They had just finished sprucing up the shop. Walls and trim were freshly painted. They’d replaced some shelving and hung a vintage photograph of family ancestor, Greg Bredin’s dad, who’d originated the business. And probably best of all, they’d re-framed and re-hung some of their favourite bakery puns.
“Sorry for being flakey,” one read after they remodelled. “We’ve been procrusti-baking.”
Some of their slogans were also strategically placed around the bakery counters and display cases, including, “Have you tried a Bredin donut? If not, we understand. They sell out within an hour and a half every Saturday.”
But the one sign that caught my eye, the first Saturday I arrived after their store reno, had big black lettering identifying “Bredins Bakery” on the back wall.
And I – the 24/7 editor – asked Bev, “What about the apostrophe in Bredin’s?” She told me that the lettering kit didn’t have an apostrophe. And I promised I’d find one to complete their sign…
For a couple of generations, Bredin’s provided both staple and decadent baked goods for the town of Uxbridge. Everything from fresh white bread to treats ranging from gingerbread to hot-cross buns to donuts and (my favourite) cinnamon buns.
As long as we’ve lived here, every week from Tuesday to Saturday the Bredin family did it all – making every trip to their bakery on Brock Street an aromatic and delectable one. Then, a couple of Saturdays ago, Greg and Bev suddenly announced they were closing. I was away that week, but they tell me that last Saturday people were lined up around the block and by closing time all that was left were a few loaves of bread.
A main-street business that had given this community healthy food, sweet-tooth delicacies but mostly hometown allure … was suddenly gone.
But more than a family tradition and tasty treats have now disappeared. So has an employer who generally hired locally; most of us have known each and every one of Bredin’s counter staff over the years.
Everybody claims that small business is the backbone of any community. Whether butcher, bookstore, boutique or bakery, if the people who run these retail and service outlets are also our neighbours, it’s more than business. It’s familiarity. It’s local ownership (not absentee landlords). It’s pedestrian-friendly sidewalks or (during the pandemic) patio gatherings.
Study after study has shown that family-owned and -operated enterprises offer long-term sustainability and stability especially during economic downturns, or as in the past 19 months, during the pandemic.
Not so long ago, I was rereading a small publication assembled by The Senior Scribes of Uxbridge. In Uxbridge 200 Through the Years, Catherine Midgley offered musings from her family’s memories of walks along Uxbridge’s main thoroughfares. Most stores on Brock Street had family names attached: Crosby’s, MacPhail’s and Brownscombe’s were grocery stores, while Griffith’s and Watson’s were butcher shops.
“I remember going for my mother to Watson’s,” Catherine wrote, “to purchase 25 cents worth of steak … and they gave (me) a piece of suet to fry the meat.”
But the value of locally owned and operated shops goes much deeper than family names out front. Their owners grow roots. They give back. They sponsor sports teams and arts festivals. And they spark community spirit that has no price tag.
I remember the weekend when Barb and George Pratt moved Blue Heron Bookstore from Church Street to its current location. I think every customer the store had ever served showed up on moving day to help the Pratts move books, shelves, counters and display cases the several hundred yards to its Brock Street West location. Blue Heron was ready for business Monday morning.
In some respects, the Barris family might never have landed in this town were it not for the generosity of a local entrepreneur. Many will remember Harry Hudson, who, back in the 1980s ran the Esso gas station. Harry also rented vans and trailers on the side, one of which he brought in especially so we could move our more fragile belongings to our new home in town. Harry even helped carry boxes into the house.
It was like an excerpt from It’s A Wonderful Life, when Mary Bailey presents Mrs. Martini with bread on the doorstep of her new house in Bedford Falls, “that this house may never know hunger” and salt “that life may always have flavour.”
Losing Bredin’s on our main street doesn’t mean we’ll suddenly go hungry, or suddenly be without bread; but it’s the flavour – in so many respects – that will be absent. I’ll now have to search high and low for the flavour Bredin’s gave me in my Saturday morning cinnamon buns.
And I’ll never be able to return the favour – providing their Bredin’s sign with that omitted apostrophe.