“Saoirse, this isn’t our house. Get your stuff off the couch.”
“Ula, this isn’t our house. No eating or drinking in the kitchen. Take it outside.”
“Mom, this isn’t our kitchen. If you have to touch the food, wear gloves.”
We own the cafe, but only because our name is on the deed. Already we can see the front of the house transforming into a community-owned space: neighbors greet each other and push their tables together; church members distribute flyers for West Fulton Old Home day; farmers drop in to see if they can find someone to butcher their hogs; and the butchers are easily found, drinking down mocha lattes. Bikers clomp through, decked out in leather and studs, hunting down the bathroom and throwing back espresso shots. One grabs a pound of grassfed burger and tosses it in his saddle bag. Bicyclists are rolling through, pausing for iced coffees before they get back on the road. Hikers are wandering in from the trail just up the street, refueling after a morning in the woods or on the waterfalls. Weekenders are meeting farmers. Part timers are hanging out with locals. Projects are getting planned. Stories are getting swapped.
And as I watch this, I am riding high. A Ph.D. in sustainable agriculture and community development never prepared me for just how much fun this could be. This is more than we envisioned. I see that our town was thirstier for a public space than we realized, and it is a thrill to slake that thirst for connection.
But then…there’s my family. Kate runs over between hauling buckets and watering pigs to jump in and wash dishes during the lunch rush. Other than that, on Saturdays while Bob is at the market, it is Mom, Saoirse, Ula and me.
And while we are very experienced about running a family home,we are seriously lacking experience in hospitality. The casual messes, the fingers in the food, the bickering and teasing, the drips and slops as portions spill over the edges of bowls and cups are all intolerable here. And I’ve gone from being a casual laid-back mom at home to a cafe Nazi. I am demanding professionalism from my daughters.
And to the girls’ credit, they’re really trying. We put great music on, and guest conversation hums, but then, well, Saoirse’s and Ula’s kid streaks break out. Ula shrieks after Saoirse pinches her, and the buzz of conversation that filled the cafe falls silent. I take them by the shoulders and point to the back door. “Out to the garage,” I hiss at them. Since there is a stair landing that leads out to the back garage, and since I have to send them out there at least three times a day, the girls have renamed it “the balcony.” It sounds better.
They retreat to the balcony, but not before Saoirse tosses her head, which is now taller than my own, looks down at me with an arched eyebrow and says, “I quit.”
Five minutes later, they’re back. The hum of conversation has returned to the front of the house. Ula is serving a latte. Saoirse is bringing out an Americano. Ula goes to one table. Saoirse goes to another, then realizes it’s the wrong table. She turns and heads back, still carrying the hot drink. My daughters collide.
And the shrieks begin again. Customers stop and stare while Saoirse sputters and spews. “SHE….RAN…IN….TO….ME!!!”
“MOMMMY!!! She dumped hot coffee all over me!” Ula has coffee dripping down the side of her face, running down the front of her t-shirt.
“To the balcony,” I announce, again.
A few minutes later, Katharine, Ula’s best friend from up the street, comes in with her dad. “Can I play with Ula today?” Her eyes are bright and hopeful. I send her to the balcony, too.
And then, it gets busy. Suddenly, everyone wants lunch, and my girls have been confined to the balcony. Kate works madly at the dishes. Mom assesses the situation and calls the girls back in. “Saoirse! We need you pulling drinks!” On her way back in, she gets sidetracked. I’ve just made fresh ganache for the mochas and poured it into a squeeze bottle. “Are you finished with that pot?” She asks, reaching in with a finger to swipe the chocolate.
“We’re not at home! No eating or drinking in the kitchen!” I bark again. And then, I add, “the sticky buns are done, they need to be taken out of the oven and turned out of the pan!” I run to the fridge to find the salad fixings, then start putting together some steak salads. Katharine and Ula spill in from the balcony. “Mom!” The brightness has returned to Ula’s eyes. “Can Katharine and I wait tables?”
Her nine year old friend is bobbing up and down in her little shoes with excitement. The plates are piling up. Mom is at the register. I’m desperate. How hard could it be, finding out what people need and bringing it to them? They play the game at home. Why not let them play it here? “Go for it.”
Unleashed onto the floor, they are like swarming bees, all chaos and no sense of direction, scurrying with joy from table to table. One table gets a napkin. Another table of four gets one glass of water. The girls dig around in their coloring bags and find crayons and notebooks. They start writing orders down and bring them to me. I have to decipher the kid spelling. Then another table, after a reminder, gets a spoon. Someone else gets a coffee. They didn’t order it. They pass it around until the rightful owner is found. Outside on the patio, a group of people I don’t recognize shows up. Ula offers them a napkin. Katharine brings a spoon. There is no order here, only mayhem, and I see the confusion on the newcomers’ faces. I leave my hidden post in the kitchen and walk out front. I take the newcomers’ orders and try to restore some calm. Katharine and Ula have suddenly decided that, no matter what, everyone sitting needs a straw. As I turn to head back to the kitchen, I see the alarm on my guests’ faces once more. They don’t see this as an innocent swarm of bees who’ve grown too robust for their old hive. They’re seeing a hornets’ nest.
That’s when I get a glimpse of who we are. Yes, this is a community space. But we are all a family, and this community is our home. And if guests are going to step into our cafe, they are stepping into a little bit of family life. We can learn not to touch the food with our fingers. We can try to keep our feet off the coffee table. We can practice not eating or drinking in the kitchen. I can do my best to train the girls not to have outbursts in front of the customers. But we are still a big, happy, loud, emotional and messy family. And I’m not going to apologize for that. I swirl around and throw my arms open wide as I bend one knee and extend the other leg out in a courtly bow. “Welcome to the Sap Bush Cafe!” I let my voice carry over the chatter of Katharine and Ula. All the tables fall silent. “Your servers today are both nine. Your barista is twelve. The food is great, the coffee is wonderful….and we absolutely guarantee a novel dining experience!”
Laughter breaks out across the table, then across the cafe. We’ve said what we are. Heck. Maybe we’ve even just branded ourselves. And in that branding, I feel the acceptance. Come for the food. Come for the family. Come for the joy. Don’t come for efficient service.
I leave Katharine and Ula to handle the front of the house and walk back into the ktichen to prepare more orders. Saoirse is at the bar, stirring up a mocha with the fresh ganache. Mom is gone. Kate is gone. I draw my breath in, trying to swallow my annoyance. No sooner do I manage to get the children organized, than the adults disappear. Suddenly, the door to the balcony opens. Kate and Mom spill in, carrying the ganache bowl and the sticky bun pan, their faces and fingers gummed with caramel and chocolate.
I breathe in. I breathe out. At least they weren’t eating or drinking in the kitchen.
That sounds like exactly the cafe I am looking for to become my ‘regular’. Could you come and start one in Tasmania too? Confession – I am a little bit scared of snooty baristas and ‘foodie’ waitresses. A cafe like a big family dinner sounds absolutely perfect to me.
Every time I come here to read I am inspired by your bravery and sheer determination to take my own life journey to the next level. Thank you:)
You’ll have to come here!
You’ll have to come here! But maybe we’ll eventually make it to Tasmania!! But first I’d have to learn how to make a proper “flat white,” right?? Snooty baristas we definitely don’t have!
I love it! Reminds me of my very short-lived waitress career. I “came on board” this particular care offering my computer graphic skills to create menus, table signs, special posters, and created a customer database to send email announcements of local community events the cafe would be part of. My boss and I got along super well, so she tho’t I should try serving tables, since I also got along with the customers. A couple times I even played my guitar and sang for Valentine’s and Christmas. But waitressing? A disaster. I could write orders, but often forgot who got what, so that’s when I numbered the tables, which helped a bit. But after a few more mistakes, we decided I should stick to computer graphics and PR. The last day I served, I forgot someone’s water a couple times, tho’ I did bring it to her friend. So I announced good news! Today is my last day, which got some raised eyebrows and chuckles, as I quickly amended my blunders. But it was such fun. The cafe closed after 6 years, as my boss retired, but her dishes were so delicious, I’m waiting for her to let me write her cook book.
Oh, Nancy! You had me laughing at that scene….It’s errrr…a bit familiar. I’m SO GREAT at taking the orders….And I’m equally great at forgetting them!!!
Dear darling neighbor and company: If I want soulless perfection there are a bazillion places I can find it. If I want a superb food experience (co-starring iced mocha) with a constant and ever changing floor show, I come to your cafe.
Now which one sounds more appetizing on all levels to YOU??
So glad you were able to make it out to enjoy the floor show!! And thanks for the fat bombs…(we’ll let our readers ponder that one, shall we?)
But really, you missed the best act, which happened when it got hot later, and Ula, Saoirse and Katharine (my entire work crew) abandoned their posts and made for the swimming hole behind the building….IN THEIR CLOTHES…which were then, of course, stripped off in the cafe bathroom, and OF COURSE…forgotten!!! What can I say? We really know how to help people feel at home!!!
I agree, being someone that works with children, having kids wait on me would be joyful and comical all at the same time. I would think they would give there honest opinion when asked how they like a certain thing on the menu!
Oh my. I sense frustration. 😉 Yes, mayhem. Perhaps give each table a number and each ‘waitress’ covers certain tables. Table number goes on order slip. What customers find cute the first time evolves into annoyance and frustration. You’ll get there! Maybe a trip to a diner or something where there is some structure. The girls could take notes. Then a meeting to decide on good structure for your cafe. I’m sure I’d be a regular!!! Oh, for a cafe offering real food. I’ve never seen that. Never.
Cyn! We had an official staff meeting with the girls two days ago. I’ve ordered them guest checks, and we’re going to number the tables! THANK YOU!
Again seeing peoples ideas, this is so neat of you to do. So many kids play school and dress up at home but your kids are actually playing pretend but for real. I hope I can find something like this in my local area.
I can’t wait to come visit!
Your determination and family and courage and stamina are magnificent!
Best Best Best Wishes!!
Tanya
Thank you! But don’t forget the sticky bun motivation…it helps 😉
I agree I commend her for including her family and giving her children the opportunity to learn by experiencing things and messing up. You are doing an amazing job !
That was hilarious! Especially the last bit! Yay, Mom and Kate, showing us that no matter what the age, we still have to lick the bowls and beaters! 🙂
Hmmmm….I’m sensing a rising mutiny….
A job for everyone and everyone has a job. Glad to see you have found the joy, keep it up, and don’t forget everything needs boundaries. Continued blessings and patience with perseverance. As always you make me smile!
Oh Shannon,
How you put yourself out there in these blogs. You are so real, I can’t help but love you. How you handled this situation was perfect. As a protective person I can’t help but get a little scared when you are so honest you will effect your success. However, clearly the professionalism will improve because I know your standards. I also know the antics are family love and if gone so will the spirit of your cafe.
Thank you, Anita. I know I put myself out there, but the blogs are what keep me grounded as my family pursues our adventures. They help me find the humor and the lessons. They help me remember to look at the stories, rather than panic at the situations! It’s a writer’s need, I suppose…
How blessed your community is by the novel dining at the Sap Bush Hollow Cafe!! Shannon, your moment of drama was EXACTLY the right thing to do…it reminded me of one of my very best friends on the planet, Judy the Beauty on Duty, owner and personality extraordinaire of San Diego’s one and only Big Kitchen Cafe. The BK is an institution, an inspiration, and a long-standing community hub that brings together a sub-culture of like-minded folk in the 6th largest city in the U.S. Part of what makes it is Judy — always to be found serving the coffee and keeping the atmosphere “tres bien!” on weekends — as her dear friend, I know that some of this is her “Cafe Character” — but it is also an authentic expression of the glue that holds community together. With your wide-armed curtsy and unapologetic announcement of what SBHC authentically is, you have begun the rewarding journey toward developing your own “Cafe Character” — it will surely sometimes be a smiling exterior that hides your inner turmoil, but other times, a genuine, through and through happiness shared with your community. This I have experienced with Judy, and this I think can become a dramatic extension of your fabulous writing that brings much-needed glue to your community, too. HUGS and energy from Germany!! Hope we can visit the cafe one day!
Bonnie – That’s fascinating! We have a restaurant on the far end of our county, The American, that I just love. The American is run by two fabulous gentlemen, Doug and Garth, who have become pillars of the community ever since they opened their first cafe in that town. They are as much a part of the seasonings as the spices on their food. I don’t know that I could aspire to their greatness, but you were right – in that moment, just being and accepting and letting people decide, was so important for our whole family. We knew we weren’t stuffy, but that certainly put it out for the rest of the world, too!
I love this article this place remind me of a business that my uncle had in the little town he lived in. During the summer when we went to visit we were put to work. As kids we loved the responsibility and feeling that we were just as big as the adults with real jobs. The customers knew who we were and loved seeing new nieces and nephews each week. Know as an adult I still love to go back to that small town were he lives and still feel known by his small community.