Recently, I returned to my old stomping grounds of Solon, Iowa. I lived in Solon and ran its newspaper from 1980 to 2000, but have been mostly absent the past twenty years.
While enjoying a quaff — some things never change — a lady approached me and asked, “Hi, Brian, do you remember me?” I recognized her as someone I knew from back in the day but was not certain of her name. But somewhere in the sleepy synapses of my mind, one woke up and whispered to me, “try Mary, Mary Holubar.”
So I said, “Mary, right?” She replied with a smile and a nod yes. I felt good that I actually remembered something, an accomplishment that comes less often all the time. We spent a few minutes chatting about the usual things: kids, the weather, high school sports, etc. Then she offered that she heard that I had bee hives and asked if I would sell her some honey. Sure, I said, offering to call her later in the week. To make sure I didn’t forget I sent myself a quick email with the subject line “call Mary.”
I pass the farm of Ron and Mary Holubar all the time on the way to Bee Haven Farm, 40 acres of land where I’ve been playing farmer lately. So one day I stopped at their house, two quarts of honey in my hands. Mary wasn’t home, but Ron was. I explained about running into Mary, and he purchased one of the quarts. Then we spent a half hour talking about the usual things, as already listed.
Then, later that night, Mary reached out to me via the messenger feature of Facebook. “Thank you for stopping with the honey,” she wrote, “but I think you have me mixed up with someone else. I didn’t see you in town or talk to anyone about honey. I do like it though and can use it. Happy Holidays.”
Which begs three questions.
Who is the real Mary?
Why didn’t I think of this marketing scheme earlier?
What’s a quaff?
Looking for Mary
December 29, 2022