your neighborhood coffee shop

woman-owned, low-waste cafe serving espresso drinks, drip coffee, cold brew, tea, and local baked goods - employees are paid a living wage

hours

Tue-Fri 7a-3p

Sat-Sun 8a-4p

CLOSED MONDAYS

parking

we have 4 spots out front to the right of the shop - if those are full, you can park at King’s Red and White Grocery next door. they are amazing folks - please pay them a visit when you grab a cup of coffee!

A while back, on the second anniversary of her death, I wrote these words about my grandmother, Eva Mae:

It’s been two years today without Omie. I still lay awake at night and cry thinking of how deeply I miss her. I want to sit at her stained laminate kitchen counter and look at the cars go by and eat half a grapefruit with sugar sprinkled on top and drink a too-strong cup of coffee - something I never wanted when she was alive but would give anything for now. I want to lay my head in her lap and tell her about my week.

There’s a lot of her that I’m worried I might one day lose: the hill behind her house where we used to pick wildflowers and eat plums straight from the tree. The sound of a knock on her screen door. Swinging on the swing outside the shop and remembering the time Grandaddy killed that snake. Opening her freezer full to the brim of cakes she’d made years ago so we could share an ice cream bar she bought just for me. How she kept every happy meal toy we ever got on a shelf in her kitchen just in case we ever wanted to play with them again. With every day that passes I realize another thing we thought was just something silly she did was really to show us how much she cared. She loved me so deeply I could feel it in my body.

I feel her with me in the most mundane things: wiping down my kitchen counters after supper, turning the heater in our bathroom on for my daughter before bath time, grocery shopping for things I want to bake, taking the long way home to my partner’s parents’ house, her old Christmas decorations I put up last week.

I carry her with me always. I hope her love reflects through me for the rest of my life. I hope my daughter feels it, and my sisters and my parents and my husband feel it. Nothing would make Omie more proud.

Omie’s love was simple, but strong. She taught us that to build a life you were proud of could mean more than success, or status, or heroism: you needed only to love the people around you, and do that without condition. Her 92 years on earth were quiet, gentle, and profound. Since her death, I have longed to just “go to Omie’s” - a place of safety, refuge, and tenderness, where I knew I’d always be met with love. I hope that’s what Omie’s will embody for our community, and that for all who enter its doors, you are served with the love and kindness Omie instilled in me.