Lincoln’s hippies are alive and well–if you know how to find them.
Incidentally, I stumbled upon a hippie hostel just this afternoon.
I’d never been to our local cooperative grocery, preferring instead to shop at Super Saver, where food is plentiful and inexpensive.
But today I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to buy some vanilla beans to make vanilla extract with. So I stopped in at Open Harvest.
The clerk was my age, but her hair hung wavy and free down her back. Her peasant skirt and Birkenstocks flaunted her counter-culture, natural-health identity. The customers were either young people with multiple piercings or middle-aged men. I felt immediately out of place in my trim turquoise suit with hose and business flats. Only my homemade white canvas shopping bag kept me from being immediately ejected as an outsider.
Reserving judgement, the clerk asked me if I was a member/owner. I told her no, I was not. She asked me if I’d like information about membership. Sure, I said, why not. She sized me up one last time before making her final suggestion: “Would you rather just take a brochure home to read at your leisure? Or did you want me to tell you about it now?” Her assessment was apt–I’d certainly rather take home a brochure.
I liked the store. Really, I did. I have little use for organic food, but Open Harvest has more than organic to recommend it. A wide selection of bulk foods–esoteric grains, beans, and spices. Several different gluten-free flours (to experiment with for education sake and to use to cook for a friend with celiac.) Essential oils and the like. I enjoyed my quick visit. I’ll probably be back.
But I don’t know if I’ll drop by quickly after work any more. I’d rather change before I go–put on my longest skirt and tons of beads, let down my hair and hide my lack of Birkenstocks. I’ll get myself some Patchouli or not put on deodorant in the morning–anything to cover up the absence of the distinctive odor of marijuana or clove cigarettes. No one mentioned my lack of non-conformity today, but I don’t know if I could get away with it a second time.