We pitched the tents and hung the banner as the Earth shifted from the season of Ku to the season of Lono, and announced the arrival of The Safety Pin Cafe. The overcast sky cleared, and we were treated to a warm late September Sunday.
People we had never met before joined in the reading of the
original medicine story of
The Safety Pin Cafe.
Maria hung out with the humans, listening? hearing what she needed. Only she knows.
Liz, a dear and long-time friend drove down the island from her island of Fidalgo (Anacortes) to share beautifully smoked salmon, and oranges then joined in the reading of medicine, too.
Adults sitting with their eyes closed, or minds in the story. I saw this often as I looked under the tent.
These were the first folks to arrive for story. We have seen them before here at The Safety Pin Cafe.
There were two canine story fans.
Our friend, Jude, reading the chapter of
The Safety Pin Cafe, suitable for a pie maker, which she is in real life.
Liz, and Mark and Sophia a couple who we just met who live on Whidbey, sometimes, and in other places, too. From them we learned of something called 'Couch Surfing' ... we have to investigate. Travelers hook-up with people who have a place, a space to offer to land/spend the night.
No money is exchanged!
Have you heard of 'Couch Surfing?"
This young boy came with a snail that he was very, very surprised to discover was still at home.
Prescott reading a chapter from
Feed the Land, about what happens when Hares deal with orange growling machines.
Angie Hart read from the newly written medicine story Feed the Land, a story written especially for the 'prairie front' the Tilth.
There was no stage today, it was not a day for stages ... the power of story was in the voice, eye-to-eye. I told one tale of
Pele and Lono, to begin the day, and everyone joined in to make the story live. We heard many voices and it was very good! Thank you, mahalo nui to all the folks who joined Pete and me participating, learning about fire-making, whispering a treasured gift of
ho'omana into the ear of a potential 'stranger.' Mahalo Kawika and Puni for sharing that
mana'o with me, so I could pass it along to those who came. Story filled the air, soothed the heart and fed the land at the prairie front.
That is all, there is no more. Ho, ha, and so the stories were let go ... Amama.
