Alizarin crimson, golden ochres, and vibrant orange leaves dot the local Vermont hills. The early display of colors explode amongst a mossier green landscape like the rapid popping of corn in a ceramic pot on top of a hot stove. Autumn is arriving despite a summer-like thunderstorm this afternoon. No longer summer but not quite crisp apple picking days with cobalt blue skies. Too soon for sweaters and boots but tee shirts alone are not enough. Somewhere in between…
Mums, gourds and pumpkins festively outlined the Woodstock Farmers’ Market early this morning. Brilliantly colored long stem sunflowers rested in tall pails of water at the store’s entrance. A display of candy corn sat piled high on a wooden barrel just off to my right. Fresh produce with drops of moisture glistening. A dairy case filled with Vermont organic products. The store bursting with local venders. Familiar friendly faces as I checked out. Rounding up the tally to support all that is good. Community…
The sights. The sounds. The welcoming family business environment. A heartwarming reminder of a business from my youth. My father once owned and operated a grocery business in Southeastern Massachusetts. Co-owned by my father and his next oldest brother, the small store possessed many of the same community feels. Yes, a focus on quality was paramount but the intangables were in ample supply. Everyone knew one another. Just about every other employee was a relative. Genetics didn’t determine family but working side by side did. A fixture in the community…
My aunt with thick dark curls and porcelain skin ran one of the two registers. The large white deli case was made popular by a charismatic cousin from my grandmother’s side. So many cousins. A nephew of my father’s possessed a distinctive laugh that frequently filled the market’s air as he oversaw the meat room. Fun coupled with fireworks. Flare-ups too. Personalities as varied as the stock on the shelves…
My father could often be found in the store office. Well, he could be found anywhere in the building fixing something, chatting with a customer, or adjusting the inventory. Whatever needed to be done or what he anticipated needed to be done was the task at hand. Equal portions of dedication, hard work and vision…
A small number of well-worn wooden steps led up to his office offering my dad a bird’s eye view of the business he loved. The business he thrived on. The livelihood that provided for his family. Black rimmed “standard issue” eyeglasses gave him an immediate authority that made shoplifters think twice. Employees took notice too. A contagious energy. Quick to react. A heart of gold who employed nearly every local teenager that wanted to work…
As a young child on any given Sunday morning I would sit next to my dad in a chair in his office with my small feet unable to reach the floor, magic…
“A small business is an amazing way to serve and leave an impact on the world you live in.”
-Nicole Snow
