Broadcast February 19, 2009
http://www.vpr.net/episode/45483/
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Listen)
Ever since moving here eight years ago, I've joked about the
unwritten law in Vermont that you have to wear at least two
professional hats. As of this month, I wear four: marketing
consultant, freelance journalist, occasional tap dance teacher and now,
B-n-B owner as well. Actually, it's a guest suite at the back of my
house but I had to get a formal B-n-B license, the first of what I
discovered was a long list of official papers.
I'd thought renting a room out to visitors would simply be a case of
getting a local zoning permit, slapping up some fresh paint,
cannibalizing my livingroom for various decorative tchotchkes and
bringing down the old TV that's been sitting in the attic.
Au contraire.
What I'd envisioned as simply making smart use of a part of my house
that's only occupied when friends and family visit, has become the most
protracted, complex undertaking of my entire life. But hey, I've made
friends with folks at the Waste Water Department, the Health
Department, the Tax Department and now count the Fire Marshall and the
entire staff at my local hardware store as trusted advisors. I've had
a fancy cap put on my well (you know, that state-of-the-art, two-vent
kind); special safety-code handrails added to the balcony stairs; a
twenty-five-hundred dollar, energy-efficient propane heater installed;
and I bought a spiffy new queen bed, futon couch, kitchen table,
chairs, dishes, appliances, reading lamps and linens, among many other
things. Oh and a new TV.
After feeling as if I'd been starring in my own year-long episode of Extreme Makeover, I was all set. Or so I thought.
Just as I was about to announce to the world that we were finally open
for business, an ice storm came through and the bathroom pipes froze.
Suddenly the place was once again strewn with tools, sawdust and
hardware as my significant other and I ripped out cabinets in order to
access the culprit arctic air surrounding outer-wall pipes. The
cabinets have now been duly restored, albeit with fancy screened
sections to let the ambient room heat in, and I've been able to laugh
at my steep flatlander learning curve, thankful that at least it didn't
happen when I had guests.
So the permits are posted, the pipes are toasty, the pillows fluffed
and the website launched. A year after this idea first took hold in my
many-chapeaued head, it has finally become a reality and I'm excited to
be an innkeeper now too.
Oh but wait - I forgot to get a boot scraper!
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Topic:
http://www.pleasantstreetsuite.com
Tis better to shop Main Street: A holiday pitch for our local creative economy
In our current economic spiral and with the holidays upon us, it is human nature to gravitate toward the discounts, clearance sales and brand name bargains that populate the papers, airwaves and ether. Hip ads on TV, pithy jingles on the radio, coupons in the dailies and pulsating banner ads online all beckon us to save, save, save yet spend, spend, spend.
With the recent focus on big business blunders and Wall Street woes, however, I’ve begun to question just where our gelt is going and who, specifically, it supports. While I understand that the economy suffers when consumers stop consuming, I look around my own community and consider the plight of struggling sole proprietorships long before worrying about the big boys. I look at the painters, potters, poets, novelists, musicians, photographers, woodworkers, jewelers and other artisans who make a high-quality original works of art but who do not have massive marketing budgets to help sell their wares. I think of farmers who choose to keep their enterprises small and organic in support of the localvore philosophy.
I also marvel at the tenacity and spirit of these folks who could easily abandon their chilly studios for well-heated mega-stores, give up their understaffed shops and go work for a brand name competitor or trade their agricultural ideals for more lucrative crop management. That they choose to stay the course in the face of encroaching corporations is beyond commendable — it’s why we live here and why a day of supporting the economy in our historic downtowns is remarkably pleasant, pragmatic and community-building, if not soul-nourishing.
Still, I’m no saint. About once a year I give in to time and budgetary constraints and stock up on various staples in mass quantities at mega-retailers, all the while tsk-tsking my momentary failure to support small retailers the way I usually do. By the time I’ve made my purchase, whether it’s through an online purveyor of every houseware known to man or in a vast indoor city of avenues lined with oversized cleaning products gleaming beneath a fluorescent sky, I feel just a little bit unclean.
Commercial Goliaths are everywhere you look and, when it comes to warm and fuzzy packaging, it’s hard not to be intoxicated by the marketing machine and buy in, literally and figuratively, to well-crafted ad campaigns. The sorry truth of it is that, between economizing and our easily seduced psyches, at this time of year it’s hard not to get in the car or open a browser and head straight for the most obvious options.
Heck, every year I equip my kids for Vermont winters with “Made in Vietnam” outerwear, ordered from catalogue companies that have brilliantly managed to transform the cultural symbology of a down-home, homespun, rural lifestyle into multibillion dollar industries.
“Experience marketing,” as it’s known in the advertising world, has been part of the retail industry for a couple of decades now and it’s awfully hard to be impervious to its multisensorial charms. Coffee chains surround the customer with carefully chosen aesthetics, music and smells while clothing stores are furnished with enticing leather chairs, exotic plants and chic travel photography. It’s all beautifully staged and makes shopping slightly less tedious, I suppose, but the faux-congeniality that usually goes with the retail chain experience is what kills it for me.
Downtowns in New England offer something that no perfectly appointed brand boutique or bulk bargain mother ship can: a true feeling of participation, belonging and connection. When I head to Bellows Falls to do my errands — choose a bouquet at Halladay’s Florist, buy a new novel at Village Square Booksellers, stock up on light bulbs at J & H Hardware or pick up a CD at Bull’s Eye Music — merchants know me, they know my kids and they impart a feeling of comfort and familiarity that no amount of ersatz-atmosphere or über-selection can replace.
Sure, I could go to the nearby multinational warehouse store to pick up some pens and have a hundred choices but when I go to Snow & Lear office supply on the square, the value is more than just the pens. There’s Nancy, the ever-cheery clerk who will order anything I need and usually knows what it is before I do, most of the time the price is better than the competition and there’s parking right out front. Nothing can compete with that, nor the cute cartoons she clips and tapes to the counter or the paper clock hanging in the door that shows when she’ll be back from lunch.
Talk about experience marketing. This region has it oozing from every warmly lit storefront, jumbled window display and wry proprietor’s grin and it ain’t manufactured and it isn’t the result of millions of dollars of demographic research by suits in big offices. It’s just embedded in the character of the people who make our small towns and villages so unique.
At this time of year my gratitude for local merchants is especially great, whether it’s toy stores or galleries, bath shops or bakeries, and as I look at my list of holiday gifts to buy, I map out routes through nearby vintage downtowns, knowing that I’ll not only very likely find everything I need but I’ll be supporting the region as well.
My favorite thing to get for loved ones is, of course, art and Vermont is a goldmine of one-of-a-kind gifts that were made by hand by people who live and work in our communities. There are purveyors of locally made original items throughout the state, some focusing solely on Vermont artists, while others offer work by craftspeople from around New England.
One of my regular stops is Vermont Artisan Designs, in Brattleboro, where more than 6,000 square feet of space showcases paintings, glassware, jewelry, bowls, furniture and other assorted gifts, 75 percent of which are made in Vermont, with most of the remaining items from the surrounding region. Having opened 40 years ago, the store is testament to the vision and diligence of people like Suzy and Greg Worden, who have owned it for the past two decades and who are committed to supporting the work of high-caliber artists with the store, the fine art gallery upstairs and their online business, Buyvermontart.com.
Greg Worden reckons that, with prices starting at $5 and going into the thousands, it’s a great place for all holiday shoppers wanting to support their local craftspeople. “What we’re trying to do is maintain quality for the same price-point,” he explained recently, “so when you get something from here and see the paper it’s wrapped in, it’s something that everybody can feel good about.”
This type of one-stop shopping from an expansive collection of original works in a broad range of media also satisfies that urban/suburban experience that’s somewhat rare in rural areas. “It used to be a department store,” Worden attests, “so we’ve reclaimed that, in a way.”
There are numerous retail stores in the area offering a similarly pragmatic approach to supporting the creative economy, including Maplewing Artisans in Bellows Falls, the Jelly Bean Tree in Saxtons River, Frog Hollow Craft Center and the Artists Guild in Manchester, Gallery 103 in Chester and the Bennington Arts Guild, to name just a few. And don’t forget Vermont-grown, homemade foodstuffs that can’t be found anywhere else.
Give neighborhood arts and crafts merchants a look this year and ye shall come to holiday parties bearing beautiful gifts that will be loved by the receiver while simultaneously injecting much-needed fuel into our local creative economy. Be assured, too, that original art does not have to be expensive, as Worden will attest.
“Pewter pocket angels are the size of a quarter and they start at $5. You can even carry a pocket Buddha with you.”
Ah, the gift of serenity in the season of shopping. I’ll put that at the top of my list.
Annie: annieguyoncommunications.com
Posted at 11:07 AM in Art, Books, Culture, Holidays & Celebrations, Music, Personal Opinion, Social Commentary | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)