When the girls were younger and all living at home, we had family dinner hour. Every Sunday through Thursday at 6:30 p.m. we turned off the TV, ignored the phone and sat down to dinner together.

We all had busy lives, but when we sat at the table we were there 100 percent. Everyone had to check in and everyone was heard. Tables are the great equalizers. No matter who’s older, has more power or money, when you’re all sitting at the table, everyone’s on the same level.

Our meal was always homemade—never take out. At that point, though Steve owned restaurants, but I really believe that one of the most important things you can do for the people you love is to prepare a meal with your own hands. That’s not to say dinner was elaborate—there was no chateaubriand or tableside Caesar salad presentation. But there was always a protein, starch and either two vegetables or one and a salad.

One of the girls’ favorite proteins, and something I still crave to this day, is cheese soufflé. People are intimidated by soufflés—the name alone sounds impossibly French and fancy—but I’m always like, get a grip, do you see how easy this is? There were many nights when I didn’t have a dinner plan, but I had eggs, milk and cheese.

It’s little more than whipping egg whites, making a béchamel and adding egg yolks. And don’t get hung up on the béchamel part either—that’s just butter, flour and milk. The most complex part about it is the timing. Soufflés bake up beautifully, but they fall quickly. I’d have the table set and everything else ready to go so I could pull them out and put them on the table the minute the time went off.

Now that the girls are grown and having dinner at their own tables, I’ll still bake up a soufflé when it’s just Steve and I, sometimes swapping out the cheddar for a mix of goat cheese and Parmesan. He and I go in so many different directions all day long and it’s nice to sit at the table, tuck into a steamy soufflé and feel our souls with sharing, our minds with conversation and our bodies with food that comes together in minutes and tastes like it took all day.

Fannie Farmer’s Cheese Soufflé

• Courtesy of James Beard
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 3 tablespoons flour
• ½ cup scalded milk
• ½ teaspoon salt
• Few grains cayenne
• ½ cup grated Cheddar cheese
• 3 eggs separated

Melt the butter, add the flour, and when well mixed gradually add the scalded milk. Then add the salt, cayenne and cheese.

Remove from the fire; add the egg yolks beaten until lemon colored. Cool the mixture, fold in the egg whites beaten stiff but not dry. Pour into a buttered 1 ½ quart mold, and bake 30 to 35 minutes at 375 degrees.

Photo by BreeAnne Clowdus

Years ago, Steve and I took an annual “just because” trip to New Orleans. We’d get an early flight out of Atlanta, hit the Big Easy long before our hotel’s check-in time and head straight to Central Grocery for an early-morning muffaletta.

When I love something, I don’t care what time of day it is.

It’s one of my fondest memories of New Orleans—Steve and I sharing that big sandwich stacked with meat and incredible olive salad. On the way back to the airport, we’d stop for another and devour it on the plane.

Last week Serenbe Playhouse executive director Brian Clowdus put me back in touch with the magic of New Orleans—the hot, sticky air and smell of the streets—without ever leaving Serenbe. He did his production of A Streetcar Named Desire at the Art Farm, where three shipping containers and a platform create an unbelievable stage upon which Brian set all-white, very contemporary furniture—a nod to the original black-and-white movie with Vivian Leigh and Marlon Brando. It felt both gritty and modern—and it totally worked.

Photo by BreeAnne Clowdus

Brian’s productions are always packed with local actors of note, but this one includes his first major star, Matt Davis (Vampire Diaries) as Stanley. As Vampire Diaries is filmed in Atlanta, Matt has visited Serenbe often and became friends with Garnie. One day he mentioned how much he’d like to do Streetcar with Serenbe Playhouse. A short time later, Brian said something to Garnie about adding Streetcar to his line-up. She put the two together—it was meant to be.

Photo by BreeAnne Clowdus

Davis brings a brooding sensuality to the role and Deb Bowman, who plays Blanche is phenomenal. It’s a very dark and difficult play about a woman in the throes of a nervous breakdown and Bowman brings pure grace and magic to it.

Come see Streetcar before it closes on Sunday, but don’t arrive on an empty stomach. Make yourself a nice thick muffaletta before the show, complete with the best olive salad on the planet.

Central Grocery Olive Salad

• 2/3 cup pitted and coarsely chopped green olives
• 2/3 cup pitted and coarsely chopped Kalamata olives
• ½ cup chopped pimento
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 anchovy filet, mashed
• 1 tablespoon capers, drained and rinsed
• ½ cup finely chopped parsley leaves
• 1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh oregano leaves
• ½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
• ½ cup extra virgin olive oil

In a medium bowl, combine all ingredients and allow the flavors to meld. Store covered in the refrigerator until ready to use.

In 1999, Steve and Garnie were out for a jog when they heard bulldozers in a nearby field. They stopped the driver, asked why he was clearing trees and he replied that he didn’t know the purpose, but it was likely for the development of a subdivision.

That moment was the clarion call: It propelled Steve to protect not just the property around ours, but the greater Chattahoochee Hill Country. Had it not happened the way it did—luckily the owner was just having land cleared for an airstrip—Serenbe would not be what it is today.

Six years later, this land wasn’t just a place Steve and I lived with our girls—it was a community. The first resident moved here in 2005 and now here we are, a decade down the road, with 475 residents. We survived ups, downs—including the economic blowout—and are now building our third neighborhood. Serenbe has become so much more than we could’ve ever conceptualized.

So we came together over food, as is our way. Jim ‘N Nick’s brought the barbecue and each resident brought a dish. We all gathered to eat and talk very near the fateful spot where Steve and Garnie heard that bulldozer.

Everyone received buttons bearing the year they first bought in the community. Just as I was saying I wished I’d had one made for myself, my daughter Quinn, who helped organize the event, held out her hand. In it was five 1991 buttons for the family, and we pinned them on proudly. 

We had three guest speakers: our land planner, Phil Tabb; Rodney Peek, the 6^th generation of Peeks to live on Hutcheson’s Ferry, the road that borders the Inn; and Tom Reed, Serenbe resident and the mayor of the CHC. Before they spoke, Steve and I welcomed everyone: He spoke about the process of Serenbe and I talked about its energy and emotion. It was so heartening to look at all those people. We created Serenbe because we saw the construction and destruction of north Fulton County and set out to show that there was a better way.

Anyone can create a housing development—it takes very special people to create a community.

We had no idea that Serenbe would become an international model for development, creating community and its effects on health, wellness and what I call our “being-ness.” Steve and I are the foundational energy, but it’s the residents who bring the true light that’s being noticed all over the world. I wanted them to know that Steve and I don’t take that for granted, and how graced we feel by everyone’s presence.

A little while later, I realized I hadn’t said everything in my heart and stood up to speak again. I thanked our three daughters for being as passionate as—and often more passionate than—Steve and I when it comes to this magical place outside Atlanta. Years ago, one of our first residents introduced the family to some friends of hers at the Daisy and described us each perfectly:

Steve is the director of vision.

I am the director of beauty.

Garnie is the director of operations.

Kara is the director of care.

Quinn is the director of fun.

Some day, when Steve and I “go off and dream,” as Garnie calls it, our girls will move the vision forward. And it is in very capable hands.

So we broke bread together and celebrated this space we’ve all created—a space full of openness and possibility. Just as my mother before me, I was born to nourish people, and did so that day with this carrot slaw. There was plenty left over, which was just fine with me. You never know who’s going to show up at the table, hungry for something different.

Carrot Slaw

• Serves 4
• 12 carrots, grated
• 1 cup parsley sprigs, chopped
• 1 cup scallions, chopped
• 1 ¼ cups extra virgin oil
• 6 tablespoons red wine vinegar
• 2 teaspoons kosher slat
• 1 tablespoon pommery mustard
• 4 garlic cloves, minced

Place parsley, carrots and scallions in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together oil, vinegar, salt, mustard and garlic. Toss vinaigrette with carrots, scallions and parsley. Add more salt to taste. Serve at room temperature.

On Mother’s Day, I was treated to a wonderful dinner at Le Fat with two of my three daughters, but I also received a handful of texts from women in the community. Not massive group texts, but personal notes. These women are my friends and neighbors, but in many ways they’ve come to think of me as their other mother.

I’ve noticed the same thing with the new men in my life: Kara’s fiancé, Micah, Garnie’s boyfriend, Matt, and her buddy from college, Michael, have all started calling me Mama Marie.

Since Steve and I basically birthed this community, it makes sense that people would think of us as the parents. And it’s not a role I take lightly. To me, the mother is the one who holds the heart. Who nourishes others on multiple levels. Who creates a space where souls can flourish and everyone can walk their own path.

Because I didn’t birth these children, I can meet them where they are as adults and vice versa. I don’t have a hand in all their pies, but they can come to me with whatever is on their minds and hearts—things they might not feel comfortable sharing with a parent.

As my own girls grow and change, it’s been so lovely taking on this other mother role for the men in their lives and the grown children in this community. As a woman who was raised by strong women, it feels right to walk around with all these young chicks behind me, taking them under my wing when they need a little love.

Early last year, Garnie got a call from a film scout interested in using Serenbe as the backdrop for a major motion picture. He came, he saw, he loved. So for 8 weeks last summer, Serenbe turned into Amity in Insurgent, the second movie in the Divergent series.

It was all so wonderfully synchronistic: In the movie, Amity is one of five factions in the Divergent world. The inhabitants are peaceful, kind, trusting, self-sufficient and do all the farming for the other factions. I love that Serenbe was chosen to represent where the happy people live.

It took about five weeks to build the set at Serenbe Stables. They used the barn as the backdrop for City Hall and built an unbelievable dome with a tree in the middle that acted as their gathering spot. I so wish we would have known about the dome ahead of time so we could’ve had them build it for the long-term. I desperately wanted to keep it.

They shot here for three weeks, and in that time the population of Serenbe doubled with crew and extras. The director and producer stayed here, as did the stars, Shailene Woodley and Theo James. And once word leaked out about that, there were teenyboppers everywhere.

One of the most fascinating parts of the process to me was the food service. To feed 500 people a day, Hollywood’s No. 1 caterer brought in 18-wheelers that served as refrigerators and kitchens for an entire staff of cooks and service people.

They had beautifully fresh sushi and other delicious food every day. For 500 people. Out of a truck. I had lunch there one day and was blown away.

It was fascinating to be the site of that much fun and chaos—and to have a front-row seat for the money and effort that really goes into the making of a film.

Serenbe was the first 18 minutes of the movie; we went to see it at the Atlanta premiere. It looked incredible and really made us step back, see it from a different perspective and enjoy the beauty.

My mind reeled. It never occurred to me that Serenbe would be used for filming. Never occurred to me that we’d have a theater company or so many of the other cultural elements of this community. It’s left me wondering, damn, what other wonders will appear on our doorstep?

This year’s May Day event, our 10^th annual celebration of spring, was the best yet. We had live music, farm stands, artists, food trucks, local artisan vendors, children’s activities and, of course, dancing around the may pole. But my favorite part was that people we love and trust were in charge of the vision and implementation. Steve and I were out of town leading up to that weekend, arrived Saturday night and spent Sunday enjoying the festival.

Lexus was a major sponsor of the event and wanted to host a VIP brunch for 100 on May Day morning at the Bosch Experience Center. My oldest daughter, Garnie, asked her boyfriend, Matt Adolfi, if he would be willing to cook and he jumped right in. Matt is a chef, but not just any chef. He is the chef de cuisine at Bacchanalia, which means he has skills and a tremendous amount of talent.

The food was amazingly impressive: Matt was up three nights in a row until 5:30 a.m. prepping for his menu, which included eggs benedict with quail eggs, fresh lobster rolls, homemade sweet rolls with caramelized pecans, rhubarb granola parfaits and homemade fennel sausage on buttermilk biscuits with fennel marmalade. His friend Daniel Chance, who will be executive chef of Dub’s Fish Camp in the new Ponce City Market, lent a helping hand on Saturday. And every bit of it was exquisite.

Matt is a great guy and he makes my daughter happy—that’s all I care about. But if he was trying to impress me with all that wonderful food, he certainly accomplished his mission.

Fennel Marmalade

• Like most natural-born chefs, Matt often relies on his gut instead of recipes to create a delicious dish. Use this as a guideline for your own version and serve with freshly baked buttermilk biscuits.

• Sliced fennel
• Small amount of sliced onion
• Equal parts sugar and Champagne vinegar
• Dash of Pernod

Combine all ingredients in a food processor until completely mixed. Put in a pot and reduce on medium heat until thick and the sugar starts to bubble. Place in a jar or covered bowl in the refrigerator until ready to use.

Every Sunday, The New York Times book section does an author Q&A called “By the Book” and one of the stock questions asks: If you could require the President to read one book, what would it be?

The President—and everyone else, as far as I am concerned—should have a copy of The Way I Cook by Lee Bailey. Almost every conversation I’ve ever had about cookbooks goes like this: I mention Lee Bailey and the person to whom I’m speaking says, “Who?”

In the early 70s, Bailey had a tableware boutique in New York that started in Henri Bendel and later moved to Saks Fifth Avenue. Whenever Steve and I would visit, I’d always make it a point to go. It was just magical.

Bailey wasn’t a professional cook—he taught design at the collegiate level for many years before opening his shop—but he was a passionate one. He loved to serve delicious food in a gorgeous setting.

Back in 1983, cookbooks were usually broken down by section—appetizers, entrees, desserts—and not much in the way of photos. But Bailey changed that with Country Weekends, the first of 18 books he wrote during his lifetime.

His eye for presentation was masterful. The photos were incredible and he gave entire menus—a style that still influences cookbook authors today. Chef/restaurateur Anne Quatrano and I bonded over our love of Lee Bailey’s cookbooks and she modeled her own, Summerland, after them.

I was blown away by Bailey’s simple and accessible style. It wasn’t Escoffier—everyone could make his recipes and I never found a bad one in the book. They were beautifully presented, but also very real. I remember a coconut flan that broke, but he published the picture anyway because he wanted readers to know that everything didn’t have to be perfect when entertaining at home.

He wrote one on desserts, one on flowers and three little books on onion, tomatoes and corn. One on Southern menus. One in Napa Valley. But the one I love the most is The Way I Cook, a 1,100-recipe compilation of the best of his books with very few photos at all.

This recipe speaks to me because it features okra and tomatoes, two of my favorite vegetables. Here in the South, okra is either fried, stewed or gumbo-ed, but Bailey takes a unique approach by steaming it. Just goes to show that there’s always a new way to approach an ingredient.

Steamed Okra with Tomato Vinaigrette

• Serves 6
• 1 pound okra, tops and tips trimmed

• Tomato Vinaigrette
• 4 tablespoons olive oil
• 4 tablespoons shallots, finely chopped
• 1 cup tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped
• 4 tablespoons red wine vinegar
• 1 clove garlic, finely chopped
• 2/3 cup dry white wine
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• Freshly ground pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons chopped gherkins
• 3 tablespoons small capers (or large, chopped), drained

Steam okra for 5 minutes, or until just fork tender. Allow to cool. Do not refrigerate.

Heat the oil and add the shallots; cook until wilted. Add tomatoes and simmer for approximately 5 minutes. Add vinegar, garlic, wine, salt and pepper. Simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until reduced to a thick sauce. Correct seasoning. Add gherkins and capers and serve warm over the okra.

About 13 years ago, I met a woman who facilitated the building of labyrinths at a spirituality conference. As soon as I got home, I told Steve I wanted one. And of course, he knew just the place.

At the time, we were living in a seven-room bed and breakfast that is now the Inn at Serenbe. Steve cleared a patch of land nearby and I put together a letter inviting more than 40 family members and friends from all over the world to help us create the labyrinth. My only request: They had to bring a rock and a story to go with it.

When I think back about it, it seems like an unusual request. But lo and behold, everyone brought something special. I was shocked at the time and effort some people put into it:

Steve’s cousin from Colorado went to the family church that Steve’s Swedish ancestors built, crawled over fences and got rocks from the foundation.

My best friend Connie’s husband brought a rock his son gave him years before. He traveled often and his son gave him that rock to remind him of home.

John Ferrell, the man to whom I sold Mary Mac’s, brought a rock that had been part of his home in North Carolina.

Everyone arrived on a Thursday. We welcomed everyone over dinner and set the intention to create the labyrinth together. Afterwards I gave everyone candles—one of my favorite parts of my Catholic upbringing—and we walked across the bridge Steve had built to a clearing with piles of rocks all around.

When we all came to the center, the women who facilitated led us in a blessing of the land and for the work we were about to do. The center of a labyrinth is the most sacred space—when you’re there, it’s said that you’re in conversation with the divine energy. I told everyone they were welcome to leave their candles or take them back to their rooms.

The next morning, we broke up into five groups to make the four quadrants and rosette in the middle, much like the one at Chartres Cathedral in France. By lunchtime we’d laid out most of the rocks and spent the next few days finessing—changing a rock here and there and sharing the stories behind our rocks.

We set up an encampment by the trees near the lake—a cloth for shade and table with refreshments. When we started to share stories on Friday afternoon, a swarm of bees appeared and we had to get up and move. They kept following us until we went to the center of the rosette, then they left us alone.

That’s where we shared our stories. And there were a lot of them, but it was important to listen as everyone shared their spirit. Once they shared, they could place their rock wherever they wanted.

After lunch on Saturday, Connie and my sister Barbara asked to see more of the land where we planned to build the Serenbe community. Steve and our land planner, Phil Tabb, took them on a hike. When they came back, Barbara said, “Can I see the map?” She pointed to a lot and said, “I want this one.” And that started the sale of houses at Serenbe.

The candles that we’d left at the labyrinth that first night were still burning. They weren’t seven-day candles, but every time we’d go up, they’d be flickering with flame. Before everyone left on Sunday, we gathered at the labyrinth again, sang and I asked several of the women to read either a book of poetry or the Bible—whatever page wanted to be read. Again we blessed the space, returned to the house to have lunch—because meals are important to Nygrens—and everyone went on their way.

I went back up by myself that night and was amazed to see the candles still burning. Also that night, the cows decided to break out of the pasture and congregate in the center of the labyrinth. And not one of the candles went out.

The next night I went up and the last candle had extinguished on its own. The cows got out not once but twice and went to the labyrinth, leaving every rock in place. I guess they wanted to bless it in their own private ceremony.

I still think of it as one of Serenbe’s most magical weekends.

People still bring rocks to our labyrinth. A minister at a local church brought some from the Berlin wall. I bring rocks back from trips and take them up there. And Serenbe Playhouse just did their first spring play in the center of it. It was Man of La Mancha and the tagline was, “sometimes to find your heart, you have to lose your mind.”

Years ago, when Serenbe was much smaller, I had a conversation about black-tie events with a resident and a young woman who rented a place here. The woman said she’d never been to one and the idea of a community-wide black-tie progressive dinner was born.

We did those until five years ago, when Serenbe Playhouse started hosting an annual gala fundraiser. One of the big auction items every year was an in-home catered dinner for 30 with entertainment from the Playhouse actors. Then one day it dawned on me that all the businesses at Serenbe except one is run by a woman and a Women of Serenbe package would be a highly sought after experience that would bring in lots of money for our beloved Playhouse. And has it ever.

The first Women of Serenbe experience was a low-key event with a native American theme. Serenbe resident and notable stylist Jill Sharp did the décor, The Hil chef Hilary White and I did the food—no forks, hands only—and Garnie did the drinks. We had a drummer and the whole bit.

Last year, we took the Bacchanalian feast theme and ran with it. We added set designer and Serenbe resident Kristin Genet to the mix plus Serenbe Farms farm manager Ashley Rodgers and Serenbe resident and Many Fold Farms proprietor Rebecca Williams, who provided the venue.

To say it was over the top doesn’t do it justice. Kristin helped each of us create our own headdress—mine was more than two feet tall—and she handmade amazing invitations that she hand delivered. She got cow bones from a nearby farmer and used them in the most incredible set design, along with branches, feathers and other found objects.

The package was bought by Tom Reed, the mayor of Chattahoochee Hills, and his wife, Karen. They invited 40 of their friends, all of whom were led in by the light of tiki torches. We had stations where people could adorn themselves with temporary gold and silver tattoos, try on necklaces made out of bones and fit themselves for headdresses made out of hydrangeas.

Guests sampled oysters, cheeses and charcuterie then moved into the barn, where they sat at a long farm table lit with twinkling lights and dined on roasted baby pig—head on, apple in the mouth—and vegetables from Serenbe Farms.

• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 12-ounce package Ghirardelli semi sweet chocolate chips
• 1 tablespoon brandy
• 1/8 teaspoon cayenne
• Pinch kosher salt

Bring cream and honey to simmer in heavy saucepan. Add chocolate and stir until melted. Remove from heat. Stir in brandy, cayenne and salt.

Taste and adjust seasonings if desired.

Pour into a bowl or a fondue pot. Surround with sliced fruit, cubes of angel food cake and/ or Biscoff cookies.