A Step Ahead

As a young boy, I often had the opportunity to walk with my grandmother.  We'd make journeys to "downtown" North St. Paul on little shopping trips or visits to the library.  She was also my guide to church where she worked for many years as the church secretary.   Other times it might be a walk to visit a shut-in friend or drop something off for a neighbor.  I don't remember any walks to just walk, but sometimes we'd land at park or playground along the way.  My memory of the walks was that I was always trying to catch up to her.  She had a pace that seemed to keep her a step of ahead of me all of the time.

It wasn't that she had a long stride (she was actually petite) or was some kind of distance runner, it was more that she walked with a purpose.  When my grandmother set out, she was heading somewhere.  She had a plan and the walk was about the destination.

My wife and I recently planted a rain garden in the front area of our new home (all the way over in Longfellow).  This being the first house we have owned with a flat front yard, the rain garden is a way to help us manage storm water and keep our basement dry.  Within days of our planting, the space was marked by holes dug to either try to find buried stash, or to do some burying for the coming cold months ahead.  I'd go out and smooth the mulch, only to come back the next day to a pock-marked zone again.  Perhaps it was the timing of the planting (early October) that drew the squirrels to our neatly mulched area, or the easy digging, or maybe it was just the fresh planting that gave them hope that this space would be a good storage locker. Or, just maybe, I had inadvertently dug up a previous stash for the coming winter.

Along with the squirrels and our local chipmunk, the fresh mulch also was a happy resource for the neighborhood birds looking to shore up nesting sites as well.  And, although the plants and shrubs we were mulching didn't make as much fuss, I'm guessing they're resting a bit easier with some added protection ahead of deeper leaf cover that kept them a step ahead of the first cool nights. 

For the many years that I taught middle school, I found that even when I had the best made lesson plans (and yes, those days were actually few), my students had a knack of being one step ahead of me.  I mostly felt like I was playing catch up through class sessions.  It was almost as if there had been some magical communication between the several classes (this is before cell phones) that allowed them to guess my weaknesses and exploit my uncertainties.  Oh, I had some tricks and tools to get out ahead of them at times, but for the most part, I needed to learn how to play a good defense, to react quickly and pull out yet another redirection to maintain a journey that would get the class to the end of my lesson plan by the end of the class time.  Like my grandmother, they were entering that classroom with a destination in mind and with a purpose that outpaced my own.  It was all I could do keep in step, let alone a step ahead.

Later, as I moved into the role of being a guide during my years of teaching in an expeditionary learning model, I found that all the preparation work, the what-if's, the skill training, the mapping of activities, and the walk-throughs, would mostly give me some hope that I could at least walk alongside my students.  There would always be surprises on these hikes or canoe trips, but we were experiencing them together.   It was my greatest joy, to be a part of these true challenges to our problem-solving skills.   As learning opportunities, they marked growth.

When I bought Butter Bakery Cafe as a journey out of my classroom, I tried to carry these expeditionary practices to my business.  I've set up a working space with "lesson plans" that are an attempt to keep me a step ahead.   This particular fall at the cafe, however, has found me out of step.  I'm trying to keep up, but finding myself dropping farther behind.   My plans don't feel in place.  Whatever hopes of having something stored up for a long winter ahead are gone.   Lost opportunities have me feeling more anxious than I have been in a long time.

This month's pricing increases are an attempt to catch up (especially to rising chocolate prices), but they likely won't lead to getting a step ahead.  Cash flow challenges have me scrambling. Like my neighborhood squirrels I'm digging holes in lots of places hoping to find something useful.

I have, over the years, made my attempt to sustain this business on what I have had at hand.  I have taken on the challenge of making do, and getting by.  And, yes, over the years, I've committed to making choices that provide high quality ingredients at an affordable price. That I can open the door each day is both a gift and a bit of a miracle.  That I continue to wake up each day wanting to be here to meet you and be of service, is a testimony to the mission at work within these walls.   That our little neighborhood cafe can continue to build community, train young adults, model zero waste strategies, impact policy efforts near and far, and support a vibrant local food system is a sign of your ongoing investments.

In her early nineties, my grandmother took her first fall and broke her hip.  As her mobility diminished, her purpose did also.  Because my grandmother never learned to drive, and gave up riding bikes quite young, walking was her way of getting around.  Losing her confidence for walking was what finally pushed her from living on her own, in her own home. During the last years of visiting her in a care center, the walks to and from her room still had a sense of destination, but I recognized that being on the walk with her was what mattered the most. 

I know you have been inundated with requests for support - from campaigns of all sorts - and that this month especially the requests grow very loud. There are so many ways to be generous, and so many needs to be met. I feel the call to respond to far more than I have capacity for, and trust that is not an uncommon feeling.

If, what this space means to you, calls you to action, then please do.  Butter needs your infusion of support in the coming weeks to get through this winter.  Order a Thanksgiving pie.  Purchase gift cards for friends to get to know us. Hold a meeting here. Buy an extra treat to give to a neighbor.  Send a note of thanks. And watch for an opportunity to invest in the future of the cafe through a membership program in the beginning of the new year.

Walk alongside me along this green path as I do my best to keep in step in with you.