Chili Parties

Monday, September 1, 2025

My heart is bursting with gratitude. 

I woke this morning without an alarm—my body rising on its own around 6:15 a.m., a rarity. When I wake up unprompted, it’s usually due to stress. Years ago, I was scheduled to leave campus at 6 a.m. for a trip to Washington, D.C. I slept so fitfully that waking up was a relief—only then did I realize I’d set my alarm for 5 p.m. instead of 5 a.m.

This morning, I awoke slowly. I felt rested. Ready for another day. 

Last night, we hosted the entire family for dinner. The last couple weeks of August in Central Virginia were mild, and the weather yesterday was cool and comfortable—a whisper of autumn. 

We had a few pounds of venison in our freezer from a friend, so I decided to cook up a big pot of chili and have the entire family—dogs and all—over for dinner. 

We spent the day before preparing—raking leaves, chopping wood, hosing down lawn furniture, scooping dog poop. We set up a gathering space around the fire ring in our side yard. I brought out a folding table, and we loaded it down with food. The pot of chili, corn muffins (courtesy of my mom), salad with homegrown cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers (courtesy of my mother-in-law), sour cream, crackers, corn chips, and cheese.

My husband and his brother got the fire going, and I distributed bowls of chili, loaded down with all the fixings. The smallest members of the family sat in their miniature folding chairs with their bowls in their laps. We only had one spill, but the dogs were more than happy to help clean up the mess. 

When I was a child, my parents hosted chili parties. I don’t remember how many times or how many people attended these gatherings, but I do remember they felt like big events. 

It was early in my childhood, when we lived in the yellow farm house on the corner of Congressional Boulevard. Like many homes in South Carolina’s Lowcountry, it had a big wraparound porch with ferns hanging between the posts. Mom strung decorative lights in the shape of chili peppers on the same beams. 

I don’t remember if the guests were people from the neighborhood, church, or both, but the house was bursting at the seams. Mom made a big pot of chili, and I think a few other people brought their own variation of the dish. The adults would congregate in the dining room and living room, but the kids had free reign over the FROG—the finished room over the garage. 

Chili parties disappeared for a while, but they came back about a decade ago—this time, for Christmas. I don’t remember when we started celebrating the holidays with my best friend’s family, but they have been with us for Thanksgiving or Christmas consistently for the past fifteen years. 

Mom started making chili and/or soup for Christmas about five or so years ago, and it stuck. She usually prepares a pot of chili, and I make an additional soup—last year’s was Italian sausage and orzo. We invite the Smith-Babbitt-Cohen-Acker-Pridemore (it keeps expanding as we get married and add people to the group) family over for soup, games, and gifts. This gathering is smaller than those chili parties, but just as fun. 

My mom has always been a wonderful host—from family dinners to chili parties, she knows how to make people feel welcomed and like they belong. And she loves doing it too. I think I inherited this from her, because I’m always eager to invite people into my home for a good meal, a campfire, or a cup of coffee. 

After everyone left last night, my husband and I sat in our rockers by the fire. We bundled up in hoodies, and I threw on a pair of thick socks. Without the sun, it was cool, crisp. The fire popped and crackled. With full bellies and fuller hearts, we rocked until the fire died.