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I couldn’t believe how cool, how happening, Bloomingdale’s 1st on First Art Walk wound up being. True, in the many emails I received announcing the upcoming Big Day, the event seemed to be continually expanding in size, but I didn’t expect something that approximated a community celebration.

But that’s how it felt. It took place on August 7, a bright, sunny Saturday; by early afternoon, a stage had been set up in the triangular little park across from Big Bear Café. Ras Lidg and his Deep Band were standing around, waiting for electricity so they could start playing. Meanwhile, they were chatting with a small crowd of locals standing in the shady grass.

Around the edges of the park were vendors selling their artsy wares. Janette Rodrigues was there on one corner, displaying earrings and necklaces on a small screen and wearing a few, too, for good measure; customers crowded around, looking at the bright beaded creations.

At another corner was Victoria Shaheen, who lives at 1st and U streets; she was selling ceramics (dishware, mock cupcakes) and some prints. “It’s going well,” she said. “There’s a lot more people than I expected. It seems like this is a pretty big deal.”

The next standout ANC rep?
Also hoping to make a sale was Hugh Youngblood, though he’s not exactly an artist. He was selling a couple of paintings made by his sister, Caroline: she’d created them for someone who later defaulted, and nice brother Youngblood was hoping to recoup some of her money.

After talking to him for a minute, I learned that Youngblood isn’t just a good brother; it seems he’s also an all-around good Samaritan type, one of those community engagement guys. A developer of green energy projects, he’s been helping to get the neighborhood wifi-wired, while also working (pro bono) on a community solar project at Crispus Attucks Park in order to raise revenue for the park. “We’re scoping it out now,” he said.

That’s not all. The R Street resident has also been recruited to replace Stuart Davenport, Big Bear’s owner and the ANC representative for that area, on the commission. “I was asked by Stu and [John] Salatti to do it, because of my activism,” he explained. “I don’t know anything about politics—John is teaching me everything he knows. I’m an engineer by training but am having a great time.”

Speaking of politics
I left Youngblood and continued milling around the park when I finally discerned that there were some patterns among the crowd. Specifically, there were small clusters of people in blue shirts, who seemed to be keeping their distance from another team in red shirts.

Sports? Summer camp? No, politics. The blue shirts, I found upon further investigation, were supporting Councilmember Harry Thomas, who represents Ward 5 and was campaigning that day. Thomas was walking around, shaking hands, posing for photos.

But it was campaign manager Ayawna Chase who explained to me what the group was up to. This stop at the art walk was just one of many events on an exhausting-sounding schedule. The day started with picking up trash at a cleanup event at the Edgewood Rec Center—“We can’t just pass out lit [erature]—we have to get our hands dirty”—before the group headed to Barry Farms in Ward 8 (Thomas is chair of the council’s Committee on Libraries, Parks and Recreation). Later, they were planning on driving to Turkey Thicket in Brookland for Family Day, then finally to the Stronghold block party up the street.

That’s a long day. But when I talked with Chase, she was still relatively full of energy and full of good things to say about Thomas.

The red shirts, naturally, belonged to supporters of one of Thomas’s rivals, Kenyan McDuffie. The group was chatting with locals who were still waiting for the music to start, and assured me (as did Thomas’s blue shirted folks) that there were no hard feelings between the two.

So much to check out!
It took me ages to leave the southern end of 1st Street. After exiting the park, I wandered into 87 Florida, an art gallery and performance space (www.87florida.com) where a trumpet/guitar duo were softly playing. Then I checked out Big Bear, which was packed with people thirsty for iced macchiatos, pronto. And then I had a chat with folks from North Capitol Main Street who organized the event. They were sitting in front of Big Bear, handing out programs.

“We’re having a great time,” said Karen Alston, the board’s vice president. “This is the second year, and it’s a great opportunity for people to come out and spotlight our wonderful community.” I suggested they make it an even bigger event near year—close off the street! add a bounce house!—but she hesitated. She did allow, though, that they’d solicit public feedback on this year’s event before planning another one.

Just after Alston finished talking, another politician showed up—Clark Ray, another council candidate. He had a small entourage with him and everyone stopped for photos. After a handshake, I moved on.

Interestingly, the whole event was supposed to be about a string of sculptures in people’s yards along 1st Street; somehow that got overshadowed by all the other things going on. I didn’t mind. While the sculptures—a constellation of wooden 2x4s linked by rusty joints; the body of a woman made out of tinfoil—were interesting, they were no match for the people on display.

Finally? Rustik
I finally got to my last destination: Rustik Neighborhood Tavern. Sitting at the corner of First and T streets, it’s one of the neighborhood’s long, long, long awaited eateries; its owner, Diton Pashaj, was holding an open house that day.

When I walked in, he was talking with another Bloomingdale businessman so I looked around a bit. The space seemed almost finished: the floor was done, tables and chairs were scattered around, and what appeared to be some sort of oven loomed in the back—for pizza, of course. “It’s almost there,” said Pashaj, joining me. “The main stuff is finished.”

So what’s the holdup? Pashaj said he’s waiting on Washington Gas to bring a meter; after that, he can start getting inspections and get his permits lined up.

So there’s still a few more steps to go. “It could be two weeks, it could be two months,” said Pashaj, who lives a few blocks away on Randolph Street.