Table one is frowning at my kid.   It’s 30 minutes to closing, and the cafe is nearly empty. After a busy day, I finally  have a moment to pick my head up from the kitchen and peer through the window to the front of the house, where Ula is setting up two ladies for a late brunch.  There is something about her they disapprove of.

Maybe it’s the way Ula is dressed today.

She stayed up late last night, designing and sewing her look for Sap Bush Saturday.  She took an old bed sheet, cut it up and sewed it into a pleated mini skirt with matching scrunchies for her pig tails, and a matching face mask.  She’s accented it with carefully torn tights, red streaks in her hair to match the plaid, and, of course, her roller skates.  

I love that my daughters use the cafe as an opportunity to express their love for fashion.  

The ladies at table one don’t seem to be taking well to it.

Once I finish cooking the orders, I bring their food out in an effort to create a little buffer for Ula.  She’s worked so hard today — She got up at six to go down to the farm and do chores with her Pop Pop, she’s pulling a five hour shift waiting tables, and then she’s going back to the farm for evening chores.  The last thing she needs at the end of a long day are these scowls. I attempt to turn their frowns upside down with a giant smile.  

“Okay, here you are!”  I set the plates down.

“She’s a vegetarian.  She didn’t want bacon,” one jabs her finger at the other’s plate.  “And we told her!”  She points at Ula.

I scoop the plates up without another word and go back to the kitchen to correct the error.  I bring out their corrected meals, then retreat to the bar with a cup of coffee and my friend Bernie, waiting for them to finish so we can close up and go home.  

Ula’s boyfriend Jack sits at the counter, too, waiting for closing, so he can take drive her up to the farm for chores.  The two of them laugh and chatter, not letting the icy vibe from table one ruin their fun.

A few minutes later, Ula skates over to check on them, then returns a little while later to bring them the check.  They quibble with her over the price, insisting they should be given discounts, since they didn’t want the bacon that was included with the meal they ordered.  Ula leaves the check on the table and explains that if wish to pay with a credit card, they need to step up to the register when they are ready to pay.  She skates behind the counter to wait for them.  The ladies don’t move.  They continue their conversation.  Meanwhile, Jack steps up to the register to take care of his check, and he and Ula resume chatting.

That’s when I see the ladies give the two teenagers the once-over, roll their eyes at them, and glare at the kids in disgust.  

I know that a cafe is supposed to focus on customer service.

I know that our business, at least when the cafe is open, is hospitality.  

I know that, technically, Ula flirting with her boyfriend is considered “unprofessional.”  But we’re not professional.  We’re family.  And it isn’t as though they’re sucking face or groping each other.  They’re laughing and chatting.

I taste bile in my mouth.  I jump up from the counter, and swoop over to the table.  “Is there a problem?”

One lady looks at me in exasperation, opens her check folio and jams her hand at her credit card, then jams it in Ula’s direction, gesticulating that she is being ignored by my daughter.  “She’s not permitted to take your credit card from the table,” I explain again.  “Please take your check up to the register, where you can pay with a credit card there.”  I use polite language.  But my tone is uncharacteristically sharp.  There is nothing I long to do more than explain that those kids up at the register are amazing human beings, not filthy ruffians.  I want to ask that these women leave the cafe and not come back unless they can agree to treat the youth here with respect.   I want to remind them that eye rolling is rude and immature, and that their faces might freeze like that.

Each week this summer, there has been a small crowd of teenagers at the bar.  They jump in and help when we get in the weeds, they fill the place with laughter, they’ve surrounded my daughters with love and humor as we negotiated the angst-ridden weeks when the prognosis for Bob’s cancer was looking frightening.  

This summer has been so hard on our family — from the beginning of the season when our business was the target of the shooting, to finding a beloved customer dead in his home, to enduring a cancer diagnosis.  Seeing teenagers take up residence at the espresso bar has been a highlight.  It’s has been a deep joy for Bob and me to watch our daughters enjoy their friends, and to watch our regular customers engage directly with these kids and welcome them into our community.  It has served as a constant reminder for Bob and me about our long game: to nourish and restore family, community and planet.  The cancer, the deaths, the shootings…they’re all short-term distractions.  But the community building – creating a place where all generations can be together, breathing life, love and laughter into these mountains…that’s why we’re doing what we’re doing.

But I don’t tell these ladies off.  I turn on my heel and walk away from them, then close up shop, go home and sit down for a think.  

And what I think about was how much they stood out.  On a typical Saturday in summer, we serve about 50 meals.  Fifty meals to fifty laughing and smiling customers, who will look forward to a Saturday morning just to come in and see what outfits my daughters have cooked up to wear….fifty customers each week who are delighted to share their community and space with a group of teenagers, who embrace the importance of the third place, the public space where all are welcome.

And I feel a little sad for those two women, that they couldn’t enjoy their time with us at Sap Bush Cafe. I’m also thankful for them, for the bright light they’ve shined on all those other folks who fill up the tables each Saturday, who accept our quirky business and our unconventional customer service for what it is, and love us for it .

 

We are rounding the bend and rapidly approaching the close of the THIRD season of The Hearth of Sap Bush Hollow podcast.  Once home schooling resumes in September, the podcast winds down and I recharge over the fall and winter.  And all of that — the podcast and the recharging —   happens with the support of my patrons on Patreon.  And this week I’d like to send a shout out to my patrons Maria Berger & Margaret Ferguson.  Thank you, folks!  I couldn’t do it without you! 

Psst: long time patrons: If you’ve been supporting the podcast on Patreon for a while, please make sure your credit cards are up to date.  A number of your cards have expired and need to be re-entered.

 If you’re a new listener and  you’ve enjoyed this season, you can help make sure it comes back next year for as little as $1/month by hopping over to Patreon and looking up Shannon Hayes.  Or, if it’s easier, you can also donate to support the podcast by sending a check to Shannon Hayes, ℅ Sap Bush Hollow Farm, 832 W. Fulton Rd, West Fulton, NY  12194.