We can strategize and configure. Position ourselves to maximize the odds in our favor. But there’s always an element of chance.
The revered Sunrise of Hawaii, has been so sought after, that this rare shell has become even more hard to find simply resting upon the beaches. Not wanting to wait until they wash ashore, treasure-seekers often dive into the ocean trying to uncover these gems from the depths.
So simply stumbling upon one of these precious shells in a lazy stroll along the sand…well, that discovery is one sweet surprise, making our chance encounter just that much more delightful.
Such was my meeting with this Sunrise shell, featured as the Note Card of the Week. A treasured gift offered up from the sea to me. I’m happy to continue the sharing with you!
I will be incorporating more Hawaiian shell note cards in the Love Letters Press shop in the days to come.
Here’s to the precious treasures that cross our paths!
Creating these cards makes me smile. Sharing them with you brings me happiness. Knowing that you may pass them on to someone you love, well, that’s just a beautiful thing.
All cards are hand-made, with care, on recycled paper.
My first craft fair vending experience is now officially complete.
For those following along, my last post outlined Part One of this vending endeavor, which entailed me bringing my photography note cards to sell at my first craft fair, held at the Kauai Veteran’s Center this past Saturday.
On the morning of, the Bohemian, my escort, rose with a smile, even though it was 5am and his day off work. He drove us to the veteran’s center, where retired military planes were grounded as sentries on the front lawn. We were one of the first arrivals to see the nineteen empty tables waiting in rows, filling about half the space of the hall.
I was assigned the odd one. As in, the nineteenth table outside the rows, sticking out from the rest like a panhandle. The Bohemian took it as luck, reasoning that I was out of the lines and better seen from the front entrance. And besides, he pointed out, I was the table positioned closest to the food counter, where the donuts and coffee were being sold. Surely, everyone would be passing my wares on their way to breakfast.
note the precise timing of breakfast into lunch, as well as the backwards 3 as an E in Pepsi – love it!
One seasoned vendor, a slight woman in her sixties, with a silk plumeria clipped in her hair, snatched up the Bohemian right away, requesting he assist her in unloading her car. She’d had surgery on her wrist recently, and needed help lifting boxes to her cart. So while he helped her move jewelry cases, I opened up my solitary storage box and began set up.
By 7:30, all tables were to be “public ready.” Most were, as the nineteen representing vendors filtered into the hall, transforming their stations with rote-like automation. Some whipped out smartphones with high-tech accessories attached for credit card swiping. I held my grandmother’s old evening-bag clutch, inside of which I’d placed cardboard dividers between my ones, fives, tens and twenties. I hadn’t thought anyone would want to pay by credit card.
The coffee was brewed and wafting from the kitchen close to me. The Bohemian was now troubleshooting the jewelry vendor’s boom box on the floor by a wall outlet. I could hear her saying something about how studies had shown that certain music made shoppers more likely to buy. A bit more fiddling ensued, and soon some kind of Celtic-riverdance-meets-Andean-pan-pipes began booming out from the portable radio.
Mission accomplished, the Bohemian walked towards me, smiling, giving his shoulders a half-shrug, affirming the tunes. “It’s nice.”
What wasn’t nice, was that the compact disc chosen to play, had only three tracks set to repeat. And I kid you not, those same three instrumentals played in the background for the entire six-hour event, non-stop. So ingrained in my being by day’s end, that once back home and showering, I thought I heard the haunting sounds again, only to realize it was simply the sound of water in the drain triggering the phantom echo.
This craft fair event was held on a day filled with numerous island festivals on every shore. But despite the competing activities, the crowd that passed through our half-empty veteran’s hall was respectable in numbers. At least to my novice eye.
I didn’t sell everything I brought, but I sold a fair amount. More than the sales, however, was getting to see people experiencing the images on the cards. It was great fun for me to watch shoppers flipping through my stack of note cards with ooh’s and ahh’s. Someone would look at the photo of the purple cauliflower, and just like me in the moment I’d taken the shot, they were ‘wowed’ by it. People paused to take a look. Stopped to see something small and ordinary. Appreciated it.
Whether someone bought a card or not, many seemed to get a little happiness just by looking at the images. That, I very much enjoyed.
By the end of my inaugural vending affair, I was wrapping up my goods with some cash in hand and plenty of new gifts. The Bohemian had bought me a shell necklace and earring set (a mother’s day gift, care of the jewelry vendor with the poor DJ skills). Another vendor gifted me two of her handmade bracelets, kindly saying that she hoped I would come to every craft fair they had. The crafter at my neighboring table, offered one of her denim patchwork bags, sewn for the purpose of holding rubbish in the car.
Did I survive to vend again? Most definitely. I made it out of that first-time craft fair experience alive and well. Will I dip my toe back in those merchant waters? Maybe.
Not sure I’d do the veteran’s hall venue again. But it was a kind and gentle pool for this newbie to wade into.
That’s the Bohemian next to me in the dark. It’s past bedtime and I’m draining my brain of the last bits of random thoughts, asking his advice.
I’ve recently learned of a craft fair soon to take place on our island, and I’m wondering if I should actually get a table and share my photography note cards. The deadline to submit an application is approaching. Newbies, must enter their craft to be juried.
The Bohemian’s bedtime affirmation seals the deal. I enter my cards. I receive approval and an application. I submit necessary paperwork. I download free online guides offering advice on what to bring to a craft fair. I steep myself in inventory management.
I have never been much of a craft fair shopper, and except for that one summer in Massachusetts when I sat with my friend and her hand painted silk scarves, I have never been a vendor at one.
Now, I have about 200 note cards, and a box packed with tape, glue, pens, (a ton of one dollar bills), and a variety of table accessories. I am officially selling my wares at an event I know little about, on a day that seems to be jam-packed with festivals, fairs and gatherings, island-wide. If you’re looking for something to do on Kauai on May 10th, well, take your pick.
This day before Mother’s Day, there will be music at the Bay, orchids at the mall, a centennial celebration at the County building, and a rally of activists to garner signatures placing a non-GMO charter amendment on the ballot. If none of that suits you, you can choose from at least four craft fairs occurring at each compass point of the island. And if you’re in the mood, they’ve even fired up the old-fashioned plantation train and are offering free rides for what is now being deemed, “Train Day.”
Or, of course, you could come by the Kauai Veteran’s Center and visit me.
I’ll be the one surrounded by craft fair masters, hoping they will be kind as I fumble my way through a virgin table set-up. I’ll have the Bohemian there for steadiness and humor. But after a certain time I know he will tire of vending, and I’ll lose the draw of his good looks to the aisles of nearby Home Depot. To tell the truth, I wouldn’t blame him for stopping by the lawn of the County building for the free food and hula.
In the end, I know the outcome doesn’t really matter in this crafting/selling venture of mine. I’m in it for the experience, and any scenario will at least provide for a great story (which will make its way here to the Archives, I’m sure).
It’s been with great pleasure over this last year that I’ve been gifting these note cards to friends and family. Putting an array of them out on a table for display is just another way of sharing the love. Making connections.
For the Archives 