandered around the beautiful gardens until we found a lawn perfectly sized for an intimate table, with the titular deep creek babbling just on the other side of the trees. The land and trees all around were bursting with blooms, so we foraged trailing roses to build a table runner on our springtime table set with shades of green. Once set, it seemed to become part of the layered textures of the landscape, visible to anyone who peeked around the arched bushes as guests entered later that afternoon.

Each guest winemaker paired their wine with a course of the menu, and had the chance to share its story at the table while pouring. We got to not only enjoy great wine and food, but the chance to sit down and share a thoughtful meal with the people who grew the grapes, walked the vineyards, and meticulously checked the ferment to make each beautiful, place-based vintage.

At the end of a dirt road, down a winding path, past a burbling stone fountain, in a clearing bordered by draping oaks, we gathered outside of The Wildflower Barn in the heart of Texas Hill Country. We felt like we had discovered a secret garden, and set the table among the bright blooms of springtime wildflowers.

A collage of story and influence emerged throughout the evening to create a beautiful moment in time, with details added by the unique stories supplied by every individual at the table. The collection grew into something far more than the sum of its parts, something that could never be recreated, which only enhanced the beauty of the experience for those who were there to become a part of it.

By the evening’s end, the white barn glowed with reflected light off the windows, the world now dark outside. The room filled with clinking glasses and good conversation. That moment, the meal shared, was one worth experiencing with all five senses, worth far more than just the pretty sight it created.

The days are short and dark, and the snow and cold stubbornly remain. It can be a difficult, in-between time. That’s part of why we believe it’s one of the best times to gather — warm up together, beat the winter chill with a hearty meal, and find the beauty of the season in the twinkle of a good friend’s eye over a final glass at the end of the night, the bright burst of winter citrus that sneaks some sunshine into the dark days.