At one of my jobs I am a "Clerk" at a unique little Food and Wine Shop in Millwood VA called Locke Store. Long established as a General Store it has in more recent times evolved into a remarkable purveyor of local and specialty foods and a wine collection personally and carefully crafted for value. I am proud to be a part of it and they allow me to sell my flowers there which is a bonus for both me and the store.
Our local customers are loyal and value both the products we sell and the social meeting place it has become.
The small town of Millwood is frequented on weekends by a tourist crowd largely coming from Washington DC and surrounding suburbs but also from far and wide due to the historic and rural aspects of the region. I wasn't aware of how special our region was to outsiders until I started witnessing the influx of these tourists. They first come thru the door with mouths agape and ask questions like "What is the story with the milk?" (The milk comes in glass bottles.)
While sometimes it is hard to feel like a monkey in a zoo, it is also gratifying to see the smiles and "Wows" that eminate. It is common to hear "That is the best (food of the day) I have ever eaten." or "I can't believe how good the wine selection is (way out in the middle of nowhere)". I smile and try to let them know how lucky I feel to live nearby.

But something happened to me the other day in the store that I cannot seem to get over. Here is the scenario.
Tall grey haired, well dressed man walks in with suitably coiffed somber woman.
They walk about silently (never happens) and they never smile (never happens).
Mr.: "You sure must live in a high rent district."
Me: (Giggle) "Not really. Where are you from?"
Mr.: "Mclean." (VERY high rent suburb of DC)
Me: "Now THAT is a high rent district."  still wasn't real sure where he was going with this but as you can imagine our local and organic food in small market costs more than WalMart.)
Mr.: "Yeah. And I live in a big house too. But I don't like to spend money on food."

I was dumbfounded.

I think he left with a soda. Under a dollar.

When I Grow Up I Want to be a Farmer

It has been nearly a year since my last post. How can that possibly be?
This has been a year for shifting gears. A rough economy for successive years in the building industry (critical to my day job) has taken a brutal toll on our resources and has necessitated the addition of a new "day job". The new situation has limited my attention for flowers (or friends or housekeeping)  and also demanded that they pay their fare share of the rent.
I do know that this little cottage flower business has the potential for blossoming into real income should I make the leap and devote my time entirely. However, a sure thing it is not and how do I dare risk it? Or even more important...ask my family to risk it?
A quote has come to my attention recently which has started me thinking...

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” – Howard Thurman