The First Sunday Table

Sunday Table

Norwood Vineyard Archive
Sunday, July 27, 2025

Let’s step back into that first Sunday.

I walked up the winding garden path at Norwood Vineyard and greeted our first guest. She didn’t know what to expect, and honestly, neither did I. In her hands were bags, a picnic she’d packed for her friends, who were pulling in just behind her. It was four o’clock. The first Sunday Table.

I walked her down to her place, one of three tables spaced quietly across the vineyard. I told her the things that mattered most: where to find the bathroom, the microwave in case she needed to warm something, and the fridge if she wanted to chill a bottle. I showed her the wine we’d set out for her and the handwritten note waiting at her seat. She could read it with her guests, or later, when the evening was hers again. And then I welcomed her to the Sunday Table.

Each arrival went the same way: a few simple directions, a wave toward the wine, and a note just for them. The rest was theirs to make.

Guests brought their own food. Picnic baskets and trays, little surprises wrapped in foil and we provided the wine, the tables, the setting. But it was never meant to be just a table at a vineyard. We dressed each one deliberately. My mother styled them in a way that was beautiful but not intimidating. I wanted that moment of surprise, the feeling that someone had prepared something special just for you. Even if you showed up in jeans and sandals, your place was set with care, because the table is where we gather, where we look across at the people who matter, where the best conversations and the best remembering happen.

Because Sunday Table didn’t come from a list of ideas for the vineyard. It came from contrast. Life in Atlanta moves fast. Here at the Vineyard, just twenty-five minutes south, the air shifts. Even when I’m working- stacking chairs, folding linens, sweeping under the pavilion…I slow down. I notice things. I hold on to them. Sunday Table was my way of asking others to do the same.

It was also an answer to a question we hear often: Can we visit the vineyard without hosting a big celebration? The answer, at least now, is yes, but only for something like this. One Sunday a month. Three tables. Six chairs at each. A setting beautiful enough to feel special, simple enough to keep you in the moment.

By the time I carried pound cake and vanilla ice cream to the tables, we had about forty-five minutes left together. Shoes were off. Phones were down. Imagine that. People walked the vineyard rows barefoot, wine in hand. They wandered without hurry.

The tables may have been the most sophisticated thing about the day, but the people were the heart. They were at ease, leaning back in their chairs, talking in low voices, laughing in bursts. It felt like they were at home.

And here’s what matters most: Sunday Table crystallized for me why we exist as a company. Why we create spaces. Why we create experiences. It’s to inspire people. It’s to help them hold on to what matters: the moments, the people, the places that shape them. Part of that work is building spaces that carry those memories. The other part is our own practice of creating experiences like this and inviting others to join us.

That’s why, while we welcomed guests, we also set our own Sunday Table. Not apart from them, but alongside them, as a family. Because this isn’t just something we offer. It’s a ritual we’ve chosen for our own lives.

We’ve already set the dates for the next Sunday Tables through the end of the year. Just three tables, once a month. Rain or shine. We hope you’ll take the opportunity to plan for it thoughtfully, the way you plan for something that matters. And when you arrive, you’ll see us there too.