“If we make enough money out here today, I’m surfing tomorrow morning!” That is what the owner of a coffee truck joyfully told me, parked in a dirt stretch along the Queen Ka’ahumanu Highway in Kona, Hawaii.
We had pulled off the highway — really just a two-lane road snaking down Kona’s gorgeous coastline, dotted with lots of lava rock, a few palm trees, and inviting beaches. We had spent the morning trying to (and sometimes succeeding) body-surf small waves at Hapuna Beach State Park just down the road. After a morning in the ocean, we all craved malasadas, described by the Manuela Malasada food truck as “Hawaii’s ultimate donut.”
While Sarah and the kids waited for their piping hot malasadas, I walked over to a nearby coffee truck. The proprietor eagerly asked me how the waves were this morning. I told him that we’re from Colorado, and so I don’t really have a great handle on the ocean…but to me, they were perfect.
He pivoted in his truck and called over to his partner, “hey, want to surf tomorrow morning!?” That’s when he told me of his plan: make enough money today, so he can surf tomorrow instead of manning the coffee truck. I tipped him a dollar for the coffee and wished him well.
As I climbed back into our car and accepted the hot malasada filled with Bavarian cream, I told my family about the coffee truck guy. Our kids chimed in, “you should’ve given him a big tip! A dollar isn’t enough!” I laughed, but also felt a bit guilty. Parking was free at the state park (the parking meters were down), and so I should’ve rolled that extra bit of money into the tip.
As our time in Hawaii wore on, I began to notice a pattern amongst the small businesses that we frequented: they weren’t focused on maximizing revenue and growing bigger. Later in the week, we ate lunch at a small Italian-Peruvian restaurant called Cipriano’s Kitchen. With just a few full-time employees, they are a reservation-only restaurant that lovingly serves homemade pastas, sauces, and the freshest seafoods to their handful of guests.
I say “handful” because they really can’t serve more than a few tables at a time. With only two people (including one of the owners) working in the kitchen and two wait staff (including the other owner), the restaurant has the feel of dining at a friend’s home. While we enjoyed our fresh pastas, salads, and just-baked breads, we watched as several walk-ins asked for a table and were turned away.
The owner explained that, if they expanded to accommodate more guests, they would lose the control and quality of each and every dish that emerges from their kitchen. As the restaurant continues to accumulate great press and even better reviews, they are intentionally staying small, for the sake of their food…and because, I suspect, they are genuinely happy to be running their small restaurant to grateful guests.
All of this made me think about our small business during our visit to Hawaii (and yes, our merino performed great in the heat and humidity of island life!). As a business with two full-time employees (that’s us, the co-founders), life can be a bit hectic from time to time, especially during the fall and winter holidays as the seasonal demand peaks. But we wouldn’t want to run this business any other way.
We love the fact that we package up every parcel of merino ourselves; that we get to see who ordered (and re-ordered); that we get to see every garment go from concept to prototype (that we test!) to finished item heading out the door.
We love the fact that, when a customer has a question or wants to share an idea or even a thank you, those interactions go directly to us and not a team of customer service specialists.
We love the fact that, when the busy season hits, our kids help us in our basement fulfillment center by folding neck gaiters and beanies.
We just love being small and, yet, still being big enough to follow our dreams. As we spent a week in Kona, I came to realize that we’re not the only ones.
Oh and the coffee truck guy? He wasn’t at his usual spot the next morning. As we drove back to Hapuna Beach for another morning of playing in the waves, I smiled. He must be out there surfing.