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We made it to Opening Day.
If you’re a regular reader, you know the first Dine on the Land each season tends to bring a major challenge—something that feels nearly impossible just days before we welcome our first guests. Season Ten has been no different.
Let me explain:
Typically, months in advance, our first dinner of the year—always held in June—sells out. But this time, despite incredible media coverage across major networks and notable publications (with more still to come), ticket sales for June 21 were... sluggish. Every other date was moving. But this one? It wasn’t. Even before the extreme heat forecast, it had us worried.
The truth is, we spend far more time preparing to open than we do actually being open. Every dollar is quietly sown—into the food we grow, the buildings we tend, and simply keeping the lights on through the lean months. From May through October, we gather just twice a week, with a few special moments in the months that follow. Then we pause again, waiting for spring. That’s why each date matters—it carries the weight of all the hope and work that came before it.
So, to see momentum everywhere except for our June 21 launch? It weighed heavy.
Then came the forecast: oppressive heat, 20–30 mph winds, and gusts over 40. Not ideal for last-minute ticket sales—or serving a multi-course dinner outdoors. But we pressed on. We had committed—to the chef, to our guests, to the farmers we work with, and to the food we’d grown for this meal. Even if rescheduling made more financial sense, we felt called to move forward.
The first miracle came early in the week. A longtime friend sent a generous, unexpected gift—a blessing she’d been saving for a purpose she hadn’t yet known, but now felt led to share in honor of our 10th season.
Then, on Friday, we stood in the familiar field where the table is always set—facing west, bathed in sun—and it hit us: our guests would be sitting in an oven.
So we shifted. We explored a forgotten section of the property—an alley between the forest and the big white barn. It’s a low spot we’ve long considered for rain gardens, often too wet and never used for events. But we saw potential. We pulled out the power washer, cleaned the barn walls, spread mulch, and tracked the sun with a block of wood. By 5 PM, the entire space would be shaded. Boom. A new plan. A new space.
Saturday came, and the heat was punishing. The smoker, oven, and grill only added to it, while the wind battled the flowers we’d carefully set along the table. And then, guests began to arrive.
I greeted them as they came up the drive. Some looked concerned—unsure if the Jones family and the Locavore crew were really going to make them sit out in the blazing sun and melt. I was so pleased to lead them instead into the shade of the woods, where a long table sat nestled in the breeze, dappled with light, cooled by the forest.
One guest—a faithful customer who returns every season and is also a wonderful encourager of this very newsletter—asked how things were going. I told him we’d needed just a few more guests to round out the evening. We were nearly full, but a sold-out table is what’s needed to sustain the season—covering the costs, honoring the effort, and fueling the work that makes gatherings like this possible.
As I spoke, I glanced at the table and realized something: had even three more guests joined us, the shade would’ve run out. The shadow—like the blessing—had been perfectly measured.
Enough is plenty when you trust the Providence of God.
We aren’t striving for a moment—we’re resting in His care. He sees what we can’t. He knows the reality. And He provides in ways that humble and renew.
I look forward to the lessons this season will bring—ones that build my faith and, I hope, encourage yours too.
Onward, through bounty and care.
Until next time,
Mrs. Farmer Jones
2 Corinthians 9:8 (NIV)
“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”
A quote by George Müller: “The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith, and the beginning of true faith is the end of anxiety.”
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