The First Truly Magical Day

We've had good days at The River Runs Through.

We've had surprising days. Rainy days. "What were we thinking?" days.

Today was different.

Today was the first day that felt...magical.

Ironically, it began with our bathroom.

When Rob and I first imagined opening a coffee shop and farmhouse store, one thing became immediately obvious: Route 141 was a coffee desert...and a restroom desert.

We talked about building one. Renting one of those dreaded plastic portable toilets. We even had a plan.

Like so many things, it got bumped down the list.

Building, painting, baking, ordering inventory, learning coffee machines that seem to require a pilot's license, making skincare, bottling Aura Sprays...somehow the restroom never quite happened.

So there I was in the kitchen, making the second batch of Rhubarb Goddess Aura Spray, carefully grating orange and lemon peel, crushing bay leaves, adding herbs from the garden, when Rob walked into the house with a complete stranger.

"She needs to use the bathroom."

Of course she does.

A few minutes later she emerged and noticed one of our new signs honoring Bergen, Norway—the birthplace of my grandfather. She told me her family came from Bergen too. Hers settled in Michigan. Mine arrived in Boston by way of New York.

As we stepped outside together, another woman asked, "May I use your restroom?"

Well...of course.

No, we don't officially have a public restroom yet.

Yes, we'll get there.

But we've all been in that situation where nature isn't interested in waiting.

While she was inside, Kitty decided it was time to greet our guests. Harness on, out we went.

He immediately flopped into the driveway and rolled in the dirt with complete and utter joy—back and forth, paws in the air, nibbling his toes as if he'd just discovered the greatest spa treatment on Earth.

I looked at the woman beside me and laughed.

"Imagine if dirt made us all that happy."

Then Kitty remembered he was an explorer, I remembered he was attached to me, and a brief game of "Who exactly is walking whom?" followed before we both admitted defeat and he went back inside.

The conversations continued.

We talked about psychotherapy and shamanic healing. About why I believe they can complement one another. About coffee, gardens, life, and how strange some things sound until you experience them for yourself.

Then another woman walked over.

"I have goosebumps," she said. "There's something magical about this place. I want to come back and be part of it."

She hugged me.

Then the two women hugged each other.

They spoke about the Full Moon, endings, beginnings, and stepping into a new chapter.

Standing there, I found myself telling the story of how Rob and I ended up here.

People often ask, "Why Maine?"

The truth is...we fell in love with the fields.

With the barn.

With this old farmhouse.

And yes...with the rhubarb patch, whom I'm fairly certain are the goddesses of this land.

That doesn't mean it's been easy.

There has been blood—quite literally. Rob needed nine staples in his head during our first six months here.

There has been sweat. Construction has a remarkable way of producing that.

And there have absolutely been tears.

"Is the tile straight?"

"Are those cat prints in the thinset?"

"Why does the stain look black?"

"You want me to sand...again?"

Building something meaningful rarely happens without a few tears mixed into the paint.

But you keep going.

You keep going because you've been called.

Not to own the land, but to care for it.

To be stewards of a home with its own history and fields that have witnessed generations before us.

Today reminded me why.

It wasn't about how many coffees we served.

It wasn't about what we sold.

It was about people finding one another.

Sharing stories.

Laughing.

Hugging strangers.

Feeling something they couldn't quite explain.

To everyone who was part of this beautiful day...

Thank you.

Thank you for coming.

Thank you for reminding us why we're here.

And thank you for feeling it too.

The magic has never belonged to us.

It has always belonged to this place.

We simply had the privilege of opening the door.

Come by.

Stay awhile.

See what finds you.