In grad school, we couldn’t study community development without discussing the multiplier effect.  An economic term, the multiplier effect is the increase in economic output that results from a capital infusion.  We were taught that it’s a pretty big deal in small, locally-based economies, because of the amount of financial recirculation.  That recirculation creates more economic opportunity at the local level.

We see it all the time at Sap Bush Hollow.  Eileen rents the apartment from us in back of the cafe.  We pay her a management fee to operate the AirBnB upstairs.  She buys her eggs and yogurt from the honor store.  Her daughter and son-in-law, Tess and Will, operate a garage and property maintenance business.  They mow the lawns and plow for us.  Each week, they show up at the espresso bar for breakfast.  And through the spring, each Saturday, they grab another of the farm vehicles to bring down to the garage to take off the snow tires.  While they’re up mowing, they pop into the honor store to grab stuff to cook for dinner.  

There was a point in Sap Bush Hollow’s evolution when we needed to consider the next stages for business growth.  The expectation was that we would broaden our land base and our production, and expand our markets.  But we chose instead to dig deeper rather than broadening out  — to engage with our local economy on more levels — providing housing, meals and lodging, and a public gathering space, in addition to our farm products.  It was cheaper than buying farmland, and it helped our family by keeping all  members close, rather than spreading us out over the state trying to make deliveries and attend farmers markets.

That change enabled us to see the multiplier effect even in our family.  With Grammie, Pop Pop, Bob and I close at hand, Saoirse and Ula were able to grow up in a family business.  They have assumed leadership roles at young ages, able to work closely with all of us to learn our trade.   We supply food and housing for our daughters.  They earn money working with us, and are able to support the rest of their needs, reducing Bob’s and my household expenses.  As the future owners, they’re energetic and motivated employees, building up personal wealth as they help to grow a family business.   The result is that nobody requires a big paycheck, but everyone builds wealth.  

But as I’ve aged in this business, I’ve come to observe that the multiplier effect plays out in the social fabric, as well.  People come to the cafe after a rough week, gaining hugs and solace from us, and from fellow customers.  They find out from each other who can repair a roof, deliver firewood, grade a driveway.  The person who came in need of a mocha and a hug is able to give someone else the name of a good doctor.  The person who got the name of the good doctor was bringing by some perennials for someone who is starting a garden.  The gardener drops off a jar of honey for us to take home and enjoy. 

Thus, the multiplier effect isn’t just financial.  It’s social. 

The trouble is, as I observed this week.  It’s also emotional.  Especially on the family level.

It started last week when Saoirse was delivering a pig share to the CSA pick-up freezer in the Honor Store.  We had just had several tons of stone brought in to the parking lot so it could be re-graded, so the surface was a bit…unpredictable.  And Saoirse was wearing boots with wedge heals.  She tripped on some stone while carrying the heavy box, turned her ankle, and sprained it.  

And just as one dollar spent locally gets re-circulated throughout the economy, so does a simple sprained ankle.

It starts with the pain.

It’s physical for her, emotional for her dad and me.  Our kids are pretty healthy, and have had very few injuries and illnesses in their lives.  So when one happens, it knocks Bob and I off guard.  That pain spreads to Grammie and Pop Pop, who demand updates from the emergency room every five minutes.  

It’s the height of lambing season, and Saoirse now needs to take ten days off work.  Ula takes Saoirse’s shift and goes down to help Pop Pop out in the barn.  Saoirse comes down to the cafe with Bob and me.  Today, we are working at adapting Jack’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe to the cafe ovens. It’s a day of recipe testing. 

A few hours later, Ula calls, sobbing.  She and Pop Pop have a ewe in the barn who has delivered one dead lamb.  There is another inside her, also dead.  She has reached inside and done her utmost to extract it, but something is terribly wrong  — nothing is where it is supposed to be anatomically.  They’ve been working for hours, to no avail.  The ewe will not survive.

I’m crying on the other end of the phone with her.  Saoirse is behind me, listening.  Her tears begin.  Bob’s follow. Just as dollars circulate through the family, so too does this heart ache.  

This is supposed to be a pleasant work day for me.  Throughout my life, I’ve honed in on culinary obsessions — how to cook the perfect steak, how to make a hollandaise and recover it from any error, how to make the best-tasting croissant.  And today, I am hoping to come into the light after years of darkness, where, in my heart, I knew there was a perfect chocolate chip cookie, but never ever ever had I managed to create one to that lived up to my vision.   I have reviewed Jack’s recipe, and I think he is onto something.  We are on the cusp of a major breakthrough.

But this suffering of this ewe.  In 70 years of sheep farming, Pop Pop has never come across anything like it. 

He and Ula are distraught.  Saoirse, leaning on her crutches, is horrified that she wasn’t there to help.  Grammie is in tears because they are in tears.  Pop Pop is in tears because his granddaughter had to go through this with him.  Ula is in tears because of the sheep, and because of how hard it was on Pop Pop. 

I know there will be a day in spring when the sun comes out.  I know the other lambs will run and play.  I know Saoirse’s ankle will heal, and the flowers will bloom. 

But in this moment, this multiplier effect feels like it’s actually a magnifier of sorrows.  We are in a feedback loop, the pain of one rippling through us all.  

Jack interrupts my thoughts with a text.  He is driving up as soon as he gets out of school to taste the cookies.

I promised I would get this done today.

And it occurs to me, there might be one way to break the feedback loop….If my new interpretation of the multiplier effect is that it can magnify our sorrows, then I should be able to interrupt the sorrow cycle with joy.

No one else really cares about perfect chocolate chip cookies.

This has been Jack’s and my quest.  

But maybe that doesn’t matter.  

We line up pans and set out the balls of dough, only two cookies per pan, so we can evaluate how they perform.  

Per his instructions, I use two different types of chocolate — 85 percent and 55 percent.  I brown the butter.  We make adjustments in the cooking time to compensate for the powerful convection of my cafe oven.

The cookies are chewy and soft, with crispy caramelized edges that taste of browned butter.

There have been so many disappointments in the last two days.  There are good reasons to be in a bad mood.  

But.

These cookies.

I am sorry for my family’s pain.  But I realize I do them a disservice denying what has just happened.  I erupt with my sliver of joy.  At the age of 49, I have finally taken a chocolate chip cookie out of the oven that fulfills all the things I have dreamed it could be.

Ula dials in the espresso machine.  She and Saoirse start in on a training session so that Saoirse can stay home Saturday and stay off her feet and Ula can run the coffee bar.

Jack and I bake off the rest of the cookies.

Mom and Dad drive down from the farm.

Jack and Ula’s friend Kaelan comes up.

The cafe smells like browned butter and chocolate chip cookies and lattes and espresso.  

My delight over a perfectly executed batch of cookies ripples through all of us.  It is a welcome salve to the busted bodies and broken hearts.

The pain doesn’t disappear.  It’s still there.  But so, too, is the pleasure of the success…And the communal joy of celebrating the fruits of the labor alongside our defeats.  

And in the end, in combination, what we have is a really interesting day — rife with sorrow, rich with pleasure, and not easily forgotten…Especially because we were able to share it.  And that’s going to carry over to Saturday, when the cafe opens, and we serve up these new cookies to our community, along with the story of their making.  And this broader understanding of the multiplier effect will continue…where every experience – whether financial, social, or emotional, is intensified —  making life, even on this small local scale, just so darned ….worth living.

 

 

Did you enjoy this? If so, please share this podcast with friends & family.  This really helps to get the ideas to spread.  Better still, you can help make the magic happen 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.

And that’s a really important thing to do, because all of this— the podcast, the blog, the novels and books and the creative recharging that happens over fall and winter—   are a result of the support of my patrons on Patreon.  And this week I’d like to send a shout out to my patrons Katherine Mustello & Katherine Lawrence.  Thank you, folks!  I couldn’t do it without you!