A Long Good Bye From Lake Marcel

Note: this post came from one of our favorite and loyal customers who lived near us.  We are grateful for them and wish them the very best!

Mike,

The House Blend grinder went on at six this morning, the way it has gone on most mornings since we found you in 2024. Only two years, which surprises me to write down. The kitchen swears it has been longer. Either way, seems like the right time to say something before the kettle stops whistling for good.

We are moving back to Sweden in September. Born there, half-lived there, and now the second half wants its turn. Morgongåva, north of Uppsala, in case you ever pass through. (You will not.) The dogs are coming. The grinder is coming. The bags of House Blend, sadly, cannot make the crossing in the quantities a person would prefer.

Let me set one thing straight. I am not a connoisseur. Your "Our Story" page has nothing to fear from me. I work from home, which means coffee is less a beverage than a steady drip, all day, strong, in serious quantities. Your House Blend has fed that vice without complaint for two years running. Tastes like coffee. That is harder to do than people pretend.

You wrote to us a while back to say thanks and to hope you could keep us caffeinated. You did. Every month, on time, in the same two black bags, with the same blend that does not need explaining. I should have written back then. I am writing now. Thanks for the work and the consistency. Thanks for the mug at four in the morning before a long hike, and the same mug at noon after coming back from one. Thanks for being four miles down the road. Thanks for being a husband and wife on a farm and not a brand. And thanks for signing your emails Roaster/Janitor, which tells me everything I need to know about how the place runs.

Sweden has coffee. Sweden has a great deal of coffee, most of it lighter than I want, some of it fine. None of it will be yours. I will think of you when I open whatever bag I end up with over there, and the thought will probably annoy whoever pours my cup.

If you ever find yourselves north of Uppsala in the dark months, the kettle will be on.

With genuine thanks,