Next to a railroad track on the southern side of the county Nancy Martin makes doughnuts, huckleberry shakes and muffins, espressos and sandwiches for her neighbors. Rising early every morning, she makes her way to The Windmill Village, a few hundred yards from her home, where she begins a day of baking.
Her fluffy glazed doughnuts are homemade, along with the other edibles she sells. She starts the first batch of doughnuts when she makes her way into her bakery, just after counting her eight baby lambs and seven adult sheep.
“I bake all day long to keep the cupboards full,” she says over a sweet drink on a breezy Saturday afternoon.
Most of the customers that come into the Village know Nancy in some personal capacity, just as she knows them. In the course of an hour, mid-day Saturday, more than six people come into her shop. The small-town atmosphere and neighborly exchange is something that can’t be found in a big-city deli, or notorious coffee house franchise. Nancy has a casual and personal demeanor, her shop a quaint and unique feel.
She does what she does well, serving her clients a piece of herself with every “how are you” and plate of perfection.
“I can’t wait until the preacher hears that church bell tomorrow,” one wide-eyed woman tells Nancy, her electrically strung hair matching her high voice.
“You didn’t tell him about the bell?” Nancy asks.
“Nope,” she says. The woman goes on to buy a drink and stays for a few moments to continue the expressive conversation about the local preacher. The woman’s enthusiasm can only be matched by the said “loud church bell,” but is tempered a bit when she purchases a few potted flowers sitting outside the store.
Also outside are additional customers soon to arrive, craving a slice of the goodness within.
One gentleman brings his 7-year-old grandson into the store, who takes a few good-hearted jabs at guessing his grandfather’s age. As the boy talks of seniority, he also talks of a wooden hand-carved toy race car, tempting him on a shelf close by.
As everything in the store is locally made, these particular treasures come from Vernon Tiensvold, a retired man from the local town of Arlee.
After Nancy and Dave moved into their unique home, a windmill Nancy slept in while at camp in her youth, her husband and brother-in-law built the bakery. She sold her items at a farmer’s market before, and said her store was a little barren nine years ago when the construction was completed.
“What are you gonna do with it now?” her husband asked her when it was finished.
“I don’t know,” she said.
But that quickly changed, and grand thoughts of interior decorating began to find little room in her sweet bakery.
Curious neighbors wandered into the bakery when it first opened. As they began to sample Nancy’s edible delectable, they asked if she would care to house their carefully crafted gifts.
“The customers built it,” Nancy said of her bakery. Now cards, posters, jewelry, scarves, knickknacks and other gifts fill the unique store, filling the right space with the right stuff.
The items in the store are local, the customers local, the feel local.
Next to the sheep in the field adjacent to the bakery — whose wool is spun by a neighbor and some sold in Nancy’s bakery —there is a pond of rainbow trout. And next to the pond is a window where “a general nuisance” sits, sipping a cup of morel mushroom soup.
His name is Alan Howes, and he has been helping Dave expand the bakery’s driveway all afternoon.
“I’m not really helping,” this friend explains while reclining in a stool chair among the company of familiar friends, not a worry on his mind. Alan’s back is against the window, his black leather vest and pants add to his cowboy charm, which is matched by his sharp wit. “I usually come down here and play guitar and waste their time,” Alan explains to a shy girl.
Nancy’s 9-year-old Australian Shepherd “Blue” is not as vocal as Alan, but he is just as friendly.
“He thinks people come here to see him,” Nancy says, looking at the oversized teddy-bear who has carefully positioned himself in the line of traffic. “They lay right in front of the door so everyone can see them.”
Just when Nancy and Blue believe they’ve seen everyone, and everyone’s seen Blue, they get a new visitor.
“People always say they’ve been meaning to stop by,” she says of the unfamiliar faces.
They soon become familiar. Palatable goodies draw quirky personalities to the pleasant Village where something’s always baking and friends always sharing.
