While we carry sidelines (i.e., non-book items) from all over the world, it’s a special pleasure to stock toys, stationery, journals, gifts, greeting cards, etc., from local folks.
Every Christmas, my sister gives me either a small calendar or a packet of fine letterpress stationery on the most toothsome paper. They are made by ZoëInk, a Burlington designer whose aesthetic is delicious. The website gives just the tiniest taste of the range of designs available; suffice it to say that they are tasteful, bold, restrained, whimsical, and deeply pleasing to the eye.

The first year, my sister gave me a little calendar, which I cherished. The next year, she gave me a packet of slate-blue-on-cream stationery I loved so much I had to save one unsent card for myself. The third year, it dawned on me that (1) this artist was local and (2) I happened to own a bookstore that carries stationery, so (3) it might be possible to share ZoëInk with lucky customers year-round.
It took me a couple of years of wooing, because it turned out that Zoë didn’t sell through stores. She didn’t want to become an “operation,” churning out mass amounts of stationery. I respected that. So we struck a trial deal: I’d come to her studio mid-December, timed so that I wouldn’t cut too much into her public studio sales days, and choose several styles of cards and stationery. I dedicated an entire side of one of our handsome Lucite spinners to her cards, and Zoë printed up a sign for it. Not surprisingly, sales went (and continue to go) gangbusters, and I was proud to provide the first retail home for this local artist’s work. I love visiting her studio to replenish our supplies; in addition to being a crackerjack designer, Zoë’s a delightful person.
This week, as I was heading out from her place with a shopping bag full of new goodies to take to the Flying Pig, Zoë said, “Want to see something really cute?” I did. She took me to the front of the studio, where a stroller I hadn’t noticed earlier turned out to hold a sleeping toddler — who was, as promised, really cute. “She’s not mine,” Zoë said. “She’s hanging out with me in the air-conditioned studio. Her mom is a friend. Her studio is down the hall. Do you know her? Maureen?”
Know her? Not personally, but I’d been wanting to carry her work in my store for a few years, as well. How serendipitous was it that Zoë not only knew her, but could introduce me? I left that day with not one but two armloads full of fabulous new sidelines for the store, and the kind of glow — personal, connected, engaged, invigorated — that is a pleasure unique to shopping locally.
Readers, what treasures can you find only (or mostly) locally? What sidelines do you most love in your local bookstores?