Shore thing
Aug. 10th, 2025 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrSelling at the Anacortes Arts Festival is equal parts challenge and delight.
The challenges begin with loading the van. I've got a short-bed Chevy Astro, so there's a limit to how many boxes of pots I can fit in, and still leave room for clothing, food, and us. This time, I packed it to the limit, couldn't even use the windshield rear-view mirror, boxes to the ceiling. And I still had to leave a crab pasta bowl behind in the shed.
The second challenge is getting there. Anacortes is a long drive, eight hours minimum, worse if we hit traffic in Portland or Seattle. Considering that two lanes of the I-5 Ship Channel Bridge in Seattle were closed for construction, traffic is a given. Set-up for the show starts at 6 pm on Thursday, so to do it in one day means leaving no later than 9 am. And guarantees exhaustion.
So for the last couple of years, we've been taking the trip in stages, driving to Seattle on Wednesday, staying overnight in a motel, continuing north on Thursday afternoon. We check into our motel in Mount Vernon around 3 pm, unload the clothes and food and Denise, and I drive over to Anacortes timed to arrive around 5:30 pm. Sign in, get my vendor packet, build my booth.
This also allows us some fun socializing. For years, Denise's second cousin, Diana, has lived in Seattle--in fact, we used to stay with her when we did Seattle shows. (Had to quit when Denise's knees couldn't handle three flights of stairs to her condo.) A few years back, her folks moved down from Anchorage to escape the winters, and be close to their only child. So we always schedule a supper with Kay and Al and Diana on Wednesday, this year at a Trinidadian restaurant called Bongos. Wednesday lunch, we paid a visit to Father Vincent, a retired Dominican priest who used to reside at our parish in Eugene. We'd planned to go out for lunch, but he'd messed up his knee, and after trying three different places, only to find no one had off-street parking, we gave up and went back to the rectory and talked and shared a rhubarb pie we'd brought along. (It's his favorite.)
Arrived in Mount Vernon a little early to check in, so we caught a late lunch before checking in to the motel. Drove over to Anacortes to find they'd got the streets cleared and closed off early, so everyone was setting up at 5:30. Once again, I had empty spaces on either side of my booth, although a neighbor's van was parked in one of them. I still managed to offload all my boxes and hardware, went and parked the van, and came back to set up.
I forget how lucky I am that Saturday Market has flat booth spaces--we're all on the sidewalk. Setting up in the street is a challenge. To begin with, the back legs of my booth have to be four inches higher than the front. In addition, all the shelves need to be blocked, shimmed and leveled, always a challenge. Even with a big bag of wood blocks, I never seem to have enough half-inch shims. I finally get the shelves and bench set up, then have to move the bench back six inches to prevent the grid panel from being bumped by the booth frame if the wind picks up. (The wind always picks up.) Which requires me to start shimming and leveling all over again. At 8 pm, the booth is finally set, so I put all the boxes inside and close up the walls. We'll come in early on Friday to set out the pots and organize the back stock. The show is a little fussier about staying within our booth footprint this year, so we can't move boxes up on the curb behind us. Going to be a challenge, sorting through boxes for replacements.
Friday morning we arrive at 8 am, and have everything set out by 9. Good thing, too. We're right in front of the Calico Cupboard, a popular local bakery/breakfast spot, and all the folks waiting for their tables browse our booth. We make our first sale at 9:30, have several more before the official opening at 10.
We're extremely busy all day, regulars coming in to top up their collections. I've sold all of the crab pasta bowls by lunch time, but I still have otters and octopus. Tall mugs move steadily, as do stew mugs, dessert plates, pie plates. Not so many dinner plates, for some reason. I brought extra crab and octopus plates that are languishing in restock box. I even have an otter plate out on the grid panel all weekend that finds no takers.
We close up the booth promptly at 6 pm, have supper in a nice Thai restaurant we chanced upon last year. I stick with heat level zero; Denise asks for one on her Pad Thai, lets the server talk her into two, regrets it later.
Saturday morning we arrive early again, to get a good parking space and allow me to visit the Farmer's Market. I renew my supply of salad fixings, greens and snap peas, and get a couple pints of cherries, a pint of strawberries, and two pounds each of peaches and pluots. On the way out, I stop by the buskers, a fellow playing Cajun-style button accordion and a fiddler who looks remarkably like Eugene's Chip Cohen. In between songs, I remark on the resemblance, only to find out he is Chip Cohen, now resident in Anacortes. I introduce myself as the former host of the Saturday Cafe, and then the accordionist pipes up to say he recognizes my name. Turns out he's retired potter Sam Bernardi, we used to Ceramic Showcase together back in the day.
I meander back towards my booth by way of another Portland potter, tell her about Sam, then get interrupted by a phone call from Denise. She can't find the Square reader; do I know where it is? I hustle back to the booth to find I've left it on the charger back in the motel. We still have a plug-in magstripe reader, so can take cards, but tap payments by phone are out until I drive over to Mount Vernon and back. An hour later, I have the errant technology, but of course any and all parking near the show is gone. I find the last available space over by 12th and "O" Streets and power-walk back to the booth, where I collapse into my chair and treat myself to a pluot.
After that bumpy start, the day smooths out a bit. Sales continue brisk, to the point where our friend Lauren, partner of late patron and buddy Bear, can't even get into the booth to say hello. She catches my eye and waves from the street before moving on. By late afternoon, I can tell we'll be too tired to find a restaurant for supper, so I walk up the block to Village Pizza and order a take-out pie for 6:15. Bring the van in on 9th Street to save Denise the extra steps, pick up the 'za, and drive back to our motel to crash.
Sunday morning, I finally give in to temptation. Calico Cupboard has set up an outdoor baked-goods booth in the 9th Street intersection, so I buy a big caramel-pecan roll to share with Denise. I've been too busy all weekend to do more than a perfunctory "We're here!" Instagram on Friday, featuring an octopus platter. I've also got a bunch of shoreline-themed serving bowls that have yet to see the light, so I switch a few things around, post all six, and by the end of the day, five of them have sold.
At last, Sunday morning, our favorite patron shows up. Arden has been coming to our booth since she was 13 years old, spending lawn mowing money on a possum desert plate. She's come back every year since, even showing up, post COVID-closings, six inches taller, with an adorable hand-sewn mask. She's in college now, finished her sophomore year, changed her major from Aerospace to Environmental Engineering. Last year, she brought along her parents and aunt. This year, she brought a sweetie.
This is Rylan. They've been together two years. He seems like a lovely fellow. They are so goddamn cute together. She bought a butterfly bowl. He got a coffee pour-over cone for her father.
Things finally slowed down to the point that I could walk the show about mid-afternoon. Said hello to the other Eugene artists, waved from the aisle at a few who were busy with customers. Went into a paper collage artist's booth that I'd glimpsed in passing earlier, wound up buying a very sweet cat print.
Totaled up my sales and wrote my commission check at 5, then brought in my empty boxes and started packing. So of course I had a customer come in to the booth, wanting to buy a tumbler. Rather than writing another check, I pulled two bucks from my wallet and forty cents from the sales tax change tin to add the 10% commission to my envelope.
Finished packing up around 8 pm, went and had average but generously portioned Chinese food for supper. Eight boxes emptied over the weekend. I could now use the rear-view mirror.
Weren't quite done yet, though. I'd gotten an email from my gallery in Olympia, asking if we could stop on the way home to restock them. Checked out at 9 am and made good time to Olympia, arriving a little before noon. We went through the boxes, and they picked out a bunch of tall mugs, pie plates, various bowls, nearly $1000 worth. At wholesale prices, I'll be getting a check for $499.50 sometime next month, on top of the $8233 from the Arts Festival.
The challenges begin with loading the van. I've got a short-bed Chevy Astro, so there's a limit to how many boxes of pots I can fit in, and still leave room for clothing, food, and us. This time, I packed it to the limit, couldn't even use the windshield rear-view mirror, boxes to the ceiling. And I still had to leave a crab pasta bowl behind in the shed.
The second challenge is getting there. Anacortes is a long drive, eight hours minimum, worse if we hit traffic in Portland or Seattle. Considering that two lanes of the I-5 Ship Channel Bridge in Seattle were closed for construction, traffic is a given. Set-up for the show starts at 6 pm on Thursday, so to do it in one day means leaving no later than 9 am. And guarantees exhaustion.
So for the last couple of years, we've been taking the trip in stages, driving to Seattle on Wednesday, staying overnight in a motel, continuing north on Thursday afternoon. We check into our motel in Mount Vernon around 3 pm, unload the clothes and food and Denise, and I drive over to Anacortes timed to arrive around 5:30 pm. Sign in, get my vendor packet, build my booth.
This also allows us some fun socializing. For years, Denise's second cousin, Diana, has lived in Seattle--in fact, we used to stay with her when we did Seattle shows. (Had to quit when Denise's knees couldn't handle three flights of stairs to her condo.) A few years back, her folks moved down from Anchorage to escape the winters, and be close to their only child. So we always schedule a supper with Kay and Al and Diana on Wednesday, this year at a Trinidadian restaurant called Bongos. Wednesday lunch, we paid a visit to Father Vincent, a retired Dominican priest who used to reside at our parish in Eugene. We'd planned to go out for lunch, but he'd messed up his knee, and after trying three different places, only to find no one had off-street parking, we gave up and went back to the rectory and talked and shared a rhubarb pie we'd brought along. (It's his favorite.)
Arrived in Mount Vernon a little early to check in, so we caught a late lunch before checking in to the motel. Drove over to Anacortes to find they'd got the streets cleared and closed off early, so everyone was setting up at 5:30. Once again, I had empty spaces on either side of my booth, although a neighbor's van was parked in one of them. I still managed to offload all my boxes and hardware, went and parked the van, and came back to set up.
I forget how lucky I am that Saturday Market has flat booth spaces--we're all on the sidewalk. Setting up in the street is a challenge. To begin with, the back legs of my booth have to be four inches higher than the front. In addition, all the shelves need to be blocked, shimmed and leveled, always a challenge. Even with a big bag of wood blocks, I never seem to have enough half-inch shims. I finally get the shelves and bench set up, then have to move the bench back six inches to prevent the grid panel from being bumped by the booth frame if the wind picks up. (The wind always picks up.) Which requires me to start shimming and leveling all over again. At 8 pm, the booth is finally set, so I put all the boxes inside and close up the walls. We'll come in early on Friday to set out the pots and organize the back stock. The show is a little fussier about staying within our booth footprint this year, so we can't move boxes up on the curb behind us. Going to be a challenge, sorting through boxes for replacements.
Friday morning we arrive at 8 am, and have everything set out by 9. Good thing, too. We're right in front of the Calico Cupboard, a popular local bakery/breakfast spot, and all the folks waiting for their tables browse our booth. We make our first sale at 9:30, have several more before the official opening at 10.
We're extremely busy all day, regulars coming in to top up their collections. I've sold all of the crab pasta bowls by lunch time, but I still have otters and octopus. Tall mugs move steadily, as do stew mugs, dessert plates, pie plates. Not so many dinner plates, for some reason. I brought extra crab and octopus plates that are languishing in restock box. I even have an otter plate out on the grid panel all weekend that finds no takers.
We close up the booth promptly at 6 pm, have supper in a nice Thai restaurant we chanced upon last year. I stick with heat level zero; Denise asks for one on her Pad Thai, lets the server talk her into two, regrets it later.
Saturday morning we arrive early again, to get a good parking space and allow me to visit the Farmer's Market. I renew my supply of salad fixings, greens and snap peas, and get a couple pints of cherries, a pint of strawberries, and two pounds each of peaches and pluots. On the way out, I stop by the buskers, a fellow playing Cajun-style button accordion and a fiddler who looks remarkably like Eugene's Chip Cohen. In between songs, I remark on the resemblance, only to find out he is Chip Cohen, now resident in Anacortes. I introduce myself as the former host of the Saturday Cafe, and then the accordionist pipes up to say he recognizes my name. Turns out he's retired potter Sam Bernardi, we used to Ceramic Showcase together back in the day.I meander back towards my booth by way of another Portland potter, tell her about Sam, then get interrupted by a phone call from Denise. She can't find the Square reader; do I know where it is? I hustle back to the booth to find I've left it on the charger back in the motel. We still have a plug-in magstripe reader, so can take cards, but tap payments by phone are out until I drive over to Mount Vernon and back. An hour later, I have the errant technology, but of course any and all parking near the show is gone. I find the last available space over by 12th and "O" Streets and power-walk back to the booth, where I collapse into my chair and treat myself to a pluot.
After that bumpy start, the day smooths out a bit. Sales continue brisk, to the point where our friend Lauren, partner of late patron and buddy Bear, can't even get into the booth to say hello. She catches my eye and waves from the street before moving on. By late afternoon, I can tell we'll be too tired to find a restaurant for supper, so I walk up the block to Village Pizza and order a take-out pie for 6:15. Bring the van in on 9th Street to save Denise the extra steps, pick up the 'za, and drive back to our motel to crash.
Sunday morning, I finally give in to temptation. Calico Cupboard has set up an outdoor baked-goods booth in the 9th Street intersection, so I buy a big caramel-pecan roll to share with Denise. I've been too busy all weekend to do more than a perfunctory "We're here!" Instagram on Friday, featuring an octopus platter. I've also got a bunch of shoreline-themed serving bowls that have yet to see the light, so I switch a few things around, post all six, and by the end of the day, five of them have sold.
At last, Sunday morning, our favorite patron shows up. Arden has been coming to our booth since she was 13 years old, spending lawn mowing money on a possum desert plate. She's come back every year since, even showing up, post COVID-closings, six inches taller, with an adorable hand-sewn mask. She's in college now, finished her sophomore year, changed her major from Aerospace to Environmental Engineering. Last year, she brought along her parents and aunt. This year, she brought a sweetie.
This is Rylan. They've been together two years. He seems like a lovely fellow. They are so goddamn cute together. She bought a butterfly bowl. He got a coffee pour-over cone for her father.
Things finally slowed down to the point that I could walk the show about mid-afternoon. Said hello to the other Eugene artists, waved from the aisle at a few who were busy with customers. Went into a paper collage artist's booth that I'd glimpsed in passing earlier, wound up buying a very sweet cat print.
Totaled up my sales and wrote my commission check at 5, then brought in my empty boxes and started packing. So of course I had a customer come in to the booth, wanting to buy a tumbler. Rather than writing another check, I pulled two bucks from my wallet and forty cents from the sales tax change tin to add the 10% commission to my envelope.
Finished packing up around 8 pm, went and had average but generously portioned Chinese food for supper. Eight boxes emptied over the weekend. I could now use the rear-view mirror.
Weren't quite done yet, though. I'd gotten an email from my gallery in Olympia, asking if we could stop on the way home to restock them. Checked out at 9 am and made good time to Olympia, arriving a little before noon. We went through the boxes, and they picked out a bunch of tall mugs, pie plates, various bowls, nearly $1000 worth. At wholesale prices, I'll be getting a check for $499.50 sometime next month, on top of the $8233 from the Arts Festival.
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Date: 2025-08-11 05:59 pm (UTC)