Five days a week, you’ll find Bloodroot owner Noel Furie in the restaurant’s kitchen, prepping and cooking for hours before the first customers arrive.

“I always felt like I'm married to Bloodroot. And it's just not the days that we're here. It's the days that we're not here, where there’s bills to pay and people to call and all of those things,” Furie explained.

But next month, she and the Black Rock business will separate after 48 years.

“I can't do it anymore. It's too much. You know, I'll be 81 in December, and the responsibility and the stress level and all that,” Furie said.

It comes after her longtime friend and business partner Selma Miriam died in February right before she turned 90. The two started the all-women feminist restaurant and bookstore in 1977 with an all-vegetarian menu.

“Selma was a great cook,” Furie stated. “We decided to be vegetarian, and our reasoning was we didn't want to contribute to the cruelty to the animals and animal husbandry.”

Since the start, Bloodroot was about more than a meal.

“We needed the space to define ourselves outside of the male gaze. And this is what we did. And we were really adamant, fierce, radical feminists. And we still are, but we don't have to be so loud about it anymore,” Furie told News 12 with a laugh.

Posters and bumper stickers promoting women’s issues, animal rights and social justice are displayed on the walls. One wall is filled with framed old photos of women.

“This is women's history up there, you know?” Furie said gesturing to the pictures.

Over the years, it's been a home and haven to activists and self-proclaimed outsiders—a community meant to expand diversity and welcome everyone, regardless of lifestyle.

“We never earned any money here. This was never a moneymaking proposition. That wasn't why we were here. We were here to have a life that we could be proud of,” Furie explained.

Bloodroot has had writeups in the New York Times and Washington Post and is the focus of a documentary. But for Furie, she’s most proud of Bloodroot’s impact on other women.

“They've been able to make a decision that has been changed because of our influence on them and our feminist thinking,” she shared.

Since announcing the closing, Bloodroot's phone has been ringing off the hook, and reservations are now a must, according to Furie.

“We have been overwhelmed with customers—like three times the number of customers is coming in the door to have their last meal here, to say goodbye, to tell us how much they love us,” she said.

That’s been echoed in emails, texts and comments on social media, lamenting the restaurant’s final day.

“This place was never just a restaurant—it was a haven of feminist ideals, community, and radical hospitality,” one person wrote.

“I'm profoundly sad to hear this news. The memories of visiting Bloodroot for the first time in 1978 are still quite vivid in my mind,” commented another.

“Bloodroot was my safe place. I always feel at home over there. You ladies gave me many great meals and wonderful company,” wrote another customer.

For Furie, the outpouring of love has been intense and overwhelming but wonderful.

“This is the big surprise to me—the degree of the impact,” Furie said. “I treasure this, and I treasure the legacy we're leaving behind. I feel really lucky to have been able to do it.”

Bloodroot's final day will be Saturday, Dec. 20, a day earlier than was initially announced.