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Message from Mary Miller

The Green Frog Cafe

By Mary Miller, minister of outreach

I have a fondness for a handful of words. Community. Communication. Common. Communion. They share this Latin prefix, com, meaning “with” or “together.”

Here on Brady Street, we share a common identity and purpose. We cherish the nature of community. We care about each other, so we communicate. We are nourished by a little bit of bread and wine: communion.

This brings me to the Green Frog Cafe in Palouse, Washington (pop. 1,011).

Late one summer afternoon, my husband Gerry, his daughter Jill, and I traveled Highway 27 to Palouse. A quiet village near the Idaho border, Palouse is surrounded by granite buttes and rolling fields of wheat and lentils. It’s a lush scene in early July.

Known for its unique local cuisine and homegrown music, the Green Frog Cafe has a motto: “To make Palouse a funner place!” What once was a dilapidated corner store is now an inviting hangout, with warm orange walls, a case of biscotti and pastries, and a mishmash of funky chairs hanging overhead. The menu changes from time to time, so we knew we were in for a treat.

On this day, cafe co-owner Tiana Gregg had opened up unexpectedly. It hadn’t been part of her plan. But two days shy of the Fourth of July, with people ambling around downtown Palouse, why not? She pulled out the sidewalk sign, opened the doors to the cafe, and turned on the overhead fans.

So what was on the Green Frog menu this night? “We have hot dogs,” declared Tiana. In her tight-fitting political campaign t-shirt, with short-cropped hair and tattoos, Tiana called the signals. As each person approached the counter, she fired off the same pleasant yet unshakable response: “Hot dogs.”

For two hours, the cooks doled out paper plate after paper plate, each topped with the identical combination: One hot dog in a bun. An ice-cream scoop of potato salad. Six to eight ruffle potato chips. A spoonful of coleslaw. One Oreo cookie. Each diner was treated to equal portions. From what was already in the kitchen, Tiana had made a meal.

And we ate it up — both the offbeat repast and the togetherness. It was all about “making Palouse a funner place,” after all. When the hot dogs and chips ran out, people happily ate double portions of potato salad from bowls.

Then the lights dimmed and the music began. “Everyone gets a chance,” said Tiana, laying out the loose rules for the evening’s fare. “Be quiet while people are playing.” Then amazingly, from the center of this little community of common hot-dog-eaters, person after person pulled guitar cases from under chairs or from behind a plant.

We had no idea who among us was the local, the tourist, or the musician. We were all one, each eating one hot dog and one Oreo cookie.

Each musician took a turn singing three songs, no more, no less. Some were dazzling artists — among them Tiana, a serious singer-songwriter in her own right. A few were woefully off-key. Some debuted their own compositions; others had the room singing along to country, rock, and show tunes.

A single woman sipped a glass of wine. A man, surely a professor from nearby Washington State University, danced with his wife and daughter. A young man slouched, hiding behind his hair. Each one seemed to belong. And when the chatter of one tableful of raucous friends rose above the music, Tiana stepped in. “Be quiet,” she repeated firmly. Every musician deserved the respect of the room.

Softly, a duo began to sing John Lennon’s Imagine. We added our voices, swaying to the familiar lyrics. A lanky man with a shaved head rose from the crowd, dancing an illuminated orb along his outstretched arms, from fingertip to fingertip and back again. “...Imagine all the people, sharing all the world. You may say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will live as one.”

On that evening at the Green Frog Cafe, we formed a community. We parked our self-centeredness on the sidewalk. We shared a common meal and a common language of song. We welcomed and celebrated equally the gifts and presence of each person. We sensed that everyone mattered.

Imagine!

Contact:

Mary Miller,

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