the darkness lit up the sky

winter market

I am in no way an expert on the subject of working a winter farmer's market in Seattle. The strip of white tents is filled with folks who have braved the cold, snow, wind and - the coldest - clear blue sky. However, as time has moved forward, I have been able to glean some wisdom from these very same brave souls and would like to pass it on to you should you ever need it.

...

If you happen to be next to some amazing vendors, take them up on their offer of watching your booth while you dash inside the nearby building to sit on the heater. Take into account that you will be waiting in line for your turn.

If you can keep your heater going in the wind you can probably keep your toes from stinging.

By placing boxes at angles around your feet and thereby channeling the warmth from your propane heater, you may just feel a little warmth as well as keeping yourself from going numb. It's completely your prerogative whether you want to be numb or not. Personally, I try to avoid it due to the potential pain of the re-warming process.

If you can, hold the tongs for as short a time as possible. Because of the simple laws of thermodynamics, you will manage to get your fingers cold to the point of hurting but not to the point of numbness. This should be avoided.

Try not to burst into tears or become too snide when a customer calls over their shoulder to "stay warm!" as they head back to their warm homes after a quick sprint to get their vegetables. Also, under no circumstances should you think about how you have to stand there another four hours.

... 

Well, there you have it. You will now be more prepared than I was when I first stepped behind these tables. And you know? there are few types of work I like better. Granted, it's cold and there's pain and some frustration, but the camaraderie...

You may find stronger among soldiers, or arctic explorers, but farmers? They've got the average beat.

our coffee shop

The way the baristas know our names and we know theirs. How the coffee changes ever so slightly from week to week and I can tell the difference. How on the other side of the window walls the same people pass by every day - the woman with the cremoline slips and high heels, the plastic bag man, the bony runner with the jamaican flag slung around his shoulders. I know the details and thereby cherish a sense of possession despite my place as a simple observer.

Fog builds up on the windows on sharp days; the days when everyone buries their noses deep in their collar or wears their thickest socks.

While the long commute - two hours one way most days - can feel like hurtling into the great swirl of a storm where unpredictability has control, I can know that once I get down the hill, through the biting wind, and behind the door, it will be warm in the same way it was the day before. Even though my headphones are the little between me, cat calls, and screaming, the sleek shelves will still hold the same mugs and the tip jar will still be sitting on the counter. There will still be smiles and hullohs of recognition - deeper than obligation.

december

last month
> make an SCD yellow cake with chocolate frosting Dad wanted a trifle for his birthday so I made Comfy Belly's yellow cake, "frosted" it with lemon curd, and then layered it up in a trifle bowl. Still needs some fiddling, but I was delighted by the results.
> read A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis (nope.)
> Gerard Manley! A collection of his work is finally sitting on my bedside table! Here's to future reading and quotes most likely showing up here.
> successfully photograph a wedding Here are my favorites.
> photograph more of Seattle Because it's so beautiful!

on the docket
> Start reading Gerard Manley Hopkins (but really)
> Write more letters
> Finish preparations for moving into an apartment in Seattle
> Experiment with apple cake

saturdays are for veggies and cake

I snapped this picture from earlier this month. The sun was out, the market was bustling, and the cookies were melting. Shoppers meandered down the long row of square tents, bobbing back and forth between samples of honey, cold beer, and brownies. 

But that was a month ago.

Today it was cold.

Waking up to snow turned to driving through it to standing for six hours in the wind waiting for the die-hard and sparsely scattered farmer's market shoppers to come by. Icicles dripped from our hand-washing spigots while ice formed in the buckets. Those vendors lucky enough to be working as a team took twenty minute shifts to go inside and stand by the heater.

It really is fascinating watching people deal with severe wind-chill. Some hide inside themselves, perhaps pretending they don't exist so that it is no longer a problem that they can't feel their nose or their feet. Others explode out into the space around them, laughing, dancing, and giggling their way through the numbness. 

not restful but full of peace

The trees have lit my walk to work these past few weeks through drizzle and mist. An old woman dressed all in black walks hunched against the wind, her black bags strapped to a pull-cart, yellow leaves wrapped around the wheels. People tumble into the shop glad for the warmth, the dry, and something good to eat. 

Thanksgiving is not a restful time for small bakeries. We're inundated with those who are desperately trying to please their inlaws and want someone else to blame and those who have found themselves alone for yet another holiday and have decided that they would rather it be by their own choice. But, even as hectic as it becomes, I find that there are endless things to be thankful for...from the woman who needed something for her vegan brother and I had just the thing she wanted to the man who told me a joke as I rung him up. The woman who sat down and had coffee on me because it was the first time she had gotten to slow down that day and the look on our bread baker's face whem she heard how excited people were about the loaves she has worked so hard to develop.

stories out the bus window

The couple out on a Friday night, dressed up but solemn, their hands held but straight down, the woman pulling him behind using the leverage of her elbow.

The determined, stuttering man speaking with the bus driver, his chin pushed forward between hunched shoulders, speaking about the northern lights. "Bye angel," he said as he got off, tapping a pair of dress shoes against the window.

The brand new family of three struggling to master a baby carrier as they stand next to a huddle of bikers and a blue-tarp tent of the man who claims the park as home.

rolled out like a map

My roomie's brother visited this week. Up and down the hills, finding dead ends, and getting as high as possible in buildings became our modus operondi. 

One of my favorite finds of the week? This book in the government records section of Seattle's central library.

Coming to the last day of his visit, we were determined to get up as high as we could to look across the city. This is what we saw. From King Street Station to Pioneer Square, Bellevue to Olympics, all laid out for us to see.

coffee hop

In search of that difficult balance of exemplar coffee and good atmosphere, we bussed into Seattle to arrive at the first of three new coffee shops...

 

Espresso Vivace

227 yale ave n

 



The first impression to hit was how open the space is. Warm color tones in stone and metal surfaces cool in full morning light from the nearly two full walls of windows. While set up for individuals with a bar stretching across each wall under the windows, all with outlets for laptops and devices, there are still several tables and couch spaces to invite larger groups or lounging readers to stay awhile. As we settled in and gathered our drinks, the loud music began to feel louder and the welcome-to-the-kitchen feel provided by open appliance shelving behind the serving counter began to feel claustrophobic. The winners of past latte art competitions, framed and placed on the walls, gave a sense of history and community and tied in with the pour art mosaics on the floor. With a focus on sweet, caramelized espresso, they were eager to try the coffee.

 

Espresso // fluffy, bitter, back-of-the-tongue mouthfeel

 

Americano // grainy, bitter, brown

 

Latte // beautiful, faint, lukewarm

 

None of us were particularly impressed, though we haven't given up on these particular roasters. While Vivace had a stellar reputation for high quality coffee four years ago, this location seems to have not carried on that tradition. We'd like to go to their original storefront on a future expedition.

 

Victrola Coffee Roasters
411 15th ave e

 

This café's passion for high-quality coffee is clear the moment you walk in as you're greeted by a hearty collection of home coffee brewing options, hand grinders, and hand-thrown mugs. A long, cozy, delicious-smelling space filled with locals, Victrola fits right in among the many small businesses along 15th avenue on Capitol Hill. While light pours in through the windows around the door, it does not leach the warmth out of the cozy, natural wood elements. Crisp lines keep the space clean while light music encourages conversation. I was greatly encouraged by a loose leaf tea menu, though I haven't tried any of them yet.

 

Espresso // initially smooth, rounded, bitter

 

Americano // thin, green, disappearing

 

All in all we enjoyed this space a great deal. Relaxed and approachable, it still holds itself up to a high standard. While they were not impressed by the coffee itself, they would like to try different brewing methods for these beans. A French press may allow more flavor into the cup while providing a more substantial body, combating the thinness they experienced with the espresso.

 

Stumptown Coffee Roasters
1115 12th ave

 



This tiny space -- tucked between two large, seemingly industrial buildings on 12th avenue -- is filled to the brim with loud music and heavy coffee. While I do not tend to prefer loud music, it encouraged conversation even in such an intimate space. Recycled wood floors, old brick walls, rebar, and concrete give it a rough-and-tumble atmosphere while the clean lines of a polished bar and slick shelving keep it from feeling cluttered. The windows, opened to allow an afternoon breeze to play through the space, provide the feeling of sitting outside while still enjoying the coziness of an enclosed space.

Espresso // green, short-lived, pleasant

Americano // bright, lemon, encompassing

Iced Coffee // sweet, tart, clean

Our unquestioned favorite of the three spaces for the taste and feel of the coffee, they would also like to try these beans with another method of brewing. The one they would choose to try: pour over.


The next adventure? Finding a coffee shop with both good coffee and good tea.

nuflours

On Friday I will have my first shift at NuFlours gluten-free bakery! Their new storefront on Capitol Hill is planned to open the first of October. Until then I will be training, working farmer's markets, and (perhaps) weddings while getting my bearings. 

[ seattle met -- gluten-free bakery nuflours lands on capitol hill ]

The blessings are overwhelming. After only a month of keeping my job search in high gear, I have been welcomed into a job that will not only support me, but also one which I care deeply about. It turns out that cold-calling (or emailing in my case) actually works. 

[ seattle met -- restaurant shifts and shakeups ]

My first move in searching for jobs here in the Seattle area was to look up alternative bakeries in the city and sending them all my resume with a cover letter. It didn't take long because goodness there are so few of them. Alternative food and having it available is a subject dear to my heart. Growing up with a brother with severe allergies, and now finding myself (and others around me) having to be very intentional about the foods we eat (or don't eat), social gatherings can become difficult on a whole new level and having something safe available to eat can make a world of difference.

[ trip advisor ]

So yes. A worthwhile endeavor I think. Not to mention a delightful learning experience.  Though goodness me my starting commute from the East Side. Well, I'll get a lot of reading done.

seattle

I already knew I loved Seattle -- the brick and mortar feel of odd corners and old streets, the way that alleys aren't hidden away even in downtown, and the bury-down-deep-somewhere-warm instinct of the locals. Once you've survived a winter here and breathed in the crisp-leaf air of fall or stood stock-still on a windless day to try and feel the warmth of a stray sun beam, it begins to make sense that Seattle is carved out by the mountains and weather around it.

What I did not yet love about Seattle is its depth of history, its habit of leaving the traces and grime of age, how it doesn't hide behind Plexiglas windows or perfectly smooth concrete sidewalks. And how you need only walk down-hill to get to the water.

all the questions

The past few weeks have been filled with walking up and down Seattle's streets, learning my way around the public transportation system, applying to any job I can find, drooling over boats and apartments, and endeavoring to keep my head above water.

It wasn't until about a week and a half ago that summer-happenings settled down enough for me to send in applications but since then I've been either hectically busy going to interviews or sitting on street corners waiting to hear back while picking my roommate up from work.

This has given me time to do a great deal of people watching. It's amazing the kinds of things you can infer about people simply from a strange mark on their shoe or how their hair is slipping from its tie, or how a smile hides in the corners of their face. Also enjoyable is playing "tourist or not a tourist?" A very easy, yet still entertaining game which doesn't involve someone judging your thoughts, skills, and opinions. A nice break from interviews and applications.

culture of origin

Here is a story about perceptions - a story because it may not be all true.  It's not the story of where I come from, but the story of where I think I come from, which is what makes the greatest deal of difference.

...

Having been born and experienced my early childhood in central California in the Silicon Valley, I am still used to rectangular concrete buildings, friendly neighbors, and suburbs built for biking.  Its open-home culture has greatly influenced my family’s culture and stuck with us even after the past fourteen years spent in the Pacific Northwest.  It was a shift experienced by many families in the 1990s as computer engineers like my father were drawn to the Microsoft headquarters. Several of those families were our previous neighbors and friends, slowing down the process of adapting to Washington culture, especially for us kids. 

My impressions of our first years there were of a little-California with evergreens and rain.  As a homeschooler, I lived in the walls of my family and church. Culture didn't yet exist as a category in my mind. The only difference I perceived in the people was a propensity to not open their doors when you knocked and a look of obligation from new neighbors as you handed them a loaf of banana bread. Soon after our pool of acquaintances expanded to include a family from the South. Suddenly, I began to see that another code of living existed, and one which let you in its doors.  Their speech was distinct enough to call my attention to it, but rather than seeming strange, it led my curiosity to discover that they interacted differently as well. They created distance with formal titles, but everyone, no matte their place in the structure, was welcome to scrunch onto the couch until breathing room was gone.  Where our neighbors’ arms were closed, theirs were open. 

Then came private school. My world turned upside down and backwards as I tried to cope with a barrage of rules, words, and folkways I didn't understand. My life became about being different. With no hope of learning enough to get by as one of them, California became an identity where before it had just been a past.  It wasn't until some three years later in high school that I began to identify as Washingtonian, evidenced in conversation starters about the weather, a propensity to look down when walking to class, and the ability to name the mountain ranges even behind the clouds.  Silent neighbors had become normal and we ate all the banana bread we baked. However, it wasn't until I began attending college in the south that I understood my newly-dubbed home culture.  

I discovered that we don’t talk much, but we mean what we say.  Many don’t open their homes, but they congregate for hours in the coffee shop in the nearby city. We don’t touch or talk to strangers, but we look them in the eye. In the South, I found myself cringing at the niceties falling out of people’s mouths which contradicted the look in their eyes. I reveled in the intimacy communicated to me through new acquaintances opening their homes and refrigerators to me, and the number of times I found myself getting a face full of unfamiliar hair from bear hugs.  Now, having spent three years here, I can barely label these scraps of action  with where they came from. They're just me. My speech proves an apt example. While its cadence is Seattle in texture with its mid-thought pauses and Canadian-influenced vowels, have me open a front door to welcome in guests and forget the diphthongs. Not to mention my propensity to touch, smile, and bake my way into friendships.  

My Seattle

Merry Christmas from my favorite part of the world.

Market Spice

Market Spice Tea | Orange Spice...a black tea with cinnamon and orange flavorings and a unique spice blend.

why?
As the signature tea of Market Spice Tea in Seattle Washington's Pike's Place Market, it is the mother of all orange spice teas in my opinion. All of the other spice teas I buy are a byproduct of my efforts to find another tea like this. The website proclaims it as having a "unique spicy, naturally sweet flavor [which] has become world famous." When they recommend that you keep it in an air-tight container, take them seriously. I did not do so and after five months of hoarding and saving it, I found that it had gone sour. "Well that's silly" you say. Yes, my hoarding it was. However, I find the fact that it does go bad as a great comfort. There is actually real flavors - not to mention the bits of real orange - in the blend. It's a "you lose some, you gain a lot" situation.

notes...
You can order this tea here on their website or type in [www.marketspice.com] and click "Everything Orange Spice" on the sidebar. This tea is also sold as a loose leaf tea which comes straight to you already in a glass, airtight container. Huzzah!

Safeco Field

Public transportation. I am a fan. 545 into Seattle. Zips you right up to Safeco field and eliminates all the stress, money, and time of parking.

Make sure to bring socks and shoes though. Tim wore sandles and had to use my backpack to keep his feet warm. Awesome picture though.

If you're lucky, the Mariners will even WIN! (2-1).

Ichiro, of course.

Also, make sure to take a classic "we were here" picture...

...and catch the sunset as you walk out. If you go to the three hundred level left of center field, you'll find yourself looking out at Eliot Bay and the cargo cranes.

Don't miss the view of the Space Needle from inside the park. It was raining over the city almost the entire game. Gorgeous over the sunset.

btw

Someone asked me if I was heading to Portland in the airport.

"No...Seattle."

"That's what I thought..."

"Why?"

"What you're wearing."

Success.

Let's play a game

Have you ever bought out nearly all the 2% milk?

[Lauren]

Have you ever found a piece of paper that was so starkly metaphoric that it shocked you to tears?

[lost identity]

Have you ever left something in a Geocache?

[Smith Rock]

Have you ever realized that you're in a car with an Auburn fan?

[Davy G!]

Have you ever visited a gum wall?

[Seattle, WA]

airport musings

It takes skill to watch with grace when everyone else is doing the same. Eye contact is broken over and over again by mutual consent.

I laugh to myself as I correctly guess which people will meld into the shuffling group waiting for flight #716 to Seattle. It isn't enough to pick out which have Starbucks drinks balanced in their hands or clutched in their fingers.  It's too close to meme.

...

A young man has caught and held my interest.  His expensive and crisply lined shirt leaves room for comfortable movement and his sleeves are rolled in an unorganized yet careful way to just below his elbows. His jeans remove all formality from his shirt however. At the hem they shred delicately over his expensive yet worn leather flip flops.

His packing is sleek. Two bags. Both black.  Slim. Steam lined. Perhaps he flies often.

His eyes, nose, and mouth are not delicate, but carry hints of an effeminate caring. Not in a way that erodes any masculinity in his face but in the kind of way that would put you completely at ease if he picked you up from the side of the road and offered to drive you to the nearest gas station.

His build is neither thin nor solid but carries itself in such a way that its litheness is evident. 

His hair, though obviously tended to with care, seems to think that decorum is a joke and curls to its hearts content.  It edges his face in unruly yet short partial curls that lend his face a playfulness that his black luggage denies.

The unconventionally placed rings in his ears speak more of an interest in the look rather than a fashion statement as if he actually likes them rather than simply using them to create an image.

He caught me looking. His immediate response was a smile. This may have been triggered by my habit of smiling whenever I make contact with anyone. However, the way that the lines fell so naturally into place makes me doubt that.  His face appeared to be very used to smiling and even now that his face is relaxed, it retains hints of the expression around its edges.

...

I know there are other people out there who observe as I do; who busy their minds with other people's lives even though we know that most of it is shaky conjecture. I wonder if they would have picked me out of the stream to be one of the ones to break off and step in front of gate C7. I wonder what they would see in my face, clothes, or color choices.

I know I see a Seattlelite, but I know things they never will.

They wouldn't know exactly where these Adidas shoes came from and how my little brother played soccer in them in the rain. They wouldn't know that I crocheted my hat in this yarn as I sat in my sunny dorm room in Georgia thinking about how the soft grey looked like the backdrop to the skyline I so desperately missed.  They wouldn't know that I wear green because I miss it or that my jeans have spent most of their worn life with the hems wet.  They wouldn't know that my backpack hasn't been this full since I was walking through the mist towards my next high school class, my glasses doomed to be smudged the rest of the day because I'd been too lazy to take the long yet dry way around. They wouldn't know that the reason I'm tapping my feet in line to buy my yogurt with fruit is because Sam Cooke is playing and all I want to be doing in that moment is swing dance in the little ballroom right off Broadway.

That's what I see when I look at me and wonder. I wonder what they would see.

Someone who won't give in and just buy new shoes even though they leak in the rain? Someone who bought a hat at some hippy store to make a statement about fair trade? Someone who likes to dress in odd color combinations that are reminiscent of an egg plant?  Someone who has to roll up her jeans because she can't find any short enough that still fit? Someone whose backpack is far too full and who will probably end up with back problems because of it? Someone who's nervous and uncomfortable with new environments and can't just stand still for once?

I find that they would most likely see a very different but nonetheless quite accurate picture of me.  Strange how observations can split like tree limbs. Both are correct. Both are covered in green leaves.