Chapter One
They say that every journey starts with a single step. As of late, it felt like my steps were taking me in opposing directions. Fortunately, our little corner of southern Oregon wasn’t too large. Ashland is nestled in the Siskiyou Mountains just north of California, giving us long, glorious stretches of sun, stunning vistas, and an abundance of fresh pine-scented air. Not only are we tucked between deciduous forests and gently rolling golden hills, we are also home to the world-renowned Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Throughout the year tourists came from near and far to take in a production of The Tempest in the Elizabethan, beneath a ceiling of stars, or experience an intimate performance of new works by innovative playwrights in one of the many theaters on the OSF campus.
When I had returned to my childhood home a while ago I hadn’t been sure what to expect. I had thought my stop might be temporary, but Ashland captured me under her spell. I knew now that this was where I was meant to be. It was an exciting time to have a renewed appreciation for the place where I had grown up. Maybe that was the gift of leaving. Distance and time away from my beloved hometown had made me want to embrace and experience all that the Rogue Valley had to offer. Thus far, I had barely scratched the surface. Ashland is known as the spot where the palms meet the pines. Leafy palms give rise to a conifer canopy of ponderosa pines, cedars, and white firs. Our temperate climate and fertile, organic valleys are ideal for growing pears, fruits, herbs, and grapes. Vineyards dot the hillsides throughout the region along with alpine lakes, pristine rivers, and hiking trails so remote that you can disappear into the forest and meander for hours without seeing another soul, except for the occasional black bear that might amble past.
From the healing Lithia waters to the wild deer that nibbled on lush green lawns to the constant bustle of activity on the plaza and the bevy of friends and family who had welcomed me in, I could finally declare with confidence that nothing could ever make me want to leave again.
That was especially true with Torte’s latest endeavor. Our family bakeshop had been expanding. It happened organically. First, we learned that the basement space beneath the cozy bakeshop my parents opened thirty years ago had come up for sale. Mom and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, so we secured some grant money and city loans to break through the floor and build our dream kitchen, complete with a wood-burning pizza oven, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and a cozy seating area in the basement. The renovations meant that we had been able to expand our offerings with a kitchen twice the size as well as additional seating in the basement and a new and improved coffee bar and pastry counter upstairs.
My next venture had been a total surprise. My estranged husband, Carlos, at the urging of my best friend, Lance, had made us partners in Uva, a boutique winery just outside of town. I left Carlos on the ship where we had both worked, after I learned that he had a son, Ramiro, that he had never told me about. In hindsight, it might have been a rash decision, but leaving Carlos meant that I had returned home to Ashland, a decision I did not regret.
The bakeshop and winery should have been enough. I had plenty on my plate with managing Torte, growing our staff, and trying to figure out what to do with Uva. However, the universe had other plans for me. Sterling, my young sous chef, had been experimenting with a line of concretes—rich, custard-like ice creams with decadent and unique flavor combinations like lemon rosemary, dark-chocolate toffee, pear and blue cheese, and strawberry balsamic with toasted pecans. We had added a small cold case during the remodel to house our daily concrete offerings. They had become so popular that on busy days we sold out by early afternoon no matter the season.
In a twist of fate, my friend Laney Lee had called to inform me that a seasonal space in Ashland’s up-and-coming Railroad District was available for lease. Laney owned a Hawaiian street food truck, Nana’s. We had become fast friends after I had tried her passion-fruit lemonade one hot afternoon last summer. She had been keeping her eye on the outdoor space adjacent to where she parked her cart on summer days. The lot in question was attached to a ground-floor yoga studio with an apartment above. It had been used as a walk-up coffee kiosk, but the owner of the coffee shop had jumped ship and moved to Paris, leaving the space unexpectedly vacant. Laney had initially hoped that the garden, with its sweet outdoor counter and small covered area with a fridge, cooler, and sink, might serve as a permanent location for her food truck. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. The city wouldn’t approve any upgrades for the site. Laney needed a stove and an oven to make her delicious fusion Kalua pork tacos and sweet and sugary malasadas.
She had called me a few days ago with the news that the seasonal space was about to go on the market. “Jules, you have to come take a look at this place. It’s perfect for Torte Two.”
“Torte Two?”
“Yeah, think about it. It’s a perfect opportunity to expand. You could do walk-up coffee, even bring pastries over from the bakeshop. This area gets great summer traffic. With exorbitant rent prices on the plaza, I think we’re going to see a lot more action here in the Railroad District.”
“That’s so nice of you to think of us, Laney,” I had said. “But we just finished a major expansion. I’m not sure a second location is in the cards right now.”
“Come take a look at the space,” Laney had pleaded. “I’ve had my truck here for ten years and I want to be neighbors with something complimentary like Torte—you would draw customers into the area with your name recognition alone. That would be great for you and for all of us trying to build a new shopping destination. I don’t want to see a big investor or corporate coffee take over. There are rumors swirling that a huge national chain is considering doing a build-out. They want to tear up the garden and turn the lot into a mega industrial coffee shop. We can’t let that happen. If you are even a little interested, I can put you in touch with Addie. She owns the property and I know she’d give you a deal. Plus, the space is only open from May until September. It would be a great way for Torte to hit a new market, and it’s really low risk.”
I had hesitated on the call. “I don’t know, Laney. We’re already short-staffed. I’m not sure we can take on another project, even if it is seasonal.”
“Opportunities like this don’t pop up often in Ashland, Jules.” Laney was nothing if not persistent. “You know that. Come by later this week. I’ll show you around and introduce you to Addie. She’s young and ambitious. Her yoga classes have attracted a lot of new faces to the Railroad District. She likes the idea of keeping the space a walk-up restaurant. No pressure, I promise.”
Laney had been convincing. I agreed to stop by and take a look—more than anything to get off the phone, which is how I found myself making the short half-mile walk from Torte to the intersection of Fourth and A streets on a spring afternoon.
Downtown Ashland was extremely walkable, with relatively flat streets and sidewalks. I crossed Main Street, with Andy and Sterling in tow, and passed the blue awnings of the police station. To call it a station was an exaggeration. It was a contact point in the plaza, staffed by three officers and Ashland’s park cadets who patrolled downtown and the surrounding parks on foot and by bike, handing out minor citations and alerting the police of any dangerous situations or criminal activity. The station looked more like a welcome center with its dish of water for dogs, stacks of maps, and window boxes with cheery germaniums. We continued along Water Street, paralleling Ashland Creek, which flowed heavy with snowmelt.
Andy was my resident barista who had recently opted to drop out of college in order to broaden his coffee knowledge. I wasn’t thrilled with his decision to leave school, but if I had learned anything in my thirty-plus years it was that we all have to follow our own path. Andy’s ultimate dream was to open his own coffee shop. Mom and I had assured him that we would support him in any way we could, from sending him to regional barista competitions and trainings to giving him a larger role in our vendor partnerships and more management responsibilities.
Copyright © 2021 by Katherine Dyer-Seeley.
copyright © 2021 by Katherine Dyer-Seeley.
