Being Vocal about Local...

When I walked into The Ornamentry, carrying a cardboard carton full of christmassy stuff I had created during my first winter in Alaska, the place resembled a household, poised for a big move. Crates of all sizes lay haphazardly: some leaning against the wall, some sprawled on an empty table, and some jutting out of the semi-opened cabinets. Judy Grahek, the 70-year-old owner of the shop, examined the few things I had brought in: painted tiles with stands, birch bark cards, paperweight pebbles depicting Alaskan scenes, candle votives, with motifs of ravens and wolves, she nodded, "nice work", and handed me a form to fill. No questions asked. A form, an inventory...and a hug. That's all was needed to join a fleet of 80 some artists, artisans, and crafters who showcased their work at The Ornamentry, Fairbanks, Alaska.

Once  the shop opened for the season, it was hard to imagine that this was  the same chaotic place I had walked in a week earlier with my stuff, and filled up a form. Soft music in the background, meandered from room to room, through its maze-like structure. It was as though, everything, by a sudden touch of the magic wand, had found its rightful place.  Gift items of all shapes and sizes looked snug in their new surroundings. From the ornaments hanging from the chandeliers, to the beautiful, handwoven tapestries on the wall,  to handmade gift baskets, to musk-ox wool knitted into mitts and scarves, to pottery, jewlery, peanut brittles, dill pickles, and preserves: everything  looked exquisitely jubilant and unique.

However, tucked away  in a quiet alley in downtown Fairbanks,  it was easy  for a newcomer or a tourist, to miss The Ornamentry while strolling past. But, if your horse sense pulled you in to its festive interiors, you would want to come back to this one-of-a-kind gift shop again and again. But, you couldn't. For, The Ornamentry used to open only twice a year: once before the thaw from mid-March to mid-April, and once in the dead of winter from November to the third week of December. Even though seasonal, Judy had over the years, built up a strong following of 1500 some customers, and that too without ever advertising. She did nevertheless send out a notification to everyone on her mailing list, reminding them of the dates and timings The Ornamentry would remain open. 

Store overheads were low since Judy, the brainchild behind The Ornamentry owned the property, and was thus saved the cost of leasing/renting a place. "So, three months of sales a year is enough to go for a vacation somewhere, and be able to spend the rest of my time with family and friends," was  Judy's simple rationale. Fair enough. 

So, for those who wanted to avoid "made in China" souvenirs, sold in Walmart, The Ornamentry was the perfect place to shop. Moreover, it was the only outlet in the city which gave the local artists and artisans from around the state an opportunity to display and sell their  work. Dedicated to promoting 'buy local', Judy took a meager 20 percent cut from the sales. "I believe, it doesn't matter what the economy is, people come here  not only to buy something exclusive, and 'made in Alaska',  but also because they know that the money is circulating locally", Judy told the Daily Miner in an interview. And the success of The Ornamentry was proof enough to uphold her belief. 

Great lesson here for all of us. When you are shopping for gifts this holiday season, or just wanting to buy something special for yourself or your home, buy local, and support the local economy. A product made by people who bring their personal experiences, skills, and imagination to  give it that rare edge is bound to have more character than the one which catapults out of an assembly line into a  big box-store.  Right? And, as I  like to say, going off the beaten track, looking for that small-time vendor, sitting in the corner shop, and rummaging through his/her trove of treasure, is always more fun!

"Blood Group: Tea Positive.."

Tea is much like poetry. And, I think, from all poetic forms, it is the humble seventeen-syllabled haiku which comes closest to capturing the essence of a cuppa tea. Both, simple in form, yet complex in content, impart unto us a hint of immortality, caught in the net of time.

Who would have thought that one inadvertent act of letting a handful of leaves steep in water, could pave way, not only for some quiet contemplation and meditation, but also for explorative voyages, and revolutions? Different teas, according to the colour, aroma, oxidation, and the mouthfeel, give rise to a multitude of  moods. They take us places within us we did not know existed. "Each cup of tea represents an imaginary voyage", Catherine Douzel once wrote.

Having a perfect cup of tea is pure happiness: it satisfies all the senses: visual, taste, olfactory, even auditory. Is it a wonder then that since the beginning of civilization, tea, much like spices, has been instrumental in bringing people together? Friendships are formed over a cup of tea, people fall in love over a cup of tea...secrets are shared through a cup of tea, fortunes are revealed by reading the dregs at the bottom of a cup of tea.

Following are a few of my own tea haikus, to commemorate the international tea day, which was actually yesterday...

1. smudged skies, blotted views,

     my hands wrapped around a cup

     of tea: ah, perfect!

2. give me a cup of tea,

     a birdsong, a shard of sky

      to call my own.

3. the sky dances, the

    river sings, the kettle on 

    the stove hums along.

4. drowning in a cup of tea,

    a thousand memories:

     i fish them out.

5. at the lotus feet of Buddha

     I sit and enjoy

      a cup of tea.

7. a kettle whistles,

         scattering the huddled silence

          of the morning.

8. with such zeal she brews

     a cup of tea,

     so much love in her eyes

      when she serves.

9. each cup of tea

     refreshes the memory

     of an absent moment.

10.  a cricket singing,

        one last sip of tea,

        then, i shall watch the sunset.

11. temple bells from yonder hills:

       time for my evening tea

       and daifuku.*

*rice buns stuffed with bean paste.

Steeped in the memory of many a cup of tea we have indulged in, and companionship we have brewed together,  I wish all my family and friends a stirring international tea day. 

Celebrating Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving came and went. The thought of making a special pancake, home-fries and scrambled egg breakfast, with some French Press coffee, did briefly grace my mindscreen, which is otherwise set on an auto-change mode. But, I decided against it, realising the futility of tabling the  spirit of Thanksgiving in the tropics, especially when it has been pouring non-stop for three days!

My memory however, did bring back flashes of those myriad Thanksgivings, which mainly revolved around binging on mouthwatering ensemble of beans and mushroom casseroles, apple pies, pumpkin soup, corn breads with cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes with Rosemary, sweet potatoes topped with maple syrup, pecans, and cinnamon, and last but not the least, turkey stuffing (being a vegetarian, I didn't care for the centrepiece of the dining table).  Despite the fact that it was a much sought after holiday, and we all partook in the feast, and decked the walls of the house up with drawings of Pilgrims and Mayflower our son had drawn as a kid, I couldn't help but be reminded of the lost faces of the native Americans, the  Cherokees, Sioux, Dakotas, Mohawks, and 560 some federally recognised brave tribes of original inhabitants of the continent, made homeless in their own country, strangers in their own homeland. Many a news items flashed through my mind,  highlighting the alienation syndrome, several youngsters in the reservations faced,  shedding light on discrimination meted out to those few who tried to mingle with the mainstream America. In fact, the growing number of suicides in reservations across America and Canada, has, in recent years, reached an alarming rate.  Disenfranchised by a system, they are reduced to mere statistics vis-à-vis poverty, homelessness, substance abuse, and unemployment, caused by their geographical and cultural isolation. Straddled between two worlds, theirs, which is grounded in deep respect for the rhythms of Nature, and our own consumerist one,  based on the constantly changing tides of capitalism, they find it hard to strike a balance.

So, if the first Thanksgiving represented the symbiotic relationship between the natives and the pilgrims, where people of two cultures had come together to celebrate the bountiful harvest, the present one is a sad reminder of  the parasitic  nature of the colonists who rid the land of its indigenous people, and all but eradicated their culture. Is it a wonder then that across many reservations, this holiday is observed as the National Day of Mourning? Chief Joseph's tragic last words, who after being pursued by the American army in a 2,000 kms fighting retreat, and after months of fugitive resistance,  was coerced into surrendering, hang heavy  in the humid monsoon air:

"Hear me my chiefs. I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more."

Chief Joseph and his band of 700 men, women, and children were just 60 kms from the Canadian border, just 60 kms from freedom...

Mindful of the struggles that the native communities have endured, and are still grappling with, we could take a humble attitude towards this holiday, and pay hommage to those millions of native people, who lost their lives fighting for their own freedom, in 'The Land of the Free and  Home of the Brave'.