It’s the day before Thanksgiving. I’m standing in the middle of a line outside of a small farm store waiting to pick up my turkey. We are allowed in only one at a time, so Farmer Brown (yes, his real name), can speak to each of us. Our presence in line signifies we will be hosting or cooking a Thanksgiving meal. The ritual outside Farmer Brown’s small shop can extend beyond an hour, but no one minds. We fill our wait with conversation. We exchange information on the upcoming holiday, our plans, perhaps even share recipes. We look forward to our time outside Farmer Brown’s every year, as it becomes a part of our holiday celebration and its surrounding traditions. Unplanned and unexpected, a community has developed which meets yearly, and all who wish to participate are welcome. Thanksgiving indeed.
This unplanned communal celebration is not unique. The opportunity for meaningful social interaction is available in a variety of unexpected and unplanned spaces. From a line on the street, to the benches in a town center, even to small retail shops, certain informal public spaces bring people together and promote connection. And that connection at its best can become one of the underpinnings of democracy. In his 1989 book, The Great Good Place, urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg gave a name to these spaces. He calls them “third place”: first place being home, and second work.
According to Oldenburg’s theory, third place is as essential to community building as the more formal institutions of home and work. And they serve our individual well-being by cutting the isolation that plagues a world in which often technology, rather than humans, has become our best friend. For retired people who live alone, particularly elderly people who may have no family nearby, third space may be the only social space they encounter on a regular basis. When our supermarket cashier, for example, engages us in casual conversation while checking out our groceries, we feel seen. Though the cashier may not realize it, they are providing a social service along with the transaction.
One of the elements that makes Newburyport such a desirable place to live is its numerous and varied third spaces, devoted not merely to the capitalist ethos of money gathering, but to the more essential encounters of people gathering. From the fountains and playground at Inn Street, to the benches at the waterfront, to the seating along the Merrimack as one walks its route to Market Square, Newburyport is filled with too many iterations of the “great good place” to name them all. The intimacy generated through small private shops can also become a version of third space, providing a sense of belonging to a community.
Small independent bookstores are one version of these third places. Newburyport is very fortunate to have two of them: Jabberwocky Bookshop in the Tannery, and Illume in Market Square. Since book price is most likely not the reason for their growing popularity, what do these small bookstores offer us that online shopping does not?
In my first encounter with Jen, Illume’s proprietor, I praised the atmosphere in the store, although I did not at the time have a word for it. And then it struck me. Community is the word: not because of Illume’s size, curated books on a variety of subjects, or free events like book talks. All of these valuable elements combine with an attitude fostered by Jen and her daughter, Elle, that YOU are welcome HERE. That Illume is a community in which you need only appear to belong. The proof is in the welcome that pervades its atmosphere. If one goes often enough, other regulars begin to become familiar, names are exchanged, and stories are told.
The interactions sponsored by Illume and other third places bind us together. In creating opportunities for connection, conversation, and community, these spaces serve as democracy’s front porch. They can be anywhere that people gather, from a line outside a farm, to a park bench, to an indie bookstore. And if you’re looking for them, you’ll realize they are available all around Newburyport.