The Indigo Owl Coffee Shop

The Indigo Owl Open 7:00 am- 9:00 pm M-F, Saturday, 8:00 am to 6:00pm, Sunday 1:00pm to 5:00 pm Open Mic, post concerts, Sunday Morning events open according to schedule Call- 802-744-HOOT.

Her body ached and close to tears, she rounded the tight corner of the Indigo Owl's Danish display with a vengeance in her stride. Pink to go cups, bearing the owl visage, flew forward to the ground and she momentarily vowed to use them for customers anyway. She had spent the ends of available cash on repainting the walls a lovely, updated shade of mint and the look was grand, reupholstered her antique rocker in tiny violets and placed it invitingly in the large window with a side table, created a round of brochures and cards- ordered her supplies in solidly and paid them fully. No one would think that she was not all the way from Vermont- she laughed.

It was only a minute before 9:00pm, the time she had planned to close. She knelt and collected the precious cups and noticed the man sitting patiently at the two topper in front of the little gas fireplace with the cozy mantle. HOW THE HELL-all day she had known when customers arrived. There was a tiny bell that rang and a rush of air that was both cold, wet and wedded to swoosh! All the way to the furthest back room it was felt-until now when she was alone and deeply fatigued. Today, outside traffic was moving freely following the recent Nor'Easter and the city dig out. The moving cars added a predictable chorus of sound. But every time they actually came in- she felt surprise. No stranger to Eastern weather, she closed down for the storm, but was available for someone’s unforeseen need at her little ole’ Main Street address. After only a week of business she was close to making the month- but, at her age she could not continue do it alone.

Gathering composure, she approached the Black gentleman and noticed he was blind and wore a lovely white scarf that was in some way, familiar. He had come in right under the wire and there was nothing in her that would refuse the last customer. He was older and well, she was older too. The years made her generous woman, a person who might try harder to place the cup out in front of the criticisms. "Sir, what can I bring you tonight?" He looked up and smiled a large, warm smile that immediately made her glad she had responded with generosity.

" I don't think in all the years that I been comin' in here that you ever spoke to me and because of that, I want to tell you how often you saved my life." She smiled and said, " likely, no one else is coming in and fresh coffee would be good- I will lock the door and if anybody really wants coffee- they will see us here and knock. " And he replied, "That would be so nice of you."

She turned away with relief, her back burning from fatigue, her feet swollen and tender and turned the lock and click-gleeful pivot to the counter. She turned to face the big, silver pot and he said, " Is there any chance you might like to put on some of that Joni Mitchell you used to play all the times in the evenings? Everybody plays that cafe elevator jazz and well, it is actually pretty good if you are too busy to change the tracks, I guess." The request was surprising. She came from music and was turned on to Folk in the sixites and quickly focused on Joni, Judy and Joan early on. She had even thought at one time of calling her cafe "the three J's", but decided that was not obvious to most people.

"Well, yeah!" And she had actually just turned off the cafe "Snow Jazz" before his sort of auspicious arrival; and, yesterday she purchased a Spotify Plus which made it quite simple to call up White Buffalo or Joni or Chopin.

"Sir, do you take cream and sugar- I don't leave them on the table since Covid though they say it is mostly gone. It changed my life a lot- comin' when it did. And may I sit with you and drink coffee? Treat you to a pastry?"

"Oh my, yes, oh that would be so So very wonderful. You just get it together and bring it over and sit down. Oh yes, ... Absolutely, I am your guest! So how come you call this place the Indigo Owl? I love it - I used to go by “Night Owl” myself." His voice was full of resonance and melody.

She made a table pot for them and brought the last two pastries- "Which one do you want the cheese or the lemon, I only made two kinds - who has time for six- what am I gonna do- everybody ate the rest- that is the idea, of course-but these two, my treat- and welcome back to The Indigo, Mr..."

" Now that is what called me back in here, I heard that name change. I love that name - it is real smart and different. I don't feel the need to get out much anymore- but I want to tell you how much you helped me when you did- even though we never spoke during the years when I came in late at night- while you were making all that new- fangled whole wheat stuff everybody was craving 'basket brown and muffin warm or whatever Judy was singin’, and then baking with honey... honey, and now Stevia- what in God's name is there romantic about Stevia?" She laughed out loud. This man was paying attention, but she should tell him it wasn’t her that let him in all those years.

She sat back and stirred some cream in her coffee and took a nice long sip. It was delicious. Rose began to tell him the story of her grandparent’s home in Texas, and the summer month she spent with them after the birth of her sister, Leigh Ann. Every evening, Granny and Rose went out to the barn to get dog food for the bird dogs and check on vegetables that needed bringing in for the morrow and have a stroll by the roses. It was a moment to savour and feel everything that was fine. Granny would push her nose into the flower and say, " You have to be connected Rose Marie, you have to be connected to beauty." She would always shh with her finger when they entered the barn because Granny Whitten said there was an Owl mother in the barn with owlets. She was good luck and "One day if you are quiet, you will see her. She brings wisdom to our home." And one day, finally, Rose was quietly following her Granny and she saw the Barn Owl atop a tall tree, wings with a near- perfect foil, wings that expanded like an intricate machine taking a breath - glide softly into the nest, stopping at the high window of the barn and for a moment looked down into Rose. Reflected against indigo sky- in momentary translucence she became a flashing pink-purple beacon to imprint Rose forever.

The next morning an Indian Lady, Liddy-not her Indian name- came by with a basket of muscadines to sell to Mrs. Whitten. She stopped to speak to Rose Marie and said " Well, did you finally see the Mother Owl, honey? Some says it brings in bad luck- but that ain't true that is Navajo superstition- well- it ain't Navajo, exactly- more like superstition comes from the boarding school. And my man is Navajo and he was taken to the boarding school because they came for the best lookin', healthiest kids to take over and make 'um Christians- or what they thinks is Christians- oh it is a mess-anyway, the Mother Owl can only bring in what your heart can hear- so it is to your heart that she speaks- make a good heart."

"But Liddy didn't you get boarded?" Liddy slapped her knees, laughin’ and Granny laughed and Rose Marie laughed too. Liddy said, "Well my parents were ready for that group. They borrowed a baby and put it by my side and told the Christian Educator man that it was mine and I needed to feed it and chew leather for the shoes. " Then as they left they were heard to say how "that was proof we was heathern-makin' a girl so young have babies- we was slaves- no we was rarely the slave women- we owned the land for the family."

Mrs. Whitten and Rose Marie said good-by and Mrs. Whitten pressed a few dollars into her hand for the wild grapes which were the base of her famous home-made jelly.She rolled out home-made buttermilk biscuits and they had strong coffee every morning. Both were women who had lives governed by the roles they played. Sometimes Rose Marie and Granny would go to the Basket Factory where Grandaddy worked as the Manager and take him something from the coffee shop- every community has a coffee shop- and Rose lived a lot of places; so, even if there never came a house- she felt having a coffee shop was comforting. Her Grandaddy brought her home a box of Crayola’s for learnin’ to play “Dixie”. And her Granny as a young woman, had had babies; and, her back had a permanent hump on her neck from tiny bones fracturing during child-birth. She taught her granddaughter that it was God’s way for women to submit to their husbands- but having a few kids would round out her life-though the years did not provide children for Rose.

He then commenced his story while she drank her own well selected coffee with cream and nibbled the pastry at first then inhaled the rest- well- it was really good. As he began to talk she noticed a fuzzy, glow on the scarf and brass buttons that made her feel like she had been sipping whiskey; and, inside she laughed some more. The lovely notes of the music swirled around the table and lifted off her fatigue- she made a note to play more of her favorite music in her shop- I mean wasn't that the idea all along?

"So it ain't 'Patty's Place no more?

" NO, because I 'm not Patty" and they both found it extremely funny and now it seemed that she wasn't tired at all. As he chewed the pastry she noticed that his upper lip was damaged and she wondered if he had lost his sight at the same time.

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, that is when it happened."

"But how did you know what I was thinking?"

"Well, some says I am a mind reader, but mostly, it is about this time in the conversation that peoples notice the injury." And the story began, " As you remember, when we were young there was no you and me sitting at the table be'in friends."

" I recall, I was raised by wonderful parents, respectful. They started their marriage with nothing but a pink blanket and walked to their jobs and my Daddy worked at the City Meat Markey owned by his family they had to pay for their meat just like everybody else. The year I was born, they opened the first Supermarket. But there were no business owned by Blacks in town. Jonesboro and a North Jonesboro, we all were and clearly separated by the tracks. One year I had a Black English teacher- Ginny Watson- she was very smart and it was -different.

"So," he says, "by now you know a lot more how it was for other folks," he continued, " And in my family we was among the privileged Black. I think in those where the family could work together and lean on the success of one another and learn how to avoid trouble- those kinds of Black folk might do better. All the children finished high school but Rufus- he passed young- but there is no guarantees on the future plans.

She also understood this. Rose worked hard for a long time without enough education to do things on her agenda- then right after getting a degree with stellar marks- Covid happened. Already being older-options closed and shifted.

" My Grandmother played the church piano and my Mother worked in a rich lady’s house who sent her home with extra's and hand me downs which were very nice sometimes, but the constant defensive living wears a man down, even in the North."

"Yes." she said." Sometimes people have that in their relationship, and it is exhausting."

"Yes, it is- is that what brought you here? And do you still sing?"

" Well, the story is longer than that. Please continue YOUR story." And she got up to bring fresh napkins to her new friend.

" Well, as was in the day, the Black woman often did better than the Black man for many reasons." He totally had her attention because in the school, she excelled in social research. He continued, " Was that the Jonesboro close to Memphis where Reverend King was kilt?

" Indeed."

And he said " Well you have some music down there more than most places being round the corner from Memphis, don't you now?"

"Yes, my Mother was a singer and pianist and my Daddy reconditioned her a baby grand piano. She playeda Boogie Woogie, Chopin and Debussy- and in my life," she continued, we had a very pretty, young, Black woman, Vicki who came to help with the ironing and cleaning and babysit me sometimes. We all cleaned together in the house. We- that's me and Vicki- would run around the house singing, 'It's My Party and I'll Cry if I want to, cry if I want to cry if I want to...'” and laugh and laugh.

"My Mom taught me a lot by just telling me the truth. One Day when Vicki wasn't there and the garbage men came, she pointed out a really handsome Black man with a mustache working on the truck as it drove down our street. In those days do you remember how the men had to pick up the cans with their arm spread top and bottom-wearing their gloves and haul them up and dump them in the big truck? It was heavy. It smelled bad. It was hard to keep it up and you could hurt from it. That was Vicki's ex-husband my Mother told me.”

"And why did they divorce?"

"I do not know why, but the fact was that Vicki now had a rich, white man who liked her, and took care of her. I didn't know what to think. I wondered if her husband didn't take care of her.”

"Exactly. Also the story of my own Father and the two main reasons the Black man has had such a hard time comin' up and stayin' up. First his woman was a sexual servant. And she could get work in a rich home while he just didn't have a clear path and that, in a man is a dangerous combination which leads to drinkin' and druggin'- my Daddy had some o' that; but he had some work and he had his horn, which he taught me to play. Womens all around the world are still servants and in some places they cuts off they sex parts- did you know that- and some don't know they IS slaves. We just GOT to stop slavin'".

" You- you are a horn player?"

" I am a jazz musician, and after I went to the junior college we used to have here for Blacks- and I took music there, too-met me a cute girl and we wuz spoonin' under those big river trees- we really wanted to do it, so my Granny got us married and we had a little baby. I was cleaning at the college while we talked about how I might become a full-time music teacher. Rosalee was always home with the baby, and I loved making my way home every night to see them. I would take the track route and get a little quicker in my step the closer I got my heart would race I loved it so much. But our little son did not live long, and we both turned and ran as hard as we could from the pain. I ran to the city and smoked dope and played on the street. Started drinkin' and then my whole life came to a halt when I met Charles Mingus. Man, he didn't want to hear nothin’ about the problems of the Black man' jus play' he said. He taught me well and we lit up that city when night came. He had his own issues- but one day he called me to come and play in a real good band he was getting together and we did play for quite a while. I reconnected with Rosalee and made sure she had some advantages as she had been the mother of my son and then in one moment my dreams was kilt.

I was walking out of a club- white peoples were comin to see us there, too. And there was a man and a lovely blonde woman who dropped her purse. I picked it up and handed it to her with a smile and he immediately, without a moment’s notice, drew his cane back and hit my face so hard he burst my lip and damaged my right eye and then whipped her around used it to push her into his limousine. And the eye infection traveled and took both eyes and I never played another note. And I need to tell you that you can still sing." She had no idea why he added that.

"Pardon me for interrupting but I am starving, " she said, "Would you eat a pimento cheese sandwich and a soup. with me. I haven't been eating enough and I just can't wait to hear more of your story."

"Well, sure can sister, it is my favorite, and I haven't had that fo' a real long time, that would be so wonderful." And he just gleamed and he shined actually- seemed to light up. And the music played and she made the little meal while tracks from 'Hejira' made a sweet, and intimate background for two friends able to understand the complex and soulful passages. Rose began to relax and slow down.

And then Rose looked outside and noticed that there was a long stretch caddy, very old with a taxi sign lit up top and she said, "I don't know your name." And he said, "Oh that there is John and he takes me home to my place by the river-" Rose put two cold waters on the table and he drank his down and she said, " Let me get you another" and he was deeply obliged. She went to warm the soup and quickly spread the cheese on two soft breads, made the diagonal cut and served them to the table, brought out the soup with croutons and big spoons.

"Oh, Miss Rose, this is better than a birthday. You really know how to bring joy. Please come sit and eat."

So they ate, now quietly with peace. And Rose filled the glasses with Sweet Tea left from the midday and said she might not sleep at all. But he replied, " You will have no trouble sleeping." He was right and she couldn't think how the pastries would be made or that she could even shower- and right on cue he says in a soft and relaxing voice, "And do you know there is an old Black man, Gizmo who has a bake shop not that far from here and he makes real good pastries- many kinds- he is still up- go call him and he gave her the card ," he is an old guy like us- well, you are a bit younger-and his mortgage is paid so he don't OVER charge- and he is clean and his bakery is clean- yeah he is up on things- he works to just stay outta trouble. He can even make the cake. And gave a deep laugh- Tell him you need to come down in the morning at 6:15 to pick up three or four dozen of what he has - hurry call him right now! " She thirstily gulped down the tea and ran for her cell and called the man who quickly answered and said to just knock on the blue door in the back, "Gizmo's Got It", and that there was security camera and a lite.

When she returned, her guest was looking away like he could see into the distance through blind eyes and She longed to take the glasses off and tell him how very sorry she was that happened to him. She thought of the stories she might share with him-how she came to be here and how she stopped singing and knew it was too late to linger tonight.

Then he said, " But I need you to know how this place saved me. First I want you to promise that you will go out walkin' here or with your bicycle because there is a waterfront for the city slickers and you will love it and you will meet your regulars."

" Yes! Please, Yes! But finish your story!" And he said - "It is not like your long story- it is a short one. After my misfortune, I started to drink and then I had the good luck to learn that I had become an alcoholic and that all the feelings were mixed up in it but that the alcohol was a separate demon that could never be controlled, only avoided. Once I took that out of the equation then many things became clear with the help of others and my clear mind. But at night especially on the end of the week around 9 or `10 when I might have been thinking of my son or song list and cleanin' my horn and travelin' to the gig and meeting the men, likely that was the time I could give up and so when I came back here and Miss Patty had this shop, I would sneak in here around closing time and drink coffee maybe like have a pastry, look at the paper, enjoy the fire and walk home to take in the evening. She was always workin' and only ever said good night and that she felt safer when I was here and that was all we ever said. It was all I needed and without it, I would have failed. I would have had a fall back. We are the lifelines to one another and to the heart of the universe.” He paused.

“Rose, I need to tell you a few things-find Patty's cake receipt and take it to Gizmo. The community is on an upswing here and at the hotel they are having a lot of tourists wanting destination weddings. But the hotel isn't interested, and they want another place- we used to have things right here in front of the fireplace on Sunday Morning and open mic nights on Thursday nights. Get the cake for them- always keep the options affordable and limited, (God, he sounded like a retailer.) and order the flowers for around this fireplace here- make two sandwich trays one with that neat pimento and pastries, Kombucha tea or something from your cooler- bottled water, coffee of course very simple- but it gives them a change of scene- Patty's picture ideas are in the back! Then after two hours they go!

He quickly continued, "Listen to and play your own singing music again-I got to go-hear my guy revving his engine?" She helped him up and he put his hands on either side of her tired shoulders. "Rose, you have set my soul free." He paused again. “You got to take some of the bread crumbs from this business you bought and put an ear on the ground here and make a few friends- take some pastries and coffee over to the courthouse- sell it- girl, you might find a prosecutor to date- they ain't going to Gizmo's bakery back door now, is they? Now go get me a card from the office."

Whipping around the corner of the case and right into the office, she returned to see- no man, no car, nothing but a room changed and quiet and a white scarf carefully folded on the mantle. And she would wear it with deep feeling feeling on every cold day forward. She started to sing.

No one knew she lived in the back rooms with a shower and heater. One room was deeply carpeted and the walls were restored, the moldings new. She figured that Patty had slept there sometimes as well. She was planning for a house.

She showered quickly omitting the hair, ran out the front and grabbed the lovely silk scarf and tucking it into her coat collar. She jumped in the car, trusting that the bakery was real. And there they were! All packaged on a nice oak table. There was a can and a note “put in the money we agreed on or call me around 3 pm and I will start an account for you and we can decide what I will make- I used to be a musician and never keep hours- but that works out good.” In the future, she and Gizmo would often confer.

She ran in and started the coffee, filled the case, did a quick sweep of the floor and salted the steps. then collapsed until she heard the bell- then she jumped up and threw on the lip gloss and straightened up the Indigo ribbon on her pony tail as she ran to the counter-, People were anxious to get out after the storm and immediately the lines formed. She blasted the room with Leslie Gore- soon she was in the black for the day and the lines eased off. Now, people came in a few at a time- she walked over to the special board and wrote "HI I am Rose and I am your new neighbor. " If you see this and say Hi! Rose I am your neighbor and then tell me your name- today I will give you 20% off your coffee. So easily she started the conversation with her new world. At the end of the day she wrote -HELP WANTED CLEAN PEOPLE PLEASERS ONLY NEED APPLY.

She followed some of the breadcrumbs and did more impromptu specials and took bike rides on the Water Boulevard- she reveled in the scented air. In the summer it was fragrant with roses and pond lilies and in the fall, all of Vermont was scented with richness, Tourists were always discovering something beautiful and filling the little shop with descriptions of a wonderful day. She sold books of poetry. she sold Vermont recipes and maps of Vermont- that is all- with her soups, and pastries- but she did concoct a pastry with insides of ham and cheese for the real hungry folk and Gizmo made all the specials. She was now a master of confidence.

She started open mic, they had some simple and successful weddings and made money by being deliberately simple. Those who used the tiny venue were pleased. Sometimes she would choose music and she could see how they lit up when something pleasing to them began to play. And guitarists came to play and home canned ministers ministered. - it was more than enough. And her popularity grew- she saved money, she had credit.

One day, like in a fairy tale- a very handsome musician came in and told her that he had a tremendous idea for her. They were coming home to retire. " His wife," he said, "who had done everything for him and raised three children while he toured, wanted a little place like this and would- he offered a really big sum -be enough? You come and work with her for at least 6 months and show her the ropes and tell her what makes money for you and also tell her that she can ask for help- did anyone help you?" All she said was "yes." But there was one condition- a poster must be hung in the kitchen, an unknown horn player, playing to the moon, wearing a white scarf and it had to be framed- he was known only as, "Night Owl."

Rose bought a house, and she helped her real estate angel realize her dreams as well- which had more to do with baking her grandmother's recipes and hosting her non-profits than staying in the black- no matter! But the new owner excelled working with other venues and made many wedding cakes- well you know who made them- and wise Indigo kept picking the music and enjoying the changes.