BOHO
The imperfection is the point. We set our table layered with treasures - a kantha throw from India, a tablecloth from Palm Beach, floral china platters from my grandmother's armoire. Flowers in jewel tones. No two vases the same. A collected table, not a coordinated one. Nothing matches, and somehow everything fits. The layers tell a story.
Western
We set our table under the stars. Cold beers quench our dusty throats. We pile our plates with ribs and trout, beans, mac and cheese, and some coleslaw. Nothing fussy. Nothing left behind. After dinner we congregate on hay bales covered in woolen blankets around a campfire. A stack of Pendleton blankets stands ready for when the sun goes down. A bottle of bourbon gets passed around. A band called the Crazy Marys plays country and western. Generous, unhurried, and completely chill.
Beach
We spread a gingham tablecloth and weight it down against the summer breeze with smooth rocks from the shore. Vases of daisies are clustered down the center. The kids collect shells to mark where people are sitting. Everyone contributes a dish - corn on the cob, lobster tails, BBQ chicken. And dessert, a strawberry galette with homemade peach ice cream. The kids pile onto the lifeguard chair. The early evening glow settles over everything. There's nothing like Cape light.
An Outdoor Wedding
The date has been on everyone's calendar for a year. And yet when the day arrives, you're overwhelmed - in the best way. You planned down to the last detail, and still there are surprises. The lawn is dotted with tables, tablecloths coordinated, centerpieces arranged just so, and then a sprinkle of rain. No one cares. The food is simply delicious. The cake looks too pretty to eat; we slice it with the bride's family's antique silver server. Everyone dances under the moon. The happiness of new beginnings.
Garden Party
My mother-in-law always loved a garden party. She put so much effort into her beds, and they were worthy of a celebration - or two, or three. Long tables dressed in pressed white linen. Peonies, roses, and dahlias cut fresh that morning. Heirloom tomatoes with basil. Endless pots of ratatouille in late summer. And when the season ended and the garden parties were behind us, our cupboards held the proof - raspberry jam, dilly beans, dried herbs, and a memory of her wearing her straw hat and wielding a spade.
Table In A Field
We carry a table out into the field and drape a tenth of paisley fabric over it. The napkins are linen and dyed in the colors of autumn. The chairs are a happy mismatch. We set down wooden cutting boards with homemade breads, local cheeses, cured meats, and pates - bowls of rustic mustard, chutneys, and pickled vegetables alongside. Bottles of wine and hard cider fill our cups. We are savoring the last days of summer and already looking forward to what fall brings.