2017 Year in Review

Instead of diving into the year I want to just talk a little about coffee, to break the ice perhaps.

We talk a lot about the 'Saipua Method' which usually means the specific ways in which we source and arrange flowers but the method also pertains to the ways in which we've treated and  employed people, the way we eat, the ways we compost, etc.

Of course there is a Saipua Method for coffee making and drinking which I will now describe in high definition, should you and I ever be together and you are making me a coffee and you want to impress me.

At the castle it was almost always pour-overs; we tended to buy the recycled brown paper filters by the brand 'If you care' which made me whisper out loud "I DON'T" every time I pulled a box from the shelf.

Kettle boils. You pour a generous amount of boiling water through the empty filter to wet it... Maureen, an apprentice from 2015 taught me this - "Why would you want your coffee to taste like the filter?" and I think of her every single time I make coffee this way.  This step also accomplishes a vitally important part of the process -- it takes the chill off the ceramics so that the resulting coffee is hotter. Because in the Saipua Method of coffee preparation there are three important qualities: heat, strength and quantity. But I'm skipping ahead.

The brand of the coffee is not of particular importance as long as it is a dark roast. The grounds should look like compost (almost black). The light roast coffee that is so trendy now makes my heart beat too fast because it has more caffeine, and the third tenant in the menthod - quantity - means this isn't our first or last cup like this today.

I feel the rest is fairly obvious - a heaping of grounds (more than you think - probably 1/2 cup) in the primed filter. Remember to pour out the water from your pre-heat, lest you start dripping coffee into tepid filter-flavored water which I have done and hated life for.

Then, half & half. There was a joke going with staff that there should be a color swatch made and hung up in the kitchen of exactly the shade of brown I was looking for. This made me feel very loved. (It's the color of peanut butter).

I just love them all so much.

In September I watched two big rig trucks packed with furniture and rugs and stuff take off for a wedding (our largest ever) out west. Running post production weeks later we didn't even make that much money.  I've never been interested in money - but I had - by September, become interested in not panicking over making payroll, affording everyones health insurance, and maintaining the enormous expense of the castle. I was watching everyone work so hard and loosing parts of themselves in the process. Something was awry and miserably out of balance.

And then I realized; I don't want this. For me or for them.

It became clear to me that I had to let this version of Saipua die.
All of my beloved staff, have now moved on. Even after just a few weeks I see many of them thriving in new ways and many of our relationships feel different and better to me already.

The castle is coming down... I'm in the process of dismantling it and relinquishing the space. It has served it's purpose and it is complete.

I don't know what the next version of Saipua will look like yet; it may be an artisan co-operative space (by which I mean hippie commune), it may be a Bread & Puppet-type theatre company, or the Coyote Cafe. It may be a left-wing feminist bookstore with an emphasis on plants.

Our uncanny world is changing so fast. The personal is political for me in that only by paying close attention to my real wants and desires do I afford myself the self respect needed to bolster my energy and reserves in preparation for for the next chapter of my work and business -- which will undoubtedly be more focused on community and connection; more focused on learning and discussion, on reading and cooking and eating together, on making things together and coaxing even more beauty out of our every day lives. This is what Saipua was in the past and can be even more of in the future.

You know I'll continue to make flowers for weddings because I love witnessing the tradition of lovers standing up bravely in front of their families and communities, and I'll always be the weepy florist in the back pew trying to hide her despicable fingernails. 

And someday, when I have gathered myself up properly, I'll teach again.

I'm hungry for flowers again in all the simple ways that bring me the most joy. To be a florist, to be a reader and a writer, a gardener. To bounce around a little. To experiment with different things and stalk myself in the bushes a bit. And write the Saipua book which will give testament to all the beauty, growth and learning that all of the incredible people - my staff, apprentices and our community - have helped to create in the last 11 years.

There is a teaching I read, right after Ziggy died in May. A man spends close to a lifetime on the beach trying to capture waves going out and resisting the waves coming in. Finally one day in his old age he rests and lets each wave lap the shore in and out over his feet. How peaceful this is! he thinks.