Seven Maysgivings. That is where we are.
If you had told me seven years ago that I would still be doing this, that it would grow into something with recipes and traditions and meaning layered upon meaning, I think I would have laughed. I just wanted a reason to make stuffing in May.
But here we are.
Year One was the experiment. I was not sure anyone would take it seriously. My family showed up a little skeptical and left asking when we were doing it again. That was enough for me.
Year Two, I started taking notes. Not formal ones, just little scribbles. What worked on the table, what felt right, what I wanted to remember. The cranberry sauce recipe got locked in that year. It has not changed since.
Year Three brought more people and more food. I learned that Maysgiving scales beautifully. You can do it for four people or fourteen. The spirit is the same.
Year Four was the one I almost skipped. Life was full. Schedules were impossible. But I set the table anyway, and I am so glad I did. That year reminded me that traditions are most important when they feel hardest to keep.
Year Five, my boys started helping with the cooking. That changed everything. Watching them understand that we do this on purpose, that we choose gratitude, that we make it happen, was one of the most quietly beautiful parenting moments I have had.
Year Six, I realized I had a real body of work on my hands. Seven years of recipes. Seven years of reflections. Seven years of stories from around the table. Something kept nudging me to write it down properly.
Year Seven, I did.
The Maysgiving Table started as a family dinner. It became a tradition. And now it is a book. A cookbook-memoir that holds everything I have learned, cooked, laughed over, and been grateful for across seven years of intentional celebration.
Each Maysgiving has been different. Each one has taught me something. And all of it is in the book.
I even wrote a whole Thanksgiving Music Album!!! Enjoy a listen.
