Back in 2023, Karl Schatz and Margaret Hathaway, a husband and wife team, had recently published two volumes of the Maine Community Cookbook when they heard that the U.S. surgeon general, Vivek Murthy, had declared an epidemic of loneliness. Murthy wrote, "It is associated with a greater risk of cardiovascular disease, dementia, stroke, depression, anxiety, and premature death." Loneliness is as risky as smoking 15 cigarettes a day or never exercising, he elaborated. Hathaway and Schatz's books were full of recipes and stories from all over the state of Maine and people kept telling them that they loved the books as much for the recipes as for the stories, Schatz told me.
This made Schatz and Hathaway wonder if, perhaps, they might be uniquely positioned to offer an antidote to loneliness. Together they set about to found Community Plate. The goal of the organization is to create potluck suppers in towns all over the state of Maine where people come together who might not know each other that well, even if they live around the corner from each other. Each person brings a dish to share and a few decide they will tell stories.
So it was, on a recent drizzly March day, that Hathaway and Schatz, along with their daughter, Charlotte, were checking people in for a Sunday story sharing supper in Norway, Maine.
All three greeted people at the door, speaking over each other as the first guests arrived. People filter in, and a lot of casseroles arrive — it's March in Maine, after all — even an old classic, green bean. Reed Mclean tells me that it's "straight from the can." I ask, "Did you help make it?" And he answers, "I did not. Well, I turned the oven on."
The atmosphere in the room is convivial and light. Schatz looks around and says, "You know, I think that people see this as sort of a gift to the community, this opportunity for people to come together."
He tells me that, to be honest, he and Hathaway didn't know at first what exactly they were providing. And then a woman at one of their very first suppers actually defined it for them: "She had just moved to Maine, she was a grandmother, she had moved here to be closer to her grandkids, and she came and sat down at the table across from me. I asked her what brought her to the supper and she said, 'I came because I'm lonely.' It was the first time I'd ever heard someone say that out loud."
Just a few weeks ago, the 2025 World Happiness Report issued a warning that stated: "Social connections are critically important for human health, happiness, and prosperity." The solution according to the report? People need to sit down and eat together. Hathaway agrees we need this now more than ever. "And just as our culture becomes more divisive, there are so many issues you never thought were going to be hot button issues that suddenly are. Food is generally something people can talk about without it becoming contentious."
As I mill around talking to guests, a woman named June Howard is eager to tell me what she has brought to share tonight. (Spoiler: It's a casserole.) She says, "It's got cubed-up chicken. It's got carrots, celery, onions, cheese, apples, cranberries ..."
Seated next to her, Ruby Bryant, tells me she is glad to be here tonight because she needed to get out. Two weeks ago there was a terrible fire at the house next door to hers.
"We heard pounding on the door so we went downstairs in our pajamas and it was the policemen, by then they knocked the door down and they said, get your coats, and get out, your house is melting."
Though Bryant says she is gluten free and has brought her own dinner, she chats amiably with other guests as everyone waits for the buffet to get under way.
Soon, Schatz takes the mic and encourages people to enter the buffet line, table by table. "We're gonna start with this table over here, 'cause you guys were here first so I know that means you're hungry."
When everyone is finally seated and eating, Schatz stands up again, and takes the microphone. His mission is to get people connecting and talking. He suggests, "If you want, if you're sitting with a person that you have dinner with every night of the week, and you decide tonight you want to have dinner with someone else, you have my permission to sit with someone else. We encourage you to do that, to maybe make a new connection, because that is why we we're here tonight."
And, in case anyone is worried they have to get up to tell a story he says, "As far as the story sharing goes, people often ask, 'Do I have to share a story?' And the answer is 'no.' You don't have to share a story. We also need listeners. Storytelling is a two-way street, you can't have story-telling without story listening."
The room gets quiet, only the clinking of silverware and chewing can be heard. Brendan Schauffler stands up and walks to the front of the room. He rubs his hands together and then takes the mic. He begins to tell a story about his father's loneliness, which led to his father's eventual suicide when Schauffler was a teenager. Looking around the room, forks are down, faces still, everyone's listening.
Brendan confesses, "I felt like my face forgot the shape of a smile and that I would be stuck in this place forever. I became determined to never again lose the opportunity to tell someone I cared about how much they mean to me.
After two more storytellers, the evening starts to wind down and people are pulling on coats and gathering their ladles and crock pots. Then, a man who requested that NPR not name him to protect his family from further pain, taps Schauffler on the shoulder.
"I wanted to thank you for your story. I, too, lost someone very close to me. I lost my 13-year-old son to suicide. And it's very hard for me, but I really admire your courage."
The two men hold each other. Schauffler says into the man's ear, "I am so sorry for your loss." They start to part, and then they lean in again, and hold on once more.
Moments of connection like this are unplanned and profound. The recipe is so simple: A Sunday night, a potluck, some neighbors, and a few stories. Community Plate is offering Maine an antidote to loneliness and disconnection, one supper at a time.
If you or someone you know is in crisis, please call, text or chat with the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988.
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