December 30, 2023
It’s no secret that I love coffee and coffee shops. In the nearly four years since I started this blog, I’ve mentioned (or included a photo of) coffee 35 times. There is even a coffee musical in my recent past. For some reason, the subject is endlessly fascinating to me.
I also make no secret of my grief when a coffee shop that’s dear to me has to close. And while I’ve gotten used to my favorite shops being renovated or changing hands, it takes me longer than the average customer. I sometimes think I should find new haunts just to preserve the memories contained in the old versions of these places.
The change I’m about to describe, however, is on another scale entirely.
“My” coffee shop, my mobile office, my second living room that at times felt more like home than my actual home, is closing. Tomorrow, in fact. The future of the space is uncertain.
While I can’t personally keep them open, find a buyer, or even offer advice they haven’t already heard, I can preserve my memories of the place so the staff can see the impact they had on one patron — let alone the 1500 or so who call my town home. So here goes:
2019: I started coming here two years before I moved to town. I was working nearby and desperately wanted to fit into this community. As there’s always room for another coffee shop in my life, I decided this was a good place to start. I would stop in after work for a decaf drink and sit outside, maybe doing a crossword or maybe just watching the world go by. On this street that marked the tiny “downtown”, I thought about who I wanted to be as I entered my late twenties. (I also asked for a job, but had been spooked by my last stint in a different foodservice environment.)
2020: My plans to move weren’t yet realized, but neither were any other plans that year. I followed along with all of the creative ways this shop dealt with COVID: meal kits to go, outdoor dining, and finally the re-opening of the indoor space. I got to know one of my closest friends over the shop’s characteristic red mugs.
2021: At last, the move! As soon as the ink dried on my lease for an apartment two blocks away, I was making daily trips to the coffee shop to work at my remote job. It was spring, and the spring of a new chapter in my life. I sat outside no matter the weather.
For the rest of the year, the coffee shop was my second home. As predicted, this was how I became a full-fledged member of the community: day by day, through introductions and chance meetings. I achieved the ultimate in “regular” status: the cashiers knowing what drink I would order as soon as I walked through the door.
Also that year, in late fall, I decided to make an attempt on the book that has been circling in my head for ten years now. I didn’t finish writing it then, but I created a space for myself to practice writing daily — something I’d never managed before and haven’t since.
2022: In January, my routine came to an abrupt end when COVID levels rose and the indoor space was closed again. It took me a long time to recover from this loss of familiar rhythms. But things slowly returned to something like normal. I was a constant presence there once again, usually being the first customer in the door. I enjoyed my second summer in this tourist town and the conversations that arose from my being a knowledgeable local.
2023: My partner and I had our first date here, back when neither of us were sure it qualified as a date. Later in the year, we would be discussing a house for sale over coffee when another regular would approach us. The house he proceeded to tell us about became the home where I sit writing this now.
There will be no entry for next year. Less than 24 hours from now, the cafe will be shuttered.
Let me be clear that I don’t fault the staff for deciding to close. I have said that I feel losses more deeply than most; this sometimes keeps me from seeing any silver lining whatsoever. Someone new might take over the space and be the next promoter of community. If this happens, though, not all of the old shop’s qualities will be retained. It’s the “not all” that makes me pause, raise my mug, and shed a tear.
Driftless Grace 