Last orders at our temples of community

Connection: it’s about more than coffee

Once it would have been a church, perhaps, that was the soldering community presence in our midst, drawing us to it like moths to flame as we sought succour and warmth; but now it’s more often the god of coffee that gathers us close. Yet in these straitened times, with a financial chill through the air, is your little temple of community under threat? Can you imagine your local strip of shops without its coffee place, small supermarket, milk bar? What would this mean for your habit of conviviality, your ease of convenience?

These little places feel like the heartbeats of our communities, especially in the mornings before work and school. They’re local beacons that herd close a diverse group, drawing us in for supplies with a side order of connection as we dip from the well of local gossip before setting off into our lives, righted and readied. Especially now, hived as we are with backs bowed over screens; siloed from the cram of humanity with our addictive little rectangular hubs and so often, so very often, alone. These local resting places are givers. Of the rocket fuel that launches us into the day. Of smiles. Local employment. Chit chat and communion, in the true sense of the word, as a gathering place for the sharing of intimate thoughts.

Is your gathering place under threat? I can sense a softening in my local milkbar. It shuts at 3pm now, which means it misses the kids walking home from school, over generations, ducking in for their lollies. But I sense the desperation of staff shortages, and the time of the day when coffee isn’t sold is the most financially fragile. Yet when the milkbar closes each afternoon, too early now, it feels like a chill goes through the entire strip of shops because it has kept bustle and busyness in the area, kept the place alive. The open smile of its doorway invited customers in; shut in daylight feels like an affront. And the good people of this hub remember our coffee orders, dogs and kids; my lot have always known it is as the safe space of the ’hood. The owners have our number and their hours were kept conveniently late; it felt, to be honest, like a community service.

But the world is changing for businesses like this. A reader has sent in a notice from a wholefoods store in suburbia that’s just been put into liquidation by its owner, Nikki, who told her customers in a heartfelt missive that a hard decision was made even more difficult by the connection to community. She says Covid has accelerated change – many customers make coffee at home now and have groceries and meals delivered. “Business has been on the decline for too long,” she disseminated to her beloved customers, “and the rising cost of everything puts a small retailer between a rock and a hard place.”

Nikki explained, “Small local businesses like ours form an invaluable network in our local communities. They’re a little bit of the village square, a bit town plaza. They form part of people’s routines, their sense of belonging. They teach our children basic commerce and manners. They are just ‘there’ and that’s a comfort, especially in these times of much loneliness, depression and anxiety.”

The missive ends with a plea to help local businesses. “What I see, heartbreakingly, is that our society has unwittingly, bit by tiny bit, chosen convenience and instant gratification over the effort it takes to interact with the authenticity of people. If you know people running small businesses, please support them. Yes, sometimes you pay a little more, but look at it as an investment in your community vibrancy.”

These little local businesses that knit us together as a collective are so valuable to us. Imagine our neighbourhoods without them. “We pause to chat,” Nikki says, “give smiles and hugs, share laughs and life, exchange news, opinions, recipes and gifts even. We know your name.” How connecting is that.