A Long-Overdue Evening at Heyday Farm   

My friend Elaine and I ate dinner together at Heyday Farm over a year ago, but I remember the evening clearly. The smell of butter wafted through the room, as well as a hint of basil.

Like writing, good food is best when it simplifies the complex and mine was rich with memories. We sat at the bar where the prep happens right in front of you, so it’s like everyone is part of the stir, and that’s the kind of evening I was ready for. When I invited Elaine, I was overextended, which means more time alone at my desk. I like being alone. I need to be alone to work. But I also know when I’m ready for good company, good conversation, good food and wine.

It’s amazing the effect this combination has.

I don’t even know what to call the feeling I have after a long-overdue evening like this, but I know that it’s the best medicine even without the extra eggplant the chef gave me because I kept complimenting its taste. Watching him sauté made me think of someone else who liked cooking this way. She lived next door when I was a kid. Her name was Mary.

Mary would make me something wonderful to eat before I babysat her two boys. I’d watch her chop and stir and steam. She always told me I could be whatever I wanted. Which meant everything. If Mary could believe my future could be my choice, I could believe it.

By the time I was in high school, I started to think more about the fact that there was always a bottle of vodka on the counter when Mary cooked. Between stirrings, she’d pour splashes over ice, rattle the glass for a sec, and this started to explain a lot of things that didn’t make sense to me at the time. Like the way her words would start to sound sloshy, as if they had to find their way through a smoothie before they could free themselves, which is probably the best image I can think of for her life at the time.

By nature, I have always been inquisitive. I want to know the why of things. For instance, I wanted to know, but was afraid to ask, why Mary’s husband would talk to her the way he did, and why she, the smartest woman I knew, let him, all but cowering in his presence. It was naïve of me to think that she could have stood up to such a bully simply because I wanted her to.

But I wanted her to.

I grew more and more weary of bullies.

I still had no idea how many of them would grow up to feel entitled to run everything from households to countries. Not that I want to bring up one such bully—one that I’ve imagined falling ill or off a cliff or out of an emergency exit door of a Boeing airplane—but he does remind me why Mary may have needed all that vodka.     

Elaine and I talked about a lot that night, no small talk for us.

There was something whimsical in the air as I walked back to my car. The restaurant is housed inside of a beautiful farm house. Even the arbor over the patio is inspired. When the moonlight hits it, it glows.

Some years ago, I met Elaine. That we’d shared our first meal together that night, just the two of us, felt like part of the magic. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see an owl fly by for good measure.

Which might have been too much magic for one night, but I’d never dream of not wanting it.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s newest title, In So Many Words, was nominated for a 2025 Washington State Book Award. Her newest book, An Island Called Bainbridge: People, Places, Conversations, is due to be published in the fall of 2026. She also works as a speaker and a master dance teacher. She lives on Bainbridge Island. For more information about her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Heyday Farm is located on Bainbridge Island, Washington. 

For more information, visit https://www.heydayfarm.com.