A cure to BadJuju Birkenstocks at the Pottery Market
To start, this is in no way a call to condemn Birkenstocks. You should know I am very much a Birkenstock girl-y; it’s me and my Arizonas against the world. They come with me on every impulsive beach trip and kayak adventure, taking in the scenery atop the boat while I paddle on. However, these peaceful adventures together recently came to an end, as the last few weeks have taken interesting turns. Four, sharp, turns, to be exact. I had to throw these away within two months because there was evil afoot, literally. These shoes ended up being cursed, pure evil. I know, tossing shoes due to the fear of the bad luck that resides in them sounds absolutely insane, but I had to.
First Turn
I cut myself on glass not once, not twice, but four times wearing these. A scar on my left leg lives to tell the tale, the rest told by my feet. Bandage after bandage, cuss after cuss, I had had enough with the curses. I needed a new solution, and I was worried simply buying a new pair wouldn’t be enough. The first three slashes were at my apartment, as my roommate had broken one of our glass pitchers. But the fourth slash is when I put my foot down, even though I physically couldn’t.
The fourth time was at the infamous Piggly Wiggily. Yes, this bloody and gruesome event went down at the Piggly Wiggily—and this little piggy limped all the way home. Today was already not my day. I had driven two hours to St. George Island Beach for a beach day with friends. But a few minutes after I arrived, I got word that the plans fell through, and no one had even started driving. I pondered what to do next; I couldn’t go in the water if I wanted to, the previous cuts still fresh. I decided to turn right back around and stop for some gas at the Piggly Wiggly before getting off the island. When I arrived at the gas station, I parked at the only pump in the lot. I fumbled and struggled with the pump handle, reluctant to give me gas. I was frustrated and almost gave up.
“Ma’am!” I looked behind me to see a younger man in a truck waving to me. “You have to lift the lever first!” he laughed. I realized this was clearly written in the instructions…in bold font. I wanted to crawl under a million blankets and never leave, so I didn’t.
I re-parked after filling my tank to go inside to buy some road trip snacks and take a picture of the larger-than-life pig statue. This pig, this statue, was purely satanic— and not in a fun way. As soon as I opened my door and put my foot on the pavement, I yelped in pain. This can’t be happening again, I thought. I immediately leapt back onto the driver’s seat to examine my foot. This can’t be possible, I took a total of four steps getting gas, and Birkenstocks are curved upwards. Did someone place this glass in my shoe? Did it grow legs and shelter in my sole? Either could be possible—I’ve been to gas stations hundreds of times in my life.
Second Turn
I took off both my Birkenstocks and absolutely launched them into the back seat as I clutched my right foot. I flung the glass as far away from my car as possible and slammed my door shut. I’m going to be honest guys, I absolutely lost it. The family leaving their car to go inside next to me saw my meltdown, and I think I scared them. I took a deep breath and grabbed the first aid kit I had on deck, because it never leaves my side anymore. I bandaged my foot until it looked like a mummy for my long drive ahead. I got back on the road with no Arizona sandals nor tea, no Muddy Buddies.
My arrival home and recovery were more tranquil. I meditated and sat with the idea of bad luck, bad energy, and made my decision to progress my spiritual journey to conquer this—after eating bacon out of spite, of course. I’ve always felt that one already has all the answers within; answers found inward in relation to spirituality are always the truest. I decided to go to my favorite metaphysical store in Tallahassee like going to the grocery store with hunger and no list. A craving for buffalo chicken dip, a craving for spiritual growth.
After buying my herbs and ethically grown sage, I of course had to find something unique to hold and display this new purchase. I combed through visit-Tallahassee websites and stumbled upon the Pottery Market at the United Church of Tallahassee. It was like a sign from the universe; I didn’t care if I had to Penguin-walk there. Being at a huge pottery market is dangerous for my wallet—well, being outdoors in general is dangerous at this point. However, my wallet walked away more undamaged than my feet. I somehow restricted myself and only bought two items. Will I be doing this at the next Pottery Market? Probably not.
Third Turn
On the day of the Pottery Market, I slowly drove down Mahan Drive to find my turn, windows down to take in fresh air. I soon saw the church and that it was tucked away behind a forest of trees as I turned into the lot. The long branches interwove together; the leaves whistled along wind chimes in the distance.
Inside was quaint and trapped in time. When I went into the first room, I was greeted with warm lighting and that perfect vibe you get when you walk into a home stuck in 2008. There were just over ten tables with various styles of pottery. The first table I encountered, Dog Dog Studios, immediately caught my attention due to the personality that shined through the unique pieces (@DogDogStudios). These pieces were made by Jasmine Summer, a local ceramist in Tallahassee. There was a large theme of smiley faces that resembled Jasmine’s contagious and bright smile. While indecisively browsing through her collection, I learned that Jasmine also teaches a pottery throwing class at Tallahassee Clay Arts. I immediately launched at this idea, as taking an art class is my favorite solo-date activity.
Her display also included many mugs, dishes, grocery bag plant holders, and bowls. I loved the mugs, their unique, elongated handles and abundance of smiley faces. But when my eyes locked with a purple dish plate, I found myself smiling too. This dish was beautiful and would be perfect to put my sage on. It was made with someone’s own hands, someone I connected with. To me, that is a perfect dish for spiritual usage. I was determined to connect to the beyond by going above and beyond in finding a cure for my Bad-Luck-Birkenstocks. I decided on this dish and, of course, had to get one of her smiley face bowls. She wrapped my dishes with care and placed them in the cutest gift bag with her Dog Dog logo, smiles in the “o”. Jasmine also placed adorable logo stickers inside for me.
Another table that caught my eye was Rachel and Micah Holmbeck’s pottery (@hearthandholmbeck). The table was decoratively scattered with dishes and small animal bones; the mugs were displayed in and on top of small wooden crates. I was initially skeptical and curious about the bones and, upon further examination, realized that the prints and patterns on the ceramic plates were that of these bones. Micah shared stories about his hikes in Tallahassee and Northern Florida, and that he found these bones along the trails. Every bone displayed was once used to press patterns into clay.
Fourth Turn
My market adventure came to an end after I made a few more loops and met so many more amazing ceramists. I was sad to leave, but I immensely enjoyed this experience and connecting with this art-niche in Tallahassee. When I got home, I immediately dug through the bag and unwrapped each dish like an eager child unwrapping Christmas presents. The alignment and perfect timing of this purchase gave me the strength to conquer my greatest fear: the new Arizona Birkenstocks I bought not too long ago sitting in the corner of my room, still in its box.
I cleansed my Birkenstocks, the smoke entangling and wrapping around the sandal. The wafts of sage lingered as I looked for the perfect spot for my new pottery dish, eventually displaying it on my wall’s black shelf. I placed my sage on it, the leaves still warm. This would only be temporary, for I ordered a new metal shelf, a classic hot-girl-room staple. The abundance of metaphysical objects, trinkets, and tea collection was overflowing in my three-tier rolling cart that doubled as a nightstand. It was time to invest in a new display, ushering in the opportunity to grow my collections and spirituality, and to seek out more pottery dishes to hold them. I’m already signed up for Jasmine’s beginner pottery class and am constantly on the lookout for the next Pottery Market, one I’ll attend in my fresh Birkenstocks.
Written by Eve Murrdick
Edited By Aidan Little and Hope Fell
Graphic Design by Hope Fell
