The first time we hosted way too many people in our 1000-square-foot craftsman was in 2020. It was mid-January and we’d just walked out of the reception hall where my family had gathered to honor my late grandmother. Much of our extended family who attended had traveled in from all over the country to celebrate her life.

My husband turned to ask me if we should invite everyone over for an early dinner. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with everyone, especially those who lived far away, so the answer was obvious even though this would mean throwing an impromptu dinner party for thirty people. 

“The answer was obvious even though this would mean throwing an impromptu dinner party for thirty people.”

We let those we could know in person to come by around four, and asked them to text the ones we hadn’t been able to touch base with to spread the word. On the way home we swung by the store, grabbed a couple of bags of pasta, one gluten free alternative, and a whole bunch of vegan sausages. We went home to do what we could to prepare.

We pulled out any spare chair or stool we had, put two huge pots of water on to boil, dumped two or three jars of sauce into their respective pots once the noodles had cooked and set out several large baguettes next to the butter dish. Thoughtful guests who had a chance to run by the store brought bottles of wine. When they arrived, we instructed everyone to grab a plate and let people know where they could find the glassware so they could help themselves.

Anyone who was able-bodied and under the age of fifty sat on the floor, leaving the seats for the likes of my grandma’s generation, which included my 88-year-old grandfather, two of my great uncles, and two great aunts. My grandmother was the first of their generation to go, and this was the first time my generation would grieve someone we’d grown up making memories with. I was very aware that this was the beginning and the end of an era.

“I was very aware that this was the beginning and the end of an era.”

One of the things I remember most about that night was my mother and one of her first cousins sitting on the rug, legs folded to their chests and plates atop their knees, giggling and clinking their glasses. I couldn’t help but think this was the best possible way to close out the day of my grandma’s funeral — a woman who had gathered all of us so many times before and had hosted countless dinner parties over the decades.

Another especially meaningful gathering that comes to mind is my husband’s 34th birthday. To mitigate our guests’ wide array of dietary needs, we invited each group or pair to bring a dish of their choosing. That night we ate vegan tacos, enjoyed an artfully curated charcuterie plate, and a traditional Middle Eastern dish called makloubeh that is cooked in a huge pot and served only after a climactic move that requires the server to flip the enormous dish upside down and hope that the rice doesn’t spill everywhere (the flip was a success — we have a video!).

After we ate, we headed out back to sit around the fire pit, as usual. Everyone had seconds and thirds, smoked hookah, and laughed into the night. The meal was a rich mish-mash, the evening a hodgepodge — just like us.

“The meal was a rich mish-mash, the evening a hodgepodge — just like us.”

Perhaps my favorite, though, was the time we hosted forty people at our house for Thanksgiving. We still lived in that same two-bed, one-bath house that was built in 1920 — arguably too small to host a large group of people. Modern amenities were few and far between. But she had character for days, and we had a really long driveway that inspired us to set up the longest table we possibly could and invite everyone who could come.

And they did. We filled the table to the brim. We rented linens and chairs and dishes, and everyone brought an entree or a side. One of our dearest friends filled vases with foraged blooms from the neighborhood and made personalized name cards. Another brought his turntable and made it his job to keep the music going. 

The people who came spanned four generations, several different family trees, and folks drove in from the desert and up from San Diego. I remember both ends of the long table were reserved for our two guests in wheelchairs. I remember missing my grandpa, who had died just a few months before, and really wishing he was there. I remember my daughter, not even a year old, wearing a red corduroy jumper, the youngest at the table. 

The candles burned all the way down, surrounded by half-empty glasses, wine stains, and the general mess of a well-used tablescape after everyone has finished their meal. Most people stayed well into the night, and I remember at one point capturing a video through the back window of a handful of men gathered around the fire, laughing. I knew this was it — the thing we’re all always chasing. Connection and community.

“I knew this was it — the thing we’re all always chasing. Connection and community.”

We woke up the next morning to the leftover mess in the backyard. Our friends who had spent the night helped us clean up. Our daughter played while we did so. It occurred to me that this was her very first Thanksgiving, and what a Thanksgiving it was.

To be honest, our great big Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t exactly within our budget. And often hosting more people than we planned isn’t. I’m certainly not advocating for financial irresponsibility, but my point is we’ve never once regretted the splurge.

Now it’s old hat, second nature for us to invite our friends and their kids for a post-nap run around the backyard and casual dinner parties. If capacity allows (emotional, physical, or otherwise), we pivot to add one more to the table, one more to the calendar, one more evening to our rolodex of priceless memories with the ones we love.

Kate Arceo is the Community Manager at The Good Trade. She has a Bachelor of Science from Evangel University and has over 5 years of experience reviewing sustainable home and lifestyle brands, as well as organic kids’ apparel and nontoxic cosmetics. When she’s not hosting dinner parties with her husband at their home in Southern California, you can find her sipping a latte at their local coffee house or shopping for strawberries with her kids at the farmers market. Say hi on Instagram!