In the thick of it, I remember thinking: It would be nice if this was catered, but then the caterers would be working on Thanksgiving.

I prepped a millennium of food the night before–even so, that didn’t mean there was time to visit with our visitors–and I had the village helping prepare Thanksgiving, I wasn’t alone by any means (put that in caps). Many dishes were contributed–vegan paella, yam pie, creamed onions, giblet dressing, sweet corn pudding, etc.

Partly due to my fear of cooking a 26lb turkey, partly due to cleaning the house for 5 days before everyone arrived, partly due to being a busy parent, partly due to fighting off the many cough-related-cocktails of colds circulating this time of year–I just wanted the turkey to fly to the table cooked and juicy, on a magic carpet of platter, and the other dishes to, you know, do the same. Like in an episode of Bewitched.

Searching for giblets. The village’s Priestess set me straight.

However–as the village mingled and played with 3 kids and 6 dogs and ferried plates to and fro, and carved the turkey and filled the Ponderosa with holiday mirth—and not just because wine glasses were refilled and my cousin’s cousin’s artisan beer was proffered/poured without end (Pumpkin Porter–ahhhh)–I knew that I would absolutely host again.

In a heartbeat.

With gleaned turkey-cooking knowledge, secret recipes revealed, prized tips and information that can only be filed from hosting a Thanksgiving dinner.

A village.

Thank you, family.

Let’s all go to the moon for Christmas.