07/13/2026
Brewed Acres: Before the Café Stories
Jitter
I had a good childhood.
Nothing flashy. Nothing extraordinary. Just good parents who loved me, taught me to work hard, be respectful, and leave things a little better than I found them. I was the kid who stayed behind after the picnic to help fold tables. "Yes, sir." "No, ma'am." "Thank you." Those weren't rules in our house as much as they were simply how we treated people.
I loved spending time with my friends, but if I'm honest, I also enjoyed hanging around the adults. They had stories. They talked about life, about work, about family, and I found myself listening more than talking. Looking back now, I think I've always been wired that way. I noticed when someone felt left out. I noticed when somebody was carrying more than they should. I couldn't always fix it, but I usually wanted to try.
That never really changed.
As we all got older, the problems simply got bigger.
When friends were fighting, somehow I became the one everyone called. When marriages were struggling, I'd spend evenings listening. When someone needed help moving, I showed up with a truck. When a friend wanted to start a business, I'd burn vacation days to help them get off the ground. Sick parents. New babies. Broken-down cars. Last-minute emergencies. It seemed there was always someone who needed another pair of paws, and I honestly didn't mind.
Helping people filled me up.
I thought that meant I could never pour too much.
Turns out, I was wrong.
The business opportunity came from someone I'd known for years. Not a close friend exactly, but close enough that I believed I knew his character. His idea actually made sense. Every squirrel spends hours gathering nuts, shelling them, storing them, and hoping they'll still be there when winter comes. We thought, what if we built a facility that did all of that better? A place where nuts could be shelled, stored properly, protected from spoilage, and ready whenever families needed them.
It sounded like one of those ideas that could genuinely make life better.
A few people quietly pulled me aside.
"Be careful."
"I wouldn't trust him with your savings."
"He's got big dreams, but someone else always seems to pay for them."
I remember smiling and telling them they just didn't know him like I did. Or maybe I just believed that if things ever started slipping, I'd be able to hold everything together.
At first, it was exciting. Machines arrived. Investors believed in us. We hired good people. We talked about expansion before we'd even finished building.
Then little things started happening.
My partner was always somewhere else.
He was "meeting with investors."
He was "closing deals."
He was "bringing in the next big customer."
Meanwhile, I was opening the building every morning and locking it every night. When equipment broke, I fixed it. When someone called in sick, I filled in. When payroll got tight, I found a way. Every problem somehow landed on my desk.
When my partner came back around, he always had another explanation.
Another promise.
Another reason we just needed to hang on a little longer.
What I didn't notice right away was that while I was getting more exhausted every week...
..he somehow looked better than ever.
Flick noticed.
She always notices.
Almost every week she'd stop by with spreadsheets, receipts, inventory reports—anything she thought might help me see what was happening. She never criticized me. Never once said, "I told you so." She'd just quietly point at the numbers and say, "Jitter... these don't work."
I'd nod. Then I'd go work another sixteen-hour day. Because that's what helpers do.
When something isn't working...
..we give more.
More hours. More effort. More patience. More hope. More of ourselves. Coffee helped at first. Or at least I thought it did. One cup became two. Two became an entire pot and more.
Eventually I was drinking cheap freeze-dried coffee because it was all I could afford. I wasn't drinking it because I enjoyed it anymore. I was drinking it because every cup bought me another hour. And every hour carried this little promise that maybe tomorrow would finally be the day everything turned around.
Tomorrow never came. The money disappeared. Good people left because they had families to feed. Great ideas died before they ever had a chance.
The business quietly folded, and somewhere along the way I'd stopped recognizing the squirrel staring back at me in the mirror.
Then one morning my body made the decision I wouldn't.
It quit.
I collapsed. I wish I could tell you there was some dramatic moment where I suddenly understood everything. There wasn't. I was just tired.
Bone tired.
The kind of tired sleep doesn't fix. What hurt the most wasn't losing the business. It wasn't even losing my savings. It was realizing that I'd spent so many years being the one everyone leaned on that I no longer knew who I was when nobody needed anything from me.
That's a lonely place. Most people moved on. Life does that. Flick didn't. She kept showing up. Sometimes she'd bring food. Sometimes she'd balance paperwork I couldn't even look at anymore. Sometimes she'd simply sit beside me without trying to fix anything. Eventually she convinced me to spend some time at a convalescence facility. I fought her on it at first. I thought resting meant quitting.
She reminded me that broken things aren't repaired by pretending they aren't broken.
Recovery wasn't fast. It wasn't dramatic. It looked like eating real food again. Taking walks. Sleeping through the night. Learning that coffee should be something you savor, not something you use to outrun exhaustion.
And little by little… I came back. Not the old me. A better me.
It wasn't long after that I wandered into the Free the Bean Café. I remember asking Freebie if there was anything I could do to help.
He smiled.
"I don't need anything from you today."
I honestly didn't know what to do with that answer.
"So... what should I do?"
He slid a fresh cup of coffee across the counter.
"Drink your coffee."
I laughed.
"And then?"
He smiled.
"Drink it slower."
Funny how one sentence can change your life.
I'm still a helper. I always will be. I still believe serving others is one of the greatest things we can do. But these days I've learned something I wish someone had taught me years earlier.
If you spend your whole life filling everyone else's pantry...
..don't forget to keep a few nuts for winter. Because even helpers need help sometimes. And thanks to Flick, Freebie, and the family I found at the café...
I finally learned that accepting help isn't weakness. Sometimes it's the bravest thing you'll ever do.
