Soaking Up the Love

As a gardener, one of my joys is watching droopy plants respond to watering. Not that I intentionally let them dry out, but in the cycles of wet and dry, being alert to their cues and being able to provide the nourishment they need feels like a life-giving act.  Sometimes, it might actually cross the borderline to a feeling of love.   

I had personally been feeling a bit droopy myself this summer, but September brought a soaking.

Since the public announcement of my intention to sell Butter Bakery Cafe, the out-pouring of love has been tremendous.  While not totally unexpected - I guess there is always a part of me that wonders what the impact of our service here has really meant, and if what we're doing here matters.   We've received the answer in buckets of love.

I did expect to be told to not sell, not go, not leave.  And it does make the decision bittersweet, since I, of course, don't want to go, don't want to leave behind the daily interactions that have fed my soul for the past 19+ years.  But, yes, it is time.

I did expect that there would be some acknowledgment of gratefulness from customers who've also invested much of their time and energy into helping Butter be the community space that it is.  I'm not one to go out intentionally seeking validation.  And certainly, my many years of middle-school teaching taught me that getting thanked for my work from the students (my customers) wasn't going to be obvious or immediate.  Somehow, the daily polite "thank yous" we share back and forth, don't speak to kinds of heartfelt thank you's that have come from this particular situation. 

These interactions are becoming even more precious to me now since I know there will be an ending for them.  They are the way I can remain present in the here and now, and in the way we know each other at this time and place.  I am soaking them up. Many of the interactions have been about the memories of our time together - the passage of time, the children growing up, the life milestones, and the passing of those we've loved along the way.   And as I am working to be present in these "last days," I am finding myself recognizing the losses that are sure to come, just as other life changes turned my path and redirected my focus. 

The amount of love coming our way this past month has also given me great hope for whoever follows me.  For although much of the gratefulness is directed to me, the things people remember and love are often parts of the bakery that are not me, and will be here even if I'm not. That I created this space, sure, but it doesn't go when I go. 

Perhaps my hopefulness in this moment, is that already this outpouring of love has brought interested buyers to the table, and yes, ones that love the cafe for what it has become over the years and are willing to help it continue on.   That love offers me a way to soak up the love from customers with the ability to imagine a future where a new owner will be soaking up the love.

It has been quite dear to hear what has touched this community and just what will be kept in memory about my time here.   The obvious ones, food related - touch me because the recipes and ingredient choices have created a Butter-taste we've been able to maintain for these many years.  But gratefulness for our mission to train, our efforts to compost, and the warmth of the space speak to work that has truly been a community's investment in us more than any one thing I've done.

The hugs, the well-wishes, the advice to take a long a nap, the tears, the wondering, have all given me such a boost, like water to a droopy plant, I'm certainly blooming more than I have in a long time.   And I need this energy to take on the many tasks that are hopping on to my list as I consider and help arrange the sale and transfer of ownership.   It was no surprise to come down with a pretty nasty cold in the middle of this roller-coaster month - this experience has been quite a lot to take.

I carry with me some sadness that most of my "past work lives" have ended with little continuation of relationships with my colleagues and the people I worked for and served.   I am not one to have cultivated many relationships from my childhood days, since moving across the river from St. Paul to Minneapolis.  I am trying to imagine how there might actually be quite a bit of carry-over for the connections I've made these past twenty years - as a neighbor, as a supporter of organizations, as a voice for causes. 

This will be a new kind of stepping away - I'll still be in south Minneapolis, I'll still be shopping and eating out and walking the park trails where I will most likely recognize a face from across the counter.  You, without the counter, and me without my Butter baseball hat, might mean there will be a moment's hesitation trying to form context.   I might not be able to remember your drink order or biscuit sandwich add on preference...but hopefully we will both remember we've walked this green path together, with memories of connection and community and growth. For this journey does go on.