Just Write Something To Grease the Wheels

Practicing writing for the book and history displays about the Market. Obviously this would need a huge edit for a display, and maybe even more detail for a book, once I work out the structure it would take. I have a good idea for the book, something Erci Witchey told me about this other book I was writing. I plan to use it for both projects, eventually, at least in some form. It's called mirroring. I would take something from one part and compare it to another part, and make my points inside that structure. We started by framing our first history poster as Then and Now. It was mostly about our sites and an overview, and you will be able to see it this Saturday right next to my booth! Come by and tell me some stories.

I also think it would be an awesome way to feature some of our artisans. Do a profile of Gil Harrison another of our early potters, next to a profile of one of our potters today. Do the same with a jeweler, a printmaker, and so on, and in the process show how techniques, styles, technologies, and crafts have evolved through the work of the hands of these members. I love the concept but I would need to develop some interviewing skills, which I don't currently have. And it would be tough to write about people who have died...there just would probably not be enough information available to write a good profile. However, that particular book coule be kind of simple perhaps, featuring one signature piece and just enough of the artist's statements to tell the mirrored story. Anyway, it's one of my ideas.

I wrote this piece after I had just finished reading all of the newsletters and minutes from our first decade, everything I had at the time. I have since found more sources, about six more boxes of old things, and JoAnn told me she had saved every newsletter! So now I need to go back, figure out what I am missing in the newsletters, and see if she will let me borrow hers to make copies. I may develop more insights through additional materials. I'm thinking that each decade probably had a theme of sorts. Considering all that was going on in our world in the 70s, experimenting seems right. Perhaps at some point I will write more about the politics and the alternative community and how Market fit into all that. Now you can see why Suzi's book about the Fair is two volumes and she still didn't tell every story. These are big stories.

Saturday Market in the Seventies

Though based on an ancient tradition of artisans bringing goods to the commons for a market day, a weekly craft market was a novel concept in 1969 when Lotte Streisinger and her group of craftspeople and artists decided to create one. They had successfully mounted craft sales events for a decade and were part of a renaissance of handcrafting. The 1960’s cultural shift toward more authentic and natural lifestyles contrasted with what was seen to be the bland disconnecting lives of the 1950’s Americans, and Eugene became a center for seekers of healthier choices.

The founding values of having crafters sell their own goods directly to the public, on public space, outdoors and in as simple a fashion as possible proved to be popular and accessible. Though the first rainy market was small, the new gathering grew to uncomfortable size in the City-supported Downtown Mall, and some rent-paying merchants resented the group. After Christmas, the founders looked to find Lane County land, which seemed more abundant, and faced a different set of conditions.

The County Commissioners required incorporation and liability insurance as conditions for even preliminary discussion of siting. Though the group had only been charging $1 per space, they now needed to spend $500 to incorporate and $800 for insurance. They formed a Board of Directors and had the goal of being a 501(c)3 nonprofit, though subsequently finding that they could only qualify as a Mutual Benefit Corporation, which is not federally tax-exempt. They decided to structure themselves as closely to a nonprofit as possible, and set up not only the decision-making Board of five, but a Market Committee, composed of everyone who attended any particular meeting. This level of democratic management fit the community of artisans well and often Committee meetings included well over one hundred participants. When a space lottery was included, three hundred members would show up. Policy discussions were thorough and impassioned, and policies were hammered into shape, by a consensus process learned by many community groups of the era.

The County Commissioners were reluctant to support the Market but did allow them to stumble toward stability which finally came on the “Butterfly” parking lot across from the Lane County Courthouse. The first full season of May-Christmas happened there in 1972. The gathering had been embraced almost instantly in its first season by the public, and although it took a little longer for the downtown merchants to embrace the benefits of increased Saturday traffic to their businesses, several community leaders helped support the fledgling organization while it worked through its internal challenges.

Those were many. Volunteers governed and managed at first, and though the County required a hired manager, which soon grew to a team, salaries were very low and benefits were subjective. Winter layoffs when the Market was dormant guaranteed new managers nearly every season. Volunteers were still needed for many functions and the idealism brought passionate energy to every decision. Often the Committee would reverse Board decisions or the Board would have to survey, assess, and make decisions for the group for the common good. Every area of operations and philosophy had to be debated, and the first decade was highly experimental.

Should the Market open in April or May? Could the overflow of interested crafters be handled best with a Sunday event, a lottery system, or something new? Could food be sold, and how? Would it be a good idea to incorporate nonprofit groups for free, as a community service, or should the event try to be nonpolitical and sales-based? Decisions had to be made about fees to accommodate both the higher earners and the beginners or artists who failed to sell well regardless of their dedication to craft.

The fee structure changed often as expenses increased, as staff retention became a goal and the number of selling opportunities blossomed with the popularity of crafting. The Saturday Market intentionally mentored other markets as a way to keep the event small enough to fit in the 250 spaces

of the lot, and markets were started in Portland (1974) as well as many smaller towns. In 1975 a popular manager, Lou Elliot, used his on-the-ground training to move to manage an indoor venue that became the Fifth Street Public Market. Originally pitched as the next evolution for every crafter, that development encouraged some 85 artisans to move indoors, where the everyday gathering space also appealed to the community. The nature of the Saturday gathering changed with the need for it, and some wet weather years helped shrink the event and eliminate the viability of the Sunday markets, which ended in 1976.

Conventional advertising was discouraged but promotional events began early, such as Easter parades and Egg hunts, Tricycle and Wagon parades, and a pet parade before it became apparent that pets would be a continuing problem as the temporary restaurants increased. It became accepted by the public to bring kittens and puppies to give away on the surrounding sidewalks, and despite discouragement of the practice, it continued for the first decade until finally being controlled in the next. As a lively and unusual event, the Market attracted many types of individuals who had their own goals, whether that was to show off a costume, a performance, or a baby cougar or chimpanzee. Both animals were seen briefly in 1975 before being asked to leave, and the continual appearance of parrots, ferrets, and even a truckload of rabbits, meant to be meat, challenged the managers. A gallon of worms was permitted in the produce booth. The “No Dogs” policy had been set at the very first market in 1970, as essential as “Rain or Shine.”

At first busking was seen as panhandling, which was illegal at the time. Free entertainment was a welcome addition, however, so the musicians and mimes were asked not to appear to be begging, but to step up their professionalism. Paid entertainment developed gradually as the budget grew healthier, but soon the newsletters listed individuals and groups who are now legendary (and some still appear!)

Christmas markets were difficult in the weather and privately owned indoor markets developed, though the Saturday Market continued to be held each week. Many years there were several indoor Christmas markets to choose from, with predictable effects on the volume of crafters on the Butterfly. Still, sales potential for the season was attractive enough for the crafters to develop ways to stay warm and dry. Booth models and tarp arrangements evolved as the craft professional remained determined to adapt.

A Food Committee formed as it became apparent that regulations would bring conditions that required careful management of the risks of selling in hot weather, by inexperienced operators, and in outdoor conditions. The County Sanitation Department worked along to educate, inspect (every Market day) and secure compliance with licensing, and the Market tried covering licensing costs until the operators were doing well enough to manage their own costs.

Produce and other farm products were always considered essential to the event but farmers struggled to participate, preferring to sell from trucks. Early years included consignment produce booths managed by Market staff, and a farm or two tried having a booth. By 1978 The County had done a feasibility study for a separate Farmers’ Market and on June 23, 1979, the first Lane County Farmer’s Market was held at the Fairgrounds, attracting twelve trucks. It grew to as many as twenty-one, but the season and decade ended with a better solution still up in the air. Saturday Market continued to pay for the Farmers’ Market manager, permits, and costs, often at a loss for the budget.

Newsletters were created back in the day of the mimeograph with its purple ink. Usually 81/2” by 14”, they were given to all vendors and contained not only instructions for parking and registering properly, but minutes of meetings of both the Board and Committee, and creative stories and drawings of members and staff. Various logos and lettering styles appeared, graphically representing the evolution of the Market image, and in 1977 the basket of flowers replace a pushcart drawing. “The Basket” persisted as the iconic logo to the present day, although it was redrawn for special occasions to include holly or hearts, and for the 50^th season in 2019 it appeared as a more realistic, antiqued treatment of flowers, signaling a shift that will likely continue into the future as the Saturday Market reinvents itself each season.

Patience

That old homily about Patience being a Virtue is misleading I think. It's a skill. I'm still working on it, noticing today how directly related the lack of skill in patience is to obsession, second-guessing oneself, and other irrational responses to distress. Obviously for me and my circle, waiting for all this political shit to settle out has been excrutiating, particularly as we watch the progress of our lives being so quickly dismantled in such destructive ways. It's more than daunting to even stay informed.

Week before last at Market loading out was finishing up and someone roared down 8th in a big frustration about traffic, I guess, though who knows what the real story was. Another member who sells big items was slowly loading his massive trailer from his booth on the east block...carrying each item across the street on the green light, loading in the careful sequence that we all have to learn to fit everything efficiently on our trailers or in our cars. I've seen him park in lots of places that are generally not too convenient for him, because all those people with cars have to work together in another and less controllable kind of sequence. I don't really know him but he looked at me and I looked at him and we both started to say "Patience is a Virtue" but neither of us finished the phrase. We both were exhibiting our patience, and it was a warm moment of recognition.

I thought about it all the way home as I do, biking home from Market tired but satisfied, writing blog posts in my mind. All of us do a lot of waiting, and have developed plenty of strategies to keep calm and fill in the gaps while we do so. As a creative writer, one of my worst habits is making up stories about the non-response.

Electronic communications have set the expectation of rapid response but as people grow to avoid the stress of that, some go to impulsivity but many just shut down and let the messages drift down in the inbox to obscurity. It's way easier to put off responding until it may not be necessary than to commit in writing to something we may not actually do or want to do. It bugs me to be on the receiving end of the non-response but I have encouraged myself to learn to use it. Impulsivity is not as functional a response to distress as patience. Setting the dilemma aside can clarify it. I try to journal about it so I can lay out my rational arguments in sequence and allow my feelings while also trying to craft a clear communication about them.

Then I try to respond to the situations in what I think is a rational and calm way, but of course in emails or texts (with someone like me who refuses to use emojis) often rationality sounds like coldness and then I second-guess myself. I have to reread the messages and look for ways they might be misinterpreted, while I resist making up stories about what the other person or persons are thinking and doing but not telling me about.

Naturally this is a huge problem if I act on those stories. It's good to be old enough to have made that mistake enough times to see the patterns. It's usually something emotional at the core, something primitive like "You don't love me" or "I'm so damaged I can't communicate no matter what," or even simpler things like "I can never get my way" or "That person is just impossible." Patterns can easily be seen and pointed out by someone not involved, which is where empathy can be so useful...the listener could say "It sounds like you feel confused about that," or some other response that helps get down into the base distress that is causing the adaptive behaviors. I am aware of most of my patterns but I would not say I am aware of all of them. Things are subtle deep in that subconscious.

Skilled manipulators use confusion and distress to push people into their traumatic reaction zones but mostly distressed people just cause their own situations to get worse by imagining negative scenarios. That's what I've been fighting for the last few days (maybe months, actually) as I have some big, not controllable situations happening in my life that I am responsible for navigating.

I've been trying to use reminders like "What is the best that could happen?" and "What's the most important goal that you really must take a stand on?" and then remembering that I am not in control of the situations, just my reactions. Just my patterns.

So how about if I don't flare up, don't get discouraged, and don't second-guess myself. How about if I continue to wait for things to become clear, especially if there is indeed time to do that? How about if I apply the non-response technique to myself, as well as to the situation? How about if I have some faith in myself and other people (but oh no, that brings up religion...)

Other people can be so helpful in this process, but I usually employ silence as my helper. I listen to my internal dialogues and try to assure myself of things. I say what someone else would say, such as "You don't know that for sure yet," "There isn't really any proof of that." Or I ask more questions, or I just use gardening or work or writing to get me through the anxiety to a calmer place while I wait.

That damn Mueller report situation was like that, and it did deliver satisfaction but will still need tons of patience applied. I've been reminding myself of other times when it was (almost) this bad, coincidentally other Republican criminal administrations and corrupt regimes in my own lifetime, as well as historically. Learning about the racist regimes of the past, the geopolitics we know about, the times we've been barraged by forms of deceit that didn't fool us, and remembering my past responses has helped this time too. All of this stuff is a continuum, it's always been happening, and my little thoughts and actions, while significant in my sphere, are only a tiny part of that big reality. My job is to keep learning and keep holding on to what I know is right and true.

I used to make a lot of political t-shirts and I stopped doing that, for one reason because it dominated my retail day. All of my conversations became about reassuring other scared people that we would prevail, that things would get better, and checking in with each other about brutal truths served a good social purpose, but was way too hard for me to do every week. As it is, my products touch on environmental issues and of course politics still comes up, but images of birds and plants are much easier to exchange. I still engage in many social conversations but one reason people come to Market is to enjoy their community so I don't want to be the center of all things dysfunctional in our world all day.

I feel guilty about that though. I still have good ideas and a soapbox with the power of dissemination but instead I am putting the things up on social media, which I can turn off and walk away from so I'm not as captive. I've been posting "Get Him Out" on a lot of threads. It would make a good hat. I might just make a few radical hats while I sit in this obsessive distress. Really it's environmental issues that need my help though. I kind of fall into a rabbit hole there.

I'm selling products. They are manufactured, whether by someone in a foreign country using plastic or by someone in Springfield using cotton canvas. Cotton uses a lot of water and I haven't gone organic on those bags yet. I would jump to organic hemp and will continue to try to get there. I would use locally made hats too if it didn't mean big changes when I need stability. Woulda coulda shoulda.

The convergence of Earth Day, spring itself, my 69th birthday, Mother's Day, and Founder's Day is overwhelming me. The amount of things I am negotiating right now is way too much. It's making me shut down and hardly do anything. I haven't been able to work on the archives much at all for a month now. Mom's book is getting really close to completion. I'm trying to draw several important designs that I need to do right now. I'm trying hard not to freak out.

So I sit and write this. One by one these things will resolve. Patience will help some of them, or I can go back and try a different type of communication on the ones that might need that. I can go out in the garden and see if I can find out where those bumblebees are nesting. I can finish The Overstory so maybe I won't have to re-reserve it at the library. It's pretty good but I'm still deep in the distress parts of it. Most novelists know to end with some hope and joy so I'm counting on Richard Powers to do his part. At least I get to sit on the deck and read a bit so I am enjoying the good weather and feeling productive. It's a writer's job to read too, to keep building those skills. I'm going to need them. I'll get back into the archives with new inspiration. Founder's Day will help.

See you tomorrow for a non-rainy Market! Yay! Full on spring!

Speaking Only for Myself

That's what I created this blog for, to talk to myself about complex things and work them out through writing. I like to wander through an essay without much editing and just get my thoughts down. I don't often think about repercussions but of course there have been some, so I will carefully say that I am not speaking in any sort of an official role for anyone or any organization. I'm just doing my thinkng out loud.

Big things are happening for the Market as we navigate the changes at the Wayne Morse Free Speech Plaza and Terrace. I've been keeping my thoughts mostly to myself so things can proceed and settle down and I don't inadverdently fan any flames. I've written my complaining posts in the past about what I perceived, being resentful of my efforts being taken for granted, paying for people who were opportunists and feeling like I had no control about what was happening to "my" event. I gradually lost my self-righteous ownership as the activities increased and I was always conflicted about the truly needy and how similar it felt to me to when I was a hippie with some of the same political goals to subvert that dominant paradigm. It took a lot of processing and looking from various perspectives to get a grasp of what was even really happening, as it wasn't any one thing. It still isn't a simple situattion over there.

In the past year or two I viewed it as the Market's community service to support those artists across the street who were genuinely trying to make their way. Our economy now is much more harsh than it was when the Market started 50 years ago, but the obstacles people face as they try to invent themselves are much the same. Everyone has to start somewhere. Expenses to have a safe and "free" event have mounted significantly and it has not always been the case that Market members were willing to tax themselves enough to really make it work. Our values have changed over time. We want to pay our managers well so they will stay with us and love us back. We want to be respected by other businesses and by public entities. We want to respect ourselves, and we want to thrive, not just get by. We're mostly willing to put our money together to meet our goals. It has been working and we are thriving.

For the first few decades we had to work out our rights in what we had been taught was a free market economy. The Saturday Market founders had faced the music rather often by the time I arrived in 1976. Fees were kept super low (it was $3.50 when I was first selling over there, with the 10% of sales,) but there were still days I didn't want to pay that much as I got established. Being always a person who had learned to value honesty ( I got disciplined a lot as a child for lying or just obfuscating and not taking responsibility) I appreciated the faith put in me with the honor system. I knew how to rationalize the times I didn't comply with the full intent of the law. My finely developed sense of guilt did prevail mostly.

Today I'd fight hard to retain the honor system, even though we know people rationalize. Offering the opportunity to rise to the highest levels is the finest way to operate, in my view. Of course the general moral values of our society have been seen to be declining, as maybe they are, but if we play to the lower values we all lose as we are forced to become authoritarian in our policies. This is most certainly not the time to trend that way, no matter what the conditions!

So I support the changes on the FSP, even as I'd like them modified a bit as things settle out. I empathize a lot with people who feel they are being forced back to blankets with the ban on structures. I would personally prefer to allow them, with weights, or at least to build in some exceptions under some conditions. But I don't make policy for the DAZ, and neither does my Market. That is up to the City and County and their attorneys. It is up to the public to give feedback and advice to the governments on those policies, so I have faith that over time a more equitable solution will be found than just an outright ban on structures for shade and rain protection. But that is what we have at the moment over there. And Market has had booths over there in the past when we needed to grow, so that part feels pretty natural. Parking was blocked and one of those spaces is a handicapped sticker space that was unavailable for use. So that needed to be dealt with. Tourists and other customers, and the sellers themselves, needed to be safe over there. And there had to be space for real free speech. Losing that gathering space for protests, those being forced down to the cold Federal buiding, without a plaza, has hurt our community. I want protests to have the audience of my Market, especially those about climate issues and authoritarian, cheating governments in chaos. I want to yell from the sidewalk in support of those on a sunny Saturday.

I suppose I show my age and privilege and relative comfort that I am willing to wait for the public process to evolve and am not up in arms over any particular position on the changes. I had accepted that it was not Saturday Market and we didn't have the desire or right to make policy over there. I could see the parts that are enjoyable about it, the actual freedom of expression that was happening in the drum circle and in people who were just beginning to find ways to use their artistic expression to support themselves. I have sympathy that it is hard to join an organization and pay them money when you are really on the financial edge. What seem like acceptable fees to me would not have when I was in my twenties. We didn't have a membership fee then. Over the years since we instituted it, it has grown to $50 from $5. I can afford it now, but not everyone can. The $25 annual DAZ permit is reasonable. Registering in that way is a step that helps the person access services that are unfortuately not free to provide.

It is still hard for plenty of Market members to make it work financially, at the mercy of weather and customer whim. I know exactly how lucky I am to have developed good-selling products. It's not easy and I have certainly failed at it many times since 1976. I'm mostly stubborn and determined so I've persisted and now it's pretty hard to change. I don't have the resources to stop working and do something more self-indulgent like writing all the books I have on my list to write or read all the ones piled on my coffee table even. I have a vague plan for how to make it when my body gets even less willing to keep up with my desires for complete mobility. I'm at risk and in denial, and I still like to build compassion for others into my thinking in an effort to balance out my relative comfort and privilege.

It was hard to bike down there last week. I was sooooo slow. I had put off getting my bike tuned up but now I have done that so it should be easier this week. I resent that it might rain at the end so that means I have to bring the pop-up and weights. There is nothing harder for me than to haul 75 pounds of sand down instead of a tub of hats. But I don't want my booth to fly away and break in the wind and I'm already doing my little rationalization about my missing 4th leg which still technically requires 25 pounds on it somehow. I bring an extra tall grid to rest that corner on and it complies with the spirit of the law I expect, so I have to call it good. I'm going to continue to do my best as I learned in kindergarten.

I always try to make the best balanced, most reasonable accommodations to reality that I can imagine, but often I see with a start that I have been blind to something glaring to others and have miscalculated. I think that is what happened on the FSP. Politically and realistically the "free" market was very attractive and coherent to some people but the glaring reality to others is that someone was paying for what those sellers weren't. All of us paying fees knew we were bringing the customers, renting the bathrooms, supplying the security and staff that kept it all running smoothly and safely as much as it did. There was just kind of an energy sink over there that was somewhat balanced by the drum circle beating out our heart rhythms, but not fully.

Most people using the space intended and did no real harm to us across the street, but they did not actually enhance us either. Balance was needed. It was inevitably going to feel harsh at first. We had talked about a long, gentle negotiation where gradually leaders emerged who would take responsibility and organize accountability over there, with involvement from supportive nonprofits or other entities committed to progressive solutions. That just did not emerge. I patiently waited for that and tried to support that solution but this quick change is probably much more practical.

I believe it will settle out into some improvement. A lot of people feel better. There was an overload of police presence and I'll never enjoy being surveilled but generally there was compassion and responsibility was developed. I am hopeful that conditions will be found that will allow change within reasonable parameters. It's rather looking like a middle way to me over there although I know it looks more radical to many. I can retain my acceptance that it's not something I personally control, nor do I want to control it. I just want it to work as honorably and honestly and generously as possible.

So that's my two cents. I think the community gradually came to a consensus on most of it. I think we can navigate the rest in good faith without blaming and fighting. I've always been an optimist. Too late to change that. Of course I have also always been a cynic, but there's a balance in there.

Until some glaring light shines in my eyes again...and I blink and reset my thoughts. I guess I'll write again when that happens. In the meantime, I will see you Saturday! Rain or shine.

The Fire: From the Saturday Market Archives

Please note: This blog is not an official Saturday Market forum or set of posts, but a personal one of member Diane McWhorter, who happens to be archiving the Market collection this winter in preparation for the 50th season. 

In the Saturday Market archives, I stopped last night just at the newsletter announcing The Fire. It happened on May 2, 1982. It was arson.

This was when the Market was still on the Butterfly and stored equipment underneath, in two rented parking spaces with various schemes to protect it. They used a chain, but the chain got stolen. In 1981 there were six times the stuff was vandalized, spread all over the place, and whatever was of value was stolen. The fire, on a Sunday morning, was clearly arson, probably done by someone passing through who had also targeted a similar organization in Seattle. I haven't read all of the details of the recovery yet.

The leading up to it is compelling though. 1981 was a very wet, terrible weather year for an outdoor Market. In addition, in 1980 a national recession struck, thanks to Reagan I guess, or the usual things that cause recessions. Here in Eugene it was rough, with lots of people relocating to find the elusive jobs. A government program, CETA, would give people $300 grants to buy tools. It wasn't a great time to be a craftsperson, but at least that was a job. I was painting signs then, and managed to live pretty low on the food chain, though I had to sell all manner of little things at the Market to get by. It was a little before t-shirts for me, so I made cards, calendars, and painted some amazing signs for places like Mr. Moto's and Poppi's, La Primavera, whomever I could find. Hundreds of us created our own jobs and held on for better times.

The Market on the Butterfly had at times held an overflow for its 250 allowed spots, but not that year. Vendor participation dwindled and while there were always a lot of food booths, growing to 40 once, people without jobs weren't buying a lot of crafts or art until Christmas, which had always been solid. Christmas Fairs throughout the 70's were generally two weeks long, every day, long days, but enough people were still left to sell on Saturdays that in 1981, for the first time, a five-day run of the Market was tried. It included Saturday Dec. 19th, and went through the 23rd. The rest of the December Saturdays were just the usual. Fees in those days were $3 plus 10% of the previous week's sales...this structure turned out to be fatally flawed, as on a bad weather day, people often didn't return to pay their fees from the previous good day, and when it was a good day, people might be paying on the previous week's poor sales day.

It's important to remember that the Saturday Market was the first of its kind, so the whole decade of the 70s was experimental, and often the parts that didn't work well were hard to change as quickly as they needed to be fixed. When attendance was lower, so were the numbers of interested, dedicated volunteers, and the balance needed of volunteers and staff could skew. No one wanted staff to work for free, but often the winter closure resulted in staff quitting rather than waiting out the three months of no pay. At the time, staff retention was recognized as a huge benefit to the organization, so we had two great staffers who had worked for a few years by then, plus a few hard-working volunteers, just not enough of them. We budgeted for staff to work at least some over the winter, so even when there was no income, there were expenses.

As you might predict, because this is a bit of a tragic story, the extended Christmas included renting 20x20 tents for customers, lots of great entertainment and special attractions, and lots of advertising, with the attendant big budget expenditures. Fees were raised to make it work, but it was all about vendor numbers, and it rained. It rained so much that one day was described as "the rainiest day ever." I think I remember it. There was 5 inches of rain, and the nine or so of us that stood under a covered area didn't quite know how we were going to pack up and get home. Rent for the Butterfly went from $40 a day on weekends to $500 a day on the weekdays, as the County wanted to recover the costs of the lost parking revenue. We were paying for all night security too, for the booths left on site.We were paying for useless advertising as no one came like they had when times were good.

Suffice it to say, the budget was busted. In January the leaders of the Market started trying to get loans, and to get a handle on how big the deficit was. There wasn't even a solid Treasurer at the time. It's a little hard to figure it all out from the records as all the 1981 newsletters are missing, but during the winter the staff salaries were deferred with promises to pay when things improved, an April opening was decided upon instead of May, and various fees were proposed. A $5 membership fee, and a Season Reserve fee were pitched. Reserves were in place then, but this was a discounted amount to interest people in early spending to pay the December bills. It worked, as did asking for donations, but it turned out to be a deeper budget hole than was known, and everyone kept digging of course. It was never mentioned that the Market could just roll up and quit, after a successful 12-year run. It was too vital to the community, too much a part of the cultural art scene. It was called "The Cradle of the  Arts Community of Eugene" by the head of the Eugene Arts Foundation. And the economy would turn, as in 1982 the Hilton Hotel, whose balconies overlooked the Market, was scheduled to open.

Market Staff sold the promise hard, and April happened! Reforms like same day payments and raffles and promotions helped. The newly renovated info booth

looked fantastic, tables and benches were improved, there were 25 great food booths, but it hailed on Opening Day (April 3) and rained the next week too. Craft artisan booths fell to 60 and 10 food booths didn't show either on that second week. May first, however, brought the new city-aupported Imagination Celebration, which involved a parade, a Chimney Sweeps Festival and Lookalike contest (was this Mary Poppins time, or just David Stuart Bull?) and things started blooming. May first was hopeful.





But early the next Sunday, arson completely destroyed the new Info booth, all of the ten tables and 30 benches, the Lucy Booth, the stage frame and awning, all of the signs, sandwich boards, banners, flags, tools, bulletin boards, hose bibs, everything useful and necessary to put on the Market. It was estimated at $7000-10,000 but it was almost all handmade and beautiful and not really replaceable. The Info booth in particular had been made in a UO workshop, designed by architects, and handbuilt by volunteers in 1973, and was a work of art. Moreso, the community was devastated. On May 8th, members gathered for a circle and dug deep.

It was a difficult year, and leaders emerged who could dedicate time and effort, many of whom still serve the Market or support it. Still, the lot looked empty all season, and various schemes were tried to present as a lively, happy event, while privately despair sometimes emerged. Bills were gradually paid but none of the grants applied for were given. Finally in the fall, the Market wrote to downtown business leaders and politicians, asking for an Advisory Committee and some help. A move to the Park Blocks, the original location the Market had wanted in 1970, was requested.

It was granted! The Market was allowed a trial period of December and the following April, 1983, to see if the members would work together to sell in the lovely park, with only 125 spaces, (now stretched and finagled to 250 again) to revitalize the organization and continue the important work of holding up Downtown on Saturdays during the recession. The downtown mall needed the support, and by then the merchants and public servants well knew the benefit of the large Saturday event. The City Council voted to grant the Market $1850 for moving expenses, and on November 18, 1982, the First Market in the Park was held.

Even though success was still hard won after that (the 5-day Christmas Market failed again) history had been written. The Saturday Market rose from the ashes. I have a little baggie of the ashes for the archives. It's a most compelling story, and such an embedded part of my own history that to me, it explains a lot.

Fire galvanizes. It did that for us. Within a year I was on the Board, painted almost all of the Market signs for costs, and worked together with people I still work together with, to do what needs to be done to keep the Market on track, thriving, and ready for more.

I know what it feels like to sell in a parking lot, and then move to a park. I know what  it means to come on rainy days and sunny ones, and how to have the long, sometimes philosophical conversations necessary to guide and keep the Market for the longhaul. I know how it feels to be part of an ever-changing, ever-passionate community of creative, loving people who just want the best for the community and for ourselves, able to integrate our self-interest with what is best for the common good.

I'll write more as we go along, since there is so much to tell and I am practicing for the eventual book, but I wanted to share my deep feelings as I sort through these folders and piles of papers and tease out what really happened from what is said and remembered. The truth is that our community has the resilience, the strength, and the passionate dedication to not only survive the challenges of the 50th season and Anniversary, but to project beyond it for the next 50 years. I won't be here for all of that, so it might have to be you. Don't stop caring about us. We're worth it.

Here's the link to some of the vintage photos of the old days. We were so young!

Ordinary Grieving, Late Night Grieving, Then Tomorrow

Quarter to four and no sleep for me. Grieving is weird, isn't it? It fills you, okay, it fills me, and I get bigger with it, but I can't shrink back to my normal, just because I want to and it's logical to. Logical remedies don't work on grief. It takes its course. I wait it out, suffer it more, or less, but still have to wait.

Most times I don't recognize it at first. I know I'm feeling something, pain, but I don't know it's grief. I usually have to write about it for awhile. Tease it out of myself, separate it from all the rest, the anger or sense of betrayal or injustice, make all my logical arguments about it, those stabs at it as if it were something I could defeat. Maybe I cry, but in frustration or woundedness, not really grief.

I set aside time for it, was planning to do it tomorrow, but no, it is here tonight. I'm a good sleeper and I rarely toss and turn. It's easy for me to read myself to sleep, if I have the right sort of fiction that pleases me and then lets me ease into closing my eyes. Then sometimes I get these nights. I didn't have the right sort of fiction. I picked up some James Baldwin from 1962, way wrong. I put it aside quickly but the mistake had been made. I tried to get back into The Feather Thief, which is engaging and fascinating, but no, didn't engage. Didn't fascinate.

A hug won't fix it, though I do wish I had a cat. A cat in my lap would help some. I can't talk this one out, it's mine to sit with, it's mine to let run and then be released from, eventually. I expect to be released, for a time anyway, but this one is going to last awhile, in cycles. I think a year or two, on and off, to be realistic. I can hope for a better scenario, but I'm kind of a practical person. I'm the age when people are leaving the physical realm, people I need, so that will layer in and make this worse. Is all aging grieving until you die? Maybe that's the kind of thing people are too kind to tell you.

I've been rehearsing for grief, since my Mom is 93 now, but I know I can't really do that. That one has the potential to devastate, particularly. We've been together so long. She's been finishing up her book, and her writing is really in the zone right now. She will next be writing specifically about grief, herself, about her grandmother's intense experience of losing a child in a blizzard and not finding him for months. And then being prevented from seeing his blackened, ruined body. Help me if I ever have to feel that kind, help us all if we do. We talk about it, as a writing exercise. I'm dedicated to helping her finish this book, helping her keep the momentum going until Johanna is released, figuratively and literally. It's exciting but fraught. She sent me two chapters this week, though, and there's just the blizzard to do, and then the after the blizzard. The waiting. She has a baby to nurse, then right when they find her son's body, she gets pregnant with my grandfather. Then the deciding to live. What a compelling story. Even more when you know it was real life, and it sits here in my genes.

I imagine it will be hard for Mom to even write it! To write deep into feelings like those takes you halfway in yourself, as you try to articulate it. You know you can't really, you'll be summarizing it at best, but you give it a good try and you have to draw on your own grief to do it. She's had some to draw on. We shared a bit of that, but it was 50 years ago now. Still, it's not hard to summon it. I can go there instantly, how I felt on the plane when I cried all the way back to Delaware, how confused I was for the next thirty years or so. Even though she didn't get to meet her grandmother, it was there in her family whenever anyone told the story, probably whenever it snowed. They lived in Johanna's dream house, with its big rooms built for parties and beer drinking. That grief was probably alive for a hundred years, is still. She's going to tap it. I feel like I could too, and I might, just for something to write about that isn't about me.

This grief tonight, it's a tough one. I have pushed it aside a lot. I am good at denial and I kept working hard at not framing it that way, but it's for sure grief. It's loss, for something I don't get to hold onto, something that really lives in me in particular and probably won't even be noticed outside of me. I brought it to life, because of the heart I have made in me, and I value it, but it has little value in the big world. I guess it comes out in service, so that's where it gets its external value. Service is useful, and it helps, helps me and the community. So I can forge my grief into more service, I suppose. Eventually. After I sit with it.

It's my job to keep it to myself, to hold it in an abstract place and not spread it around. I gave myself tomorrow to work on making that strong plan and working out how to stick to it. I know I don't make the rules of grief, though. My plan will be thin. It might take more than one day.

I have some good things coming up that will help diffuse this grief. I am going to get to recieve the grant, which is amazing and I will be proud and happy about that. I have Jell-O, which is just pure joy and we worked on our narrative the other night and it was pretty fun. But two, three, of our people were holding grief down, and I was feeling it. It was scaring me, but I kept it in then too. I was switching back and forth from one grief to another and it was in the midst of laughter and discovery as we unfolded our tale. I get to put that all in order tomorrow too. It is my special job to take all the brainstorming and make it make sense, an organizing task that really fits my creative skills I guess. I do love it.

Oh, that word love. Of course that is where all the grief comes from, since if we didn't love we wouldn't feel loss. I watched the Mr. Rogers movie tonight, Won't You Be My Neighbor. What a tender soul. What a powerful soul. There was a part at the end that I should watch again, as I kind of missed it in trying to process my grief, which he was pulling out of me with Daniel Tiger. His wife was saying that right before he went into the coma before he died, he asked her if he was a lamb. I think he was asking if he was easy to love, since everyone finds lambs easy to love, right? And she told him yes, of course he was, and then he passed into death. Am I a lamb? Mr. Rogers says yes.

I was telling myself yes at that point, my process having moved into affirmations and reassurance. I hadn't recognized my grief yet, I was just processing feeling wounded. I hadn't looked out at the bigger picture and the denial and all that. I was just in today, but what made me not sleep was trying to look at the whole of life, with yesterday and tomorrow and what will happen and what seems like it will happen and what is the best that could happen which is the work for tomorrow.

But I tried to put myself to bed and I miss Mr. Rogers, and my other loves, big and small, and I do want to get to tomorrow and the deciding about what is the best that could happen. It helped to write this, it helped to cry through Mr. Rogers' movie, and it will help to sleep and wake up and have a new day, foggy or maybe fine. Maybe the kind of day to spend pruning the apple tree and not falling down to break a heel this time. Maybe the day to work on the Jell-O Show narrative and feel that joy. Maybe the day to feel like a spring lamb and gambol a bit, feel the lifting of the grief with the benevolence of daphne and witch hazel. That could be a possible scenario I suppose.

I'll try sleep again. It's almost five, and look at all I have accomplished already today. Love you.

Art in Our City: Support it!

This podcast was fascinating to me, hit me on so many levels. I didn't want to over-comment on their post, but this is something all of the people in my art circle should give some time to listening to. There's a lot here.

The City of Eugene is collaborating with a lot of artists, and this Art City group is still somewhat mysterious and yet, powerful. The podcast is produced by Eugene Contemporary Art, and if you are one of those hermit crafters like I am, you might have missed this stuff. Their events and those of the City in the last year, in particular, have been stunning and super successful (the murals are an easy one to see that in) and yet it seems to me, Saturday Market has not figured out how to align warmly here. But we need to.

We use the same space, often, as the Park Blocks are a great place for some of their events. They often happened on Friday nights, and all we at Market often knew about them was the scraps of fabric left over (which I delightfully collected) or the blue tape left on the concrete (which I helpfully removed). We have the harsh habit of having to go to bed early on Fridays, because our Saturdays take so much energy and are so much of a focus for us. But next time you see "Art City" go to whatever they are doing and at minimum, appreciate it. This is building on our work and enhancing our art lives in our City, and it deserves every ounce of our support. And anything Cultural Services puts on, in my experience, will include people you know and it will be free, and those people are getting burned out on working so hard to be taken for granted. They wore banana costumes! That's just a metaphor. 

I am not an academic, though when I lived briefly in the Lower East Side of NYC I took a calligraphy class at the Art Students League and an Art History class at (what was it? This was in 1973) New College or something. I am a self-taught artist who has done it my whole life, maybe to spite my first grade teacher who really shut me down. I learned calligraphy, sign-painting, screenprinting, writing, drawing, all of those things by doing them. It doesn't make me a fine artist or a conceptual artist but I have mastered a lot and at one point, finally decided I could be capital-A Artist.

It was Jell-O Art that got me there. That is my fine art, and as it is an anti-art, it's pretty high level for someone who is usually defined as a lowly crafter. I hope we have learned to appreciate the craft/art spectrum rather than continuing any division. I know my tote bags don't lie in the same position on the spectrum as the exquisite ceramic work and jewelry work, or paintings that I've seen, but that isn't very significant in old age. I've made my living as an artist for more than 45 years, and in the process, strengthened my skills in writing, teaching, fabric arts, paper arts, and everything  that came across my path. I won't be retiring and I hope I won't stop learning new ways to express myself and my world.

I started writing this before even hearing the end of their blog, but they said that some of the things people can do are to seek support, and have something to offer. Bring something with you and offer it up. Find ways to elevate all artists and broaden the public appreciation and comfort with art, from that on the conceptual edges to that of the everyday. Artists have far more in common than we think. We all are basically problem-solvers. Help solve this problem, and promote each other. This is easy.

We are at a time in our city when big things are happening, my generation is aging and disappearing, and younger artists and crafters are going to be the ones who carry on. Lotte left us. With that, I took on the task of bringing her legacy forward. She helped so many artists, not just with co-creating the Market, but by her arts administration and shows and collaborations. She gave us our roots, and allowed us to hold space for artists in Eugene for 50 years! This is the gift that never has to stop giving. You may have noticed more fine artists coming to the Market, but when I look back at our posters, I see that we have always had a large spectrum of our own in our 600-person membership. We balance that with our entry-level business incubator, which has also been an essential part of our mission, because sometimes it takes awhile to get people to notice you and understand what you are actually making and offering. Not everyone enjoys the full day of retail and the ways available to market your work and enlarge your network through the Market. It's one way, but it's not an easy way, and support can be marginal. I know I had to stop bringing my Jell-O Art because it got all the limited space in the customers' attention and didn't sell, also preventing me from selling the things that did sell. Everyone has to find their balance. Sometimes it is too hard to wait out those zero days and days when you pay all your money in fees and nobody even gives you a be-back, much less the kinds of appreciation you seek. They asked in the podcast, who validates your work? Ultimately, the only one who matters is you, but of course, you're trying to make a living. They suggested finding doctors and other professionals who can afford to support art, and you know, those people shop at our Market, and the Farmers' Market, and they do buy those $1000 dollar pieces and ask for commissioned works. I know my range of sales includes both zero days and $900 days, so things happen you might not expect. You do have to be there for that to happen.

Making art with the goal of selling it is part of what we all have to do, even if it isn't the best part. To be successful at Market, you sometimes have to change your work to respond to what people do want to pay for. It's a tricky walk with pricing and making production work as well as the stuff your heart and soul are really invested in, but lots of people walk that  slackrope and get it rolling waves to a stable platform. It does take some personality adjustment sometimes. And it's ultimately a lot easier for many to sell online or get work into galleries where they don't have to put in that weekly 12-hour day and give up their weekend nights. I found ways to make it work, but had to walk away from a lot of them. I don't sell t-shirts anymore, though I heard in the podcast (maybe with a little tongue-in-cheek humor) that making t-shirts is a proven path to success. Yes, it is, I can agree. It's very fun, as well.

In my case, what has apparently emerged from my work is that I am offering a big part of my soul at the Market, and that's what people seem to really want from me. My witty shirts of the past, my baseball caps, and the occasional vestige of Jell-O Art have been fun for people and made them brave enough to get close to me and the Saturday Market community. It seems that we have the reputation  as a group, of being somewhat insular and not easy to feel a part of, which seems counter-intuitive to me but probably just because I have been there so long all I see is open doors and not any that are closed.

I'm seeing this open door into the heart of Eugene right now, and I want my readers to walk up and knock on it. We have a Cultural Arts Department that is over the top enthusiastic and hard-working, and they are a huge part of why we had a good Park Blocks season this year. The City is supporting the Markets so hard right now! It will be up to those of us who can be skeptical to see the real efforts of what has been done to strengthen the richness of the cultural life of our city, and to just shut our mouths if we hear ourselves beginning to complain. Think all the murals should have been painted by locals? Come on. There would not be as many of them, and what a fantastic gift this has been to our dullish exterior! Think there should be more galleries and places to experience art? Do you go to the ones we have? Start there.

If you just want to take a couple of steps that won't hurt, go support Art Bingo on Feb, 10th at Sam Bond's Brewery. Sit with us and have some laughs and go home with some incredible prize or other. You get to choose your own from the table, which might be the best part. And there are three winners per game, and the last game goes "blackout" until everyone wins. It's an easy immersion. And there's beer. And tom and Sue Hunnel!

And you are lucky again this year because the Jell-O Art Show is on March 30th, which is not Opening Day of Saturday Market (that's April 6th). It's a 3-hour show, there's a Tacky Food Buffet, and you really  do not know what you will see there. We've had performance art, and what might be conceptual art and contemporary art, but it's ephermeral and anyway I'm no expert on these things. I just know what I love.

The main thing I love about the Jell-O Art Show is that the whole point of it is, that because a ridiculously uncooperative medium was chosen, the first thing we tossed in the bin was a critical structure. There's no bad Jell-O Art, because we don't judge. We have little kids and nonagenarians and occasionally a fine artist in disguise, or sometimes not even in disguise, but we make art and we put it up on pedestals, and for one short evening we celebrate art for it's own sake. No prices on it, no credentials, but sometimes there is an artist's statement and always there is a witty, clever show that a bunch of amateur but enthusiastic performers (yes, we include professional performers if they want to be in it) put out there for your delight. This will be the 31st time. If you haven't gone, stop by. The Radar Angels are a fun group that is an essential part of Eugene's quirk.

So, to circle back a little, how I got my capital A? I was working at my son's school as a volunteer, helping the artists in residence like Paul Otte, and running little workshops and classes, and I offered some mentorship opportunities as a parent. One kid took me up on being mentored in Jell-O Art and while preparing a curriculum for it, I stopped to listen to myself. The first thing I wanted to teach him about was the creative process. I stopped and asked myself, wait, if I have a creative process, isn't that what actually makes me an artist, instead of just someone who makes things at random? Think about all the steps of that, how you get the spark, explore the possibilities, research, play with media, learn techniques, have results, reject those results and go farther, all of that. Isn't that it?

I could tell I was a Jell-O Artist. I jumped off the diving board there, feet first. I no longer beat myself up for not having a degree or reading enough art magazines or being able to draw people's faces with any skill. I might not be an Artist in your eyes, but I am in my life, and at 68, I can feel that this is more than enough.

So now my job is to give it away some more, bolster what is happening and can happen outside my home, strengthen the connections we have and make as many new ones as I can. We all need more neurons working in pleasureable pathways in our little brains. Open it up. Hold someone else up too. It will be a lot more fun than, say, watching the Grammys on Feb. 10th. And listen to some podcasts. I have to go back now and listen to episode one. I might learn something! At minimum, I will feel a spark. And that's what I really want. Pure energy. Thank you!

Day of Birth

It's my son's 29th birthday today, so that means 30 years ago, I was busy in a way that was entirely new to me and was never repeated. His birth opened a door to a life I am so glad to have put my faith into. What a leap!

I think my major concern was that I was kind of a selfish person, and at 39 I thought maybe that wouldn't change enough to allow me to be a good parent. I learned some new things about that selfishness that made it much less of a problem, one being that it could translate into focus and fierceness and those had their uses. I am finding now that being on the obsessional side of commitment makes me dependable and powerful. I do my homework! I remember that while siting and nursing I would completely plan the next interval of my day, week, or however far ahead of myself I could get (sometimes an hour, as I remember) and I was never so organized. Had to do it without making a list, so I could still gaze lovingly at my baby and at least try to convince him that all our needs would be met.

And I am an A student, still, as I was in school. For whatever reasons (not all functionally postive I suppose) I want to do a good job and although the energy levels of being 68 have eroded some of that possibility, I have had to be organized and learn how to prioritize and compartmentalize and those skills have been essential. The whole time I was raising him I was running what was once a large business, then a sole-proprietorship, and also re-building a house that turned 100 in 2016. And mostly selling at Market, though I admit I left the governance to others during that time. I was still paying attention, but there were plenty of volunteers and the days of Bill and Beth were good ones. Good as they always are, if a bit of a thrill ride at times.

I came back to volunteering in 2007 or so when my son was out of school and I could drop my 4J jobs and volunteering there. Since he was my priority then, I worked more at his school than at the Market. Still did the Fair, still did the HM, but had to do things like tear out lath and plaster on the weekends. Those were some days. You generally get a lot done in your 40's, if I am typical.

I'm doing a task right now that is confidential and because of that, kind of isolating at this point. It's homework, though, and I have dug in and made my outlines and study questions and I think my process is fairly sound. I had not expected to do this task and it has brought some sleepless nights but overall I believe I may just be the perfect person to have in this particular room, so that's the good part. It's only one corner of a much bigger picture, so I'm channeling Vi with her patiently repeated "All Will Be Well" and "Things are Unfolding As They Should," and just keeping myself applied to the tasks. I wish I could discuss it.

I don't know how people live who have to keep a lot of secrets and discretion in their lives. This is an evolving skill set for me. I got the base stuff as a child about how to be polite and know when to use the less-than-complete truth and through further study began to get a handle on how to not make everything about me, but I am used to being able to do a lot of processing of emotions and I have spent a long time journaling this week. In the scenario that someone will want to research and document my life at some point (which is not a real scenario, it's that of some kind of fabulist) this will be a rich volume of my journal collection. In the reality we are actually living in, this journal will be one of the first that will have to go into the burn barrel.

No one is going to want to read page after page of "(Date, day of week:) Mood: Anxious." If I don't start out with it I soon get to it. I took some time off yesterday to clean house and ended up working on the archives (I'm archiving 50 years of the Saturday Market, if I haven't mentioned that.) and that was pretty fun, as it always is when I dive into those newsletters and minutes books. it helped lessen the anxiety somewhat and provided some perspective. Fifty years. Starting in 1970, when I was 20. I have an essay in mind about the parallels.

Our history is rich, and surprising, but I am not sure how much I will be able to actually tell. Archie Weinstein is gone but Jerry Rust might have some corrections for me. Sometimes the newsletter contains a political analysis, in those early days, that is apt, radically honest, and not exactly complimentary to any of the principals.  We had some firebrands, and some haven't changed much, but there is no narrative that completely captures the deep and site-based culture of our Market community. I will try to weave the narratives and display the nuanced and nubby fabric.

It's too early to publicly announce but you 22 readers can know that we got a little grant support for this archiving project, so I am fully committed now to this unpaid part-time job. The grant monies are not for me but for the project costs. I took on this job because I wanted it to be done by someone who is an A student and who does their homework, and while I am not the only one, I know I am dependable. Single motherhood proved that for sure. Building the house that is now filled with these archives, being a Market member and volunteer for 44 years, being a good daughter and sister: all of these huge accomplishments tell me I can do this.

I trust that other people will help me do these things with style and accuracy. I trust process, and I trust a large variety of people, who while undoubtedly are generally acting in their own self-interest, also have the wherewithal to see beyond that to the common good, to which I hope we are all dedicated.

Yeah, I feel guilty that I didn't march, but I can only take so much on at a time. This weekend is for study, sorting, planning, and figuring out where those pain points and plus points will be, so I can navigate 2019 and live up to these commitments.

And I didn't even get to talking about Jell-O Art yet. It's in progress. The only reason it isn't overwhelming is that it's pure fun and will be the comic relief to all the serious work I am and will be doing. Save the date: March 30th, from 5-8 pm. Our mode is to tune into the zeitgeist and come up with something just like Jell-O: melts in your hand and your mouth, ooozes all over your best dress, slides off the plate on the way to the table, and despite its perfectly magical clarity, brilliance and splendidly gorgeous colors, disappears almost immediately. And, it's anxiety-free.