THE TRUITT HOUSE EDIT
Come with us as we tell meaningful stories of preservation, restoration and hospitality. Explore Suffolk, Virginia’s rich history and share in our favorite experiences at The Truitt House.
The Storm Before The Party
Winter storms do not reward panic. They reward preparation—and then a willingness to let go.
You can make your lists, stock the pantry, and set things in motion, but once the sky decides, you’re no longer in charge. That isn’t so different from hosting.
You do your best work in advance. You think through the menu, the timing, the details that make people feel cared for. And then you step back. The weather will do what it does. People will arrive as they are. The night will be as good as the spirit you bring to it.
A Proper Table Is Not a Suggestion
Every host who has ever set a proper table knows this moment. The flowers are just so. The cards are written in your best hand. You’ve thought not only about who should sit where, but why — who will draw whom out, who needs a buffer, who will carry the conversation without realizing they’re doing the work. It’s invisible labor, and it’s the whole point.
Which is why nothing lands quite the same way as discovering that someone has quietly decided your careful arrangement was… optional.
Today’s Dear Mom question isn’t really about place cards. It’s about what happens when the structure you built — thoughtfully, generously — is treated as a suggestion. And what a host owes herself in that moment.
Good Manners at the Capitol: Flowers, Friendship, and the Grace of a Peaceful Transition
When something matters, you don’t arrive empty-handed. You prepare the house. You mind the details. You make sure the setting reflects the moment—not louder than it deserves, but worthy of it.
At the Virginia Capitol, that instinct takes the form of flowers.
For the fourth consecutive gubernatorial inauguration, the Nansemond River Garden Club had the honor of preparing the Capitol with floral arrangements. Not as ornament, but as acknowledgment. A peaceful changing of the guard deserves to be received properly.
When You Want to Include Everyone But Don’t Have Enough Space…
My dining room table seats twelve. I’ve squeezed in fourteen more times than I can count, and it was cozy — the conversation was easy, the candles burned low, and it just felt right, the way it does when everyone’s happy to be there.
The point is, we were around the dining room table. Once you start reaching for the piano bench and the folding chairs, the evening takes on a whole different kind of personality. That’s perfectly fine — if it’s what you want. But if it isn’t, this is where a good host learns the art of making choices.
Dear Mom, How Do I Host - Prime Rib or Piñata? On Knowing When Not to Repeat Yourself
You host the same thing every year.
It’s not fancy. It’s just the dinner people associate with you — the one they ask about in advance. Someone always wants to know if you’re making that dish again, and you always say yes, because that’s what you do.
You don’t look at a recipe. You don’t debate the menu. You pull out the same serving pieces because they’re already right there. You know how long everything takes because you’ve done it enough times to stop thinking about it.
Dear Mom, How Do I Host - The Case for Cake and Why Holiday Traditions Matter
When you host, don’t forget the traditions. Write the recipes down. Make them with your children. Let them see the mess, the substitutions, the quiet confidence that comes from doing something the way it’s always been done — and sometimes, a little differently. Those moments become memories, and those memories travel farther than we ever will.
Suffolk on Sunday: Choosing What We Want to Keep
A friend of mine—Kris Brown, owner of The Pinner House and Café Davina—posted a short reel on Instagram the other day. Just one sentence, written plainly, without flourish:
Cute towns only stay cute when you choose to shop small.
I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Because once you let that sentence settle, another question follows close behind:
What would downtown feel like if your favorite place simply wasn’t there anymore? Not closed for the evening.
Gone.
How Do I Host the Holidays Without Losing My Mind?
December arrives loudly, full of charm and chaos in equal measure. Even the calmest among us can feel the pressure to rush through a season meant to be savored. But holiday hospitality isn’t measured in menus or perfectly kept traditions. It lives in the glow of the tree at dawn, in honest food shared after a parade, in the quiet confidence of opening your door just as you are. People aren’t coming for a perfect Christmas—they’re coming for a warm one.
A Front-Row Seat to Christmas
As the Christmas parade gathered just beyond the porch, friends gathered inside, drawn by the warmth of a full house and the easy promise of a December evening well spent. Outside, bands fell into formation and children swayed to distant drums; inside, plates were passed, stories traded, and laughter settled comfortably into the rooms. It was the kind of night we all recognized — part anticipation, part memory — where hosting meant opening the door wide and letting people, food, and tradition mingle. By the time the crowd drifted to the porch, the parade felt less like something to watch and more like something we already belonged to.
The Myth of the Ready Host
December has a way of convincing us that everything must be fully formed before it is shared.
The tree must be perfect before guests arrive. The house must be in order before anyone steps inside. The table must be complete before a place is set.
And quietly, almost imperceptibly, that thinking transfers to us.
I’ll invite when I feel ready. I’ll gather when life feels calmer. I’ll open my door when I’m more confident, more rested, more put together.
But readiness has never been the price of belonging.