Some stories stick with you — not because they’re big, but because they feel like home.
This week, I found myself reminiscing with Dan, the owner of Stephen’s, a place that holds a special place in my heart. I told him about my grandpa, who was always supposed to be on Weight Watchers (thanks to Grandma). But anytime he was on babysitting duty, we had a secret routine: drop Grandma off at work, then head straight to Stephen’s for a full spread. Sausage gravy, eggs, toast—the works. It wasn’t just breakfast. It was ours—and little did he know, he was also passing down a bit of that classic Benson rebellion (I was a very observant little girl, after all :).
Recently, Ken and I have been stopping in again, usually skipping breakfast (hello, construction life) and opting for a hearty, home-cooked lunch that feels more like dinner—because when you’re building something from the ground up and the kitchen isn't installed yet, the simple comforts mean everything.
After chatting with Dan, it wasn’t just the nostalgia that stayed with me—it was our shared passion for community. For keeping the memories of our families not just alive, but present. It reminded me of something I tell my kids often:
If you don’t like how something is, change it.
We underestimate the power of a table.
Not the kind you scroll past or stand at in a hurry, but the kind you sit around—with coffee, a meal, or even just a shared moment. That’s where stories are exchanged, plans take shape, and where real movement begins.
I believe in that kind of space.
I live for those conversations.
Because shifting anything—your life, your neighborhood, your future—starts with intention. And often, it starts with simply showing up.
It's never easy in the beginning. That’s science. An object at rest stays at rest, right? But all it takes is a spark—one conversation, one cup of coffee, one walk through a door you almost talked yourself out of—and suddenly, you’re in motion.
And when you put yourself out into the world, even just a little, something incredible happens:
You meet people.
The kind of people who share a memory that stops you in your tracks.
The kind who remind you you're not the only one trying to build something meaningful.
The kind who say, “I’ve been where you are,” and mean it.
There’s always someone with a story that resonates.
Always a connection that feels like fate.
Always a new friend you haven’t met yet.
That’s what I felt at Stephen’s with Dan. That shared recognition of something bigger—of honoring where we come from while doing our part to create what comes next. That’s what keeps me building. That’s what keeps me hopeful.
So if you’re feeling stuck or disconnected, maybe it’s time to get out.
Stop by a local diner.
Sit at a table.
Ask someone how their day is going.
Because you never know who you’ll meet—or what part of your story might finally begin.
So if you’re craving comfort food with a side of nostalgia—or just looking for a place to start a new tradition—stop by Stephen’s. You might catch Dan behind the counter, his sweet mom nearby, or one our favorite waitresses Elizabeth, serving up kindness with every cup of coffee.
And if you see someone grinning over a biscuit with her grandpas naughtiness (everything in moderation) and scribbling in a notebook, that’s probably me—dreaming big, eating well, and cheering you on, too.
Because great things start at small tables. Especially the ones with biscuits and gravy.
Better yet, after you stop by Stephen's come to the Hive Market the 3rd Saturday May-October—we just learned Dan's also a musician and you may just catch him playing at our event.