When I moved to Needham in 1988, I took a walk downtown to familiarize myself with the place and wandered into Harvey’s Hardware, an absolute miracle of space utilization. It seemed to have every widget and doodad even vaguely hardware related in a space about the size of a broom closet. If you were looking for a detonator for a nuclear weapon, you could probably find it at Harvey’s next to the plumbing supplies.
Since moving to Plymouth a few months ago, I’ve made a few visits to downtown, but decided I should spend some time taking a very slow walk to see what idiosyncratic or plain interesting places, like Harvey’s, I might find.
The day before my walk, I met fellow Independent columnist Bill Forniciari at Añejo, the gorgeous Mexican restaurant in the old Fire Station No. 1 (and former home to Sam Diego’s, among other restaurants), which is owned by the town. Bill grew up here and has an encyclopedic knowledge of all things Plymouth. I wanted to pick his brain. The space has undergone a dramatic interior restoration over the years, with its arresting central staircase of gleaming wood as a centerpiece. Añejo opened last year and has been attracting huge crowds ever since. The taco salad was excellent and the ambience airy and upscale. If Plymouth becomes the next hot New England coastal town – think Portland, ME, or Portsmouth, NH – it will be because of places like this.
On my first stop the next day I had the same sense of awe and delight I got at Harvey’s Hardware when I wandered into the Plimoth General Store. Located in the old Plymouth National Bank building, it’s one of those rare places that isn’t named Costco where you can procure socks, a bottle of wine, a turkey sandwich, and nasal decongestant all in one place. And that doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of its eclectic offerings. But this is no old-timey general store strewn with pickle barrels and assorted boxes of aging licorice, motor oil, and cheap toys. It’s a sleek, updated version of the New England classic, a bright, pleasingly organized space, inviting and well organized. And since it’s in an old bank, the small room marked “candy vault” is, of course, an old vault. Another vault in the back serves as display space for the store’s higher-end wines.
At lunch the previous day, Bill suggested I take in the view from the roof terrace in Plymouth’s elegantly designed Town Hall, a former courthouse whose interior feels more like a trendy law firm than a government building. Take the elevator to the fourth floor, turn left and go through the double doors at the hallway’s end and you’ll be treated to a stunning panoramic view of the bay, the jetty, Long Beach beyond that, and Saquish and the Gurnet farther out. If you’re hosting visitors from out of town, this would be great place to start. It truly gives you a sense of the town’s intimate relationship with the sea.
You may think of Town Hall as just a place to pay your water bill, get a dog license, or attend a board meeting, but the historic photographs that adorn the walls and a couple of small exhibits – including Wampanoag artifacts on loan from Plimoth Patuxet Museums, are worth a few moments, as well. A metal time capsule created for the dedication of the new Town Hall in 2017 is in the lobby. But if you are of a certain age, as I am, it may well force you to consider your own mortality because the capsule won’t be opened until November 2067 by which time I will have moved from Plymouth…permanently.
From Town Hall, I walked the short distance to Burial Hill – which offers more stunning bay views – for a visit with some of Plymouth’s earliest, and quietest, inhabitants. The cemetery was established in 1622 and is the resting place of William Bradford, the governor of Plimoth Colony for three decades, among others of historical note.
We all know the yearning for religious freedom brought the Pilgrims here, so it was fitting that my next stop was the Yellow Deli. The mellow vibe and counterculture feel of the place drew me in. Plymouth’s Yellow Deli is one of more than two dozen Yellow Delis scattered in 16 states and 10 countries and it has one of the more curious origin stories of any storefront in Plymouth. The Yellow Delis are owned and operated by the Twelve Tribes, which, depending on your perspective, is either a religious movement or an authoritarian cult. For the purposes of this column, let’s just say the group has attracted its share of controversy.
Members of the community spent seven years building the restaurant and the adjoining Common Sense store, which carries, among many other things, Common Sense-branded body care products manufactured by the Twelve Tribes in Vermont. The interiors of both businesses contain extraordinary and dramatic craftsmanship in wood, iron, and stone. Soft traditional mountain music sets the tone and the staff, all Twelve Tribes members, exude a calm and ethereal air. I ordered a waffle, perfectly done, and read literature about the sect available for the taking. There’s no theological hard sell here but when I asked, a soft-spoken fellow who identified himself as Deshe was happy to talk with me about “coming out of the world to live in community and not for ourselves.” He extended an invitation to come any Friday evening to a community meeting at the massive Warren Avenue home members of the Twelve Tribes share. We will see.
I crossed Court Street (don’t get me started on how many names this one road has), and into a jam-packed shop that seemed to specialize in whatever was once forgotten in someone’s attic. Indeed, according to its affable proprietor Dan Contrino, that’s the premise of Something for Your Dust, a novel and clever store name. The place is stuffed with old radios, clocks, typewriters, and cameras, unique furniture – including an antique optician’s cabinet with various lenses – and artwork, lots of artwork.
“I reflect what’s in people’s homes,” Contrino said. In fact, that’s how he sources his wares, directly from people paring down, moving out, or passing on. “I hear customers all the time say, ‘Oh, my mother had that, or my grandmother had that,’” he added. “I trade in nostalgia.”
Because I have two rescue dogs, I had to stop in Kupcakes & Kibble, “a dog’s bakery,” which carries decorated baked treats that would look at home in any bakery serving humans. Proprietor Robin Silva said the bakeries that supply her only use ingredients they’d use in baked goods for humans, except for sugar which is kind of the point of a bakery if you’re a human. If you pamper your pup this is the place to go, though knowing dogs as I do, they don’t care what their food looks like. Downtown is also home to Pilgrim Pups around the corner on North Street. It sells treats, apparel, and other canine-related products.
I ended my sojourn with an iced mocha from Kiskadee Coffee, which brews coffee from local roaster Speedwell Coffee Company, and a light and perfectly sugared morning bun from Keegan Kreations, a bakery for humans a bit north on the same side of the street. The coffee at Kiskadee is excellent, but I wish the interior felt more intimate and cozier. You might want to start your own downtown amble here with a coffee to go.
More than 1,300 words in, I realize that downtown Plymouth can’t be contained in a single column. I never even made it north of Town Hall. Coming soon: Part 2.
Peter Zheutlin – a freelance journalist who has written frequently for The Boston Globe, The Christian Science Monitor, and many other publications – brings the perspective of a Plymouth newcomer to the Independent. He is the author or co-author of nine books, including “The Dog Went Over the Mountain: Travels with Albie, An American Journey,” winner of the Lowell Thomas Travel Writing Award. Zheutlin can be reached at pzheutlin@gmail.com.