THE CIGAR MERCHANT 809 NW 7 Hwy in Blue Springs, Blue Springs, MO 64015

There are a few places that my husband goes that I would just assume not join him. One is the hardware store. Maybe I should be a little more open minded and desire to learn something from what seems to be hours that he spends selecting the perfect “molly” or a lag bolt, but frankly I’d just prefer to be at home cleaning the toilet or something. Until very recently I had the same opinion about a trip to the cigar store but The Cigar Merchant on 809 NW 7 Hwy in Blue Springs has offered a peek into something that I truly find intriguing.

When I entered into The Cigar Merchant for the first time I was struck first by the humidity. The main floor or showroom floor of The Cigar Merchant is maintained at about 70% relative humidity with a room temperature of about 68F (20C)  in order to provide the ideal environment for cigar storage. While some cigar stores have a walk in humidor The Cigar Merchant “is” a humidor. For a non-smoker or perhaps, I should say for an “uneducated nose” the aroma of the store is a bit overwhelming but from a visual standpoint I was completely “captured”. The wood floors and rows of shelved merchandise provide a warm and inviting environment that make a person like me want to touch, explore and learn.  I was aesthetically seduced.

A Mayan flask dated at around A.D. 700 was discovered to have held tobacco while numerous examples of Mayan artwork represent tobacco smoking. It seems that Mayans were the earliest users of tobacco and perhaps the Mayan name for smoking, Sikar evolved into the Spanish word Cigarro which led to the word Cigar. Tobacco use was a frequent part of the Mayas rituals and was believed to have supernatural qualities.

In 1492 when Columbus made his journey to the Americas tobacco was unknown in Europe. Columbus and his crewman introduced tobacco in the form of early cigars to Spain and its use spread to Portugal where the French ambassador Jean Nicot gave his name to nicotine. By the mid-16^th century tobacco was used throughout Europe. 

Tobacco growing has an enormously rich history intermingled with the use of slavery. While it is rather an unsavory part of history, it is no less interesting. It was in the former French Colony that is now Haiti that tobacco was grown in the nutrient rich soil and tended to by slaves who rose against the French which in turn forced the French to abolish slavery in 1794.

In the 1880’s early cigar manufacturer Spaniard Vicente Martinez Ybor, began to feel nervous about the political turmoil brewing in Cuba and settled his cigar operations near to what was then an economically struggling Tampa, Florida. Ybor built hundreds of little houses to attract Cuban cigar workers or tabaqueros which in turn attracted other cigar manufacturers. The employment demands of the cigar business eventually attracted Italians, Germans, Romanian Jews and Chinese to the area. This area came to be known as Ybor City, Cigar Capital of the World.

The earliest cigars, likely those smoked by Mayans, were simply tobacco wrapped in what was possibly a palm leaf. Today cigars are either rolled by hand, or manufactured by machines. While machine rolled cigars usually contain fillers like paper, preservatives and various chemicals, hand rolled cigars are made with pure tobacco. Not all hand rolled cigars are expensive and a tobacconist can offer assistance in not only choosing an affordable cigar but in offering advice in choosing a cigar that suits the taste of the consumer. 

Ordering cigars from the internet might seems like an efficient and affordable method of purchasing but the guidance of a good, well informed tobacconist is truly priceless. The Cigar Merchant of Blue Springs offers the knowledge and guidance of informed tobacconist but also offers a sort of camaraderie that the internet simply cannot. 

As a non-smoker I had an image of who or rather, what a cigar smoker is. While photos of JFK lost in thought, holding a cigar surrounded by a misty cloud of smoke might inspire mild heart palpitations, the image of Bill Clinton smoking a cigar brings about snickers in even the most devout of admirers. I personally attached cigar smoking to images of stodgy, middle aged men playing poker in stale smelling rooms. When my husband expressed an interest in cigars I was simply dumbfounded. The Cigar Merchant however has drawn me in and held my curiosity captive.

Ben Walker, the manager of The Cigar Merchant is part of the draw. He stands rather inconspicuously behind the glass counter and greets visitors with a nod. He appears to be part 20’s hipster/ part-arsty-punk. In fact he is a mid-30 something, well read, well informed, cigar aficionado. He is deliciously dry and fiercely loyal to his store. His right hand man is Drew. Drew appears very, very young, is clean cut and boyishly Midwest American looking. While he is all of the above he is in his mid- 20s. Drew is quiet but when he speaks he packs a punch of cigar knowledge. The Cigar Merchant stands alone in appearance, style and class. While other area stores pale in appearance or attract customers with parties and sparsely clad women, The Cigar Merchant is the real deal.

The Betrothed

By Rudyard Kipling

OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,

For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas—we fought o’er a good cheroot,               

And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a space;                

In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie’s face.      

Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving lass,    

But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.          

There’s peace in a Laranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay;         

But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away—

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown—        

But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o’ the talk o’ the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty—grey and dour and old—     

With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,                 

And Love’s torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar—

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket—              

With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred and black to the socket!   

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a while.         

Here is a mild Manilla—there is a wifely smile.  

Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring,         

Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?       

Counsellors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried,        

And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,          

Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,       

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,       

With only a Suttee’s passion—to do their duty and burn.           

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,          

Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.             

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,           

When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again.           

I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,       

So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.      

I will scent ’em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,                     

And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.        

For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between   

The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o’ Teen. 

And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear,               

But I have been Priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year;                  

And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light          

Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.               

And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove, 

But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o’-the-Wisp of Love.             

Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?          

Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?

Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew—         

Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?     

A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;               

And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.   

Light me another Cuba—I hold to my first-sworn vows.               

If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse!

Hope House (http://www.hopehouse.net/)

A few weeks ago my husband and I attended a benefit for Hope House of Kansas City (http://www.hopehouse.net/). Aside from the fact that my husband convinced me to dress for the 80’s theme instead of in cocktail attire, it was a lovely event. Hope House provides shelter to victims of domestic violence but it also provides so much more, such as therapy, court and legal programs, hospital based advocacy and training for law enforcement, social workers, hospital personnel and even corporations. Hope House provides services to over 10,000 victims a year.

If you are reading this on my Kansas City blog you might not know that I also have a blog that primarily addresses the issue of Violence against Women. You can find it here: http://ingridkeizerwilson.blogspot.com/. In most cases this is not a subject that people enjoy discussing. It is unpleasant and sometimes it strikes unbelievably close to home. However, it is an issue that occurs in epidemic proportions and if we don’t confront it, it won’t go away. 

A study performed by WHO (World Health Organization) indicates that one third of women worldwide are victims of domestic violence. WHO acknowledges that one third might significantly under-estimate this number because shame prevents women from sharing their experiences. I understand the element of shame in sharing. In what seems to have been another life and perhaps even another world, I was a victim too. I’m told that when we can speak or write about trauma we have learned to “deal with it”. I suppose that I haven’t learned to deal with it. Like the other blemishes that map my life, I tend to keep that part of my history concealed. 

There are elements of domestic violence that are evident to most people. It is dangerous to families and to communities, but there are other issues which are not so obvious and have far more long lasting effects. WHO has reported that domestic violence results in higher levels depression, drug abuse and alcohol abuse in victims. Women who are victims of domestic abuse are more likely to give birth to low birth-weight babies and children raised with domestic violence are more likely to be violent. None of these issues fade or heal with bruises and broken bones. All of these issues draw on community resources and demands for government funding. Perhaps the most disturbing fact is that the majority of women murdered each year, die at the hands of a partner who claimed to have “loved them”.

Like many women who are victims of domestic violence, I returned to my partner over and over and over again. It was easy for my friends and family to shake their heads in disbelief. They did not understand the emotional or financial vulnerabilities that go along with leaving. They could not hear the voice within me that said that on some level I must have deserved it.

There are a lot of things we can do to help prevent domestic violence in the future. We can break down barriers to gender equality. We can be persistent in advocating for affordable education for all people. We can help young women to understand the importance of establishing financial self-dependence. We can invest in affordable, quality early childhood education programs. And we can raise our daughters, nieces and sisters with the knowledge that they are valuable, that their opinions matter and with the confidence to understand that they are capable.

In the meantime we need to stop turning away from information that makes us uncomfortable. Domestic Violence exists in our communities. It exists in our neighbor’s homes, it exists in our colleagues lives and it might even exist within our own families. Pretending that we don’t see it doesn’t make it go away. Without the help of organizations like Hope House there is no refuge, there is no easily accessible, affordable legal advocacy, there is no assistance with mental health care and there is no training for community awareness. There are just 10,000 victims a year in the Kansas City area alone with nowhere to turn. 

There are things that you can do to help. Please visit  http://www.hopehouse.net/ to learn more.

Hitting The Chains With Some Bikers

My Nine year old son Eli, recently talked me into allowing him to take part in the 3^rd Annual Hitting the Chains for B.A C.A, a disc golf tournament fundraiser for Bikers Against Child Abuse held at Wilber Young Park in Blue Springs, Missouri. His gym teacher, introduced Eli to disc golf in kindergarten and over the last few years Eli has begun buying discs and experimenting with the sport. I must admit, when he asked to take part in the tournament I agreed reluctantly. I imagined sitting in the scorching sun slathering on sun screen and swatting at insects waiting impatiently for the event to the end. As it turned out, my expectations could not have been further from the truth.

In all honesty, my personal experience with disc golf consisted of a college boyfriend at KU who couldn’t seem to get enough of disc golf. As I recall our romance did not last long but from what I understand his interest in disc golf went on for decades. Although there seems to be some disparity in the information regarding the history of disc golf, it seems to have made its emergence in the 1960’s in the US. It’s popularity on the coasts and in college towns are most significant but over time it has become a more known and recognized sport in the US Midwest and internationally.

Perhaps most impressive in my perception was the Wilber Young Disc Golf Course. John Theiss, a Blue Springs teacher and Disc Golf enthusiast, designed the extensive course and along with a team worked to create the course over several years. The 18 hole course consists of a fairly intricate series of mostly mulched paths winding through the wooded area. Except for the wide paths that are kept mowed the area is kept natural. There are wild blackberry in bloom growing around tiny natural ponds (also known in disc golf lingo as “the drink”). The twisted and knobby looking Hedge Apple trees give the wooded area a sort of mythical look which led me to think that tiny gnomes might live tucked behind rocks and stumps, peering out to watch the tournament. From a nature lover’s perspective, it is a beautiful albeit technical course.

The event itself was really well organized and truly enjoyable. The competition was divided into categories according to skill level which included a separate category for women and one for children. The children were grouped in threes and accompanied by an adult expert level player who not only officiated but offered coaching and direction. My husband and I walked along and were amazed not only by the coaching offered but by the athleticism and skill level demonstrated by the children. The youngest was an eight year old who threw left handed. He was particularly intense and calculated, demonstrating to me that disc golf is not only a game of physical skill but of cerebral skill. Watching the adults throw was an experience unto its own. There is something graceful to be seen in the flight of skillfully thrown disc. The trajectory and velocity of a throw carried by force and assisted by an unanticipated gust of wind can leave one surprisingly breathless. 

Lunch was provided by the director of the event, Tom Henderson and his BBQ competition partners who call themselves, “Chinese Take Out”. My 9 year old, foodie son, who can critique aged imported Gouda and Fine Bleu cheeses with the best of them, inhaled his meal. The meal also provided a time for unity among the competitors who easily joined in comfortable conversation and easy laughter.

My favorite part of the day was an unexpected and delightful treat. After lunch we embarked upon the back nine. Upon reaching Hole 3,instructions we given to walk 20 feet to the property line where Bloody Marys were offered to adults and soda and cookies to the children. It was the perfect example of the cool sense of community offered by the day’s events.

The Disc Golf community is an eclectic collection of people from various walks of life camouflaged by the games earthy nature. There is no required attire, no stuffy corporate conversation and no greens fees. There was a group of people who came together to support a great cause. Best of all for a day, my son was not in front of a screen, he did not have a controller in his hands. He was running through the woods, soaking up the sun and communing with a great group of people. I just don’t think it gets much better than that.

To learn more about Disc Golf in Kansas City Visit:  http://kcfdc.org/



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