Harvest Festival at the Allis
It’s 7:29 a.m., Saturday, Oct. 8, and I’m enjoying the sparkling light bouncing off Lake Michigan, enjoying a fall Saturday smooshed with green and gold, plus a Brewers’ win last night, and to round things out, a visit to the first-ever Harvest Festival at the Charles Allis Museum, 1801 N. Prospect. The long hallway outside my condo door is decorated to the silly nines, mostly for the little boys who run up and down I, but I’m outta here, headed to the CA. Here’s an image of the route I take.
The craftspeople are setting up their booths; I’m an hour early. (The festival is a one-day thing, Saturday, Oct. 8, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m..) I linger to chat with Ann and Sue, sisters with adjacent space. Ann (Steinbach) is the Button Button Button lady. She makes and sells button flowers, magnets, jars, ornaments, cards, games, earrings, bracelets and pin cushions, and cozy fleece hats, mittens and scarves. I notice she’s not wearing any button stuff. “I’m too exhausted,” she says. She helped organize the event. Nearby, tickets are being sold for an October 29 Halloween Masquerade Party at Villa Terrace.
Everyone here seems to be selling something.
Inside the Grand Hall, and outside in the garden, artisans are selling everything from photographs to pottery to sculpture to scarves. In fact, scarves are everywhere, along with diverse selections of jewelry. Cathy Jalacic arranges a chunky amethyst necklace alongside one of slender silver. She helps shape the jewelry magazine for Kalmbach Publishing, and it’s clear she’s here to glean ideas and perhaps reap some inspiration.
She pitches the first Winter Glory Fine Craft Show, on Friday Nov. 18, at the Harley-Davidson Museum, then hands me a stick-on tattoo. Cathy is in her element.
Likewise, Mike Gregory (Banjos Made, Played and Repaired, firstname.lastname@example.org) and a charming woman (Alice Kasper of Madison) of a certain age (“age is humbling,” she observes), who is Mike’s friend. She’s trying to figure out how best to display jewelry on a round table.
I note handmade soaps in the next booth, but before I can reach for one, someone runs into the Grand Hall shouting, “whoever owns the blue Thunderbird convertible across the street is parked illegally and is about to be towed.”
That would be me.