Ornamentally Yours, WC3

The Gallery at Woody Creek Community Center, aka WC3, is a unique place to experience art.  Every month, a new artist calls The Gallery home, decking The Gallery walls with a body of work that reaches an interested  - and interesting - audience.  Because truly, WC3 is a unique gathering place in our valley.  With a steady stream of quality used books, Hunter S. Thompson collectibles, wholesome, natural cooking and ever-inspiring organic fair trade coffee, WC3 remains a welcoming, cell-phone free break in a busy day, and a place for locals and visitors to get together and share. 

WC3 is non-profit and member-supported, and also features a multitude of community-oriented, completely free health and wellness programs, all open to the public.   From free flu shots to dental screenings, relationship health and nutritional outlines, the Neighborhood Clinic Woody Creek pledges “to promote the well-being of individuals in the Roaring Fork Valley, by providing free health services to all.”  There are slide presentations and talks about Hunter S. Thompson’s The Rum Diary; there are lectures and cultural events, and community happenings such as potlucks, music evenings and Cross-Country dinners. 

This month, The Gallery comes to life with the collected entries of the First Annual WC3 Juried Ornament Exhibition and Benefit.  Brainchild of board member and committed WC3-goer Cindy Kahn, the community was invited to hand-make holiday ornaments to be reviewed before a juried panel of creative movers and shakers, with prizes awarded across suggested categories.  All ornaments are now on display and for sale in The Gallery, and all proceeds will benefit WC3’s free, ongoing cultural events and health and wellness programs.

“In my former life, in the late 80s, I worked for a development company called Horwitz Matthews.  One of my projects involved a renovation of five industrial spaces into a huge, mixed-use mall,” says Kahn, recalling the origins of the Ornament Exhibition. “Our design team came up with the idea and the Ornament Exhibition was launched. It grew in size, talent and creativity, and every year, we raised more and more money for charity.  And that’s our hope, to raise more and more money for the community programs of WC3.”

As the ornaments fill the air and their shadows bounce around the room, be tempted to take one – or many – home.  And know that each and every purchase will help preserve the community essence of WC3.  

But also know, the jurors will be sad to see them go.

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The actual judging and awarding was a serious matter, involving lively discussion and deliberation.  Says architect and industrial designer Bob Blaich,“I’ve been involved in close to 150 juries all around the world, but this one was by far the most fun!”  While categories encouraged entries ranging from “Most Unusual”, “Most Green”, to “Most Newsworthy”, overall, entrants seemed to follow their own individual muse.  Shares artist and juror Isa Catto Shaw: “Being on this jury has been the highlight of my year; for it truly underscores my love of being a member of this community.”

How Running Saved My Life

How I love running on an autumn afternoon.   The cooler temperatures mean my face turns rosy amber, vs. its habitual purple, and I find the motivation to run a little farther with a cooler breeze at my back.

Running is freedom.  At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I daresay it saves my life every now and then.  Really, there’s no other way to talk about something so transformative without being melodramatic so I’ll continue to expand on the gravity of the situation.

I can go for a run anywhere.  Anytime.  Safe neighborhoods, highways, dark of night and climate change notwithstanding, all I need is a pair of shoes and a pair of socks and some sort of hair clip, and I’m on my way.   I may give you the impression that I run for miles on end, that the hours fly by and I own a fancy new pair of Nike heart-rate monitoring athletic shoes.

Au contraire.

Sometimes, especially when I’m getting back into running after running around the world doing other things, I can barely run for 21 minutes.   My breathing is labored and my pace is kind of hobbly, and my face is always a darker shade of something red, no matter the outside temperature.  Sometimes I run in sad little fitness rooms, in discounted online motels near airports, knowing the 6 a.m. shuttle will be a mere iota more tolerable if I simply run 12 minutes on the treadmill.  I always feel better, even after that little bit of effort. Then, I treat myself to Flashdance on TNT; who loves me, baby?

As adventurous and gear-intensive as my other athletic pursuits can be, I always come back to running.   Shoes, socks, endorphins to follow; running is the basis for a well-adjusted relationship to the world.  In my world, I’m sure of this.

The act of running makes me want to run more; good begets better and the positivity feeds on itself, as goodwill is prone to do.   Run 21 minutes one day, run 27 the next.  Just a few more blocks and suddenly, I’ve done 40 minutes, round-trip.  Every part of me responds to the surge of energy.   

Especially my appetite. 

After a run, it feels good to feed my body what it craves, and it always seems to crave something good for me.   The more I run, the more I burn up the occasional beer, girl’s night out debauchery or decadent dessert with no real ado.  A good pair of running shoes and Flashdance waiting on the box:  the inner – and outer – beauty secret that the magazines don’t mention.

The more I run, the more my perspective shifts, to let in a little more light and a little more width, height, scope of outlook.

It’s more like a panorama of perspective.   I feel like I’m able to examine things as they pass across my psyche, like a movie reel feeding image after image across the screen, and become a casual observer rather than a reactive participant.   Sometimes 21 minutes is all it takes.  Literally stepping away from something lets me see it a little differently, and each step out leads me back to where I left off  with more energy, and less clutter.

Fall is my favorite season, once I discovered what seasons were.  Growing up in California, the most perfect weather I’ve ever known, I couldn’t imagine what all the “change of seasons” hype was about.  What’s not to like about 80 degrees, every day? Still, there’s that umpteenth day when you wake up to another blue sky, another flawless yellow sun-filled world and you wonder what it’d be like to feel a strong breeze, or rain on your head or maybe even an overcast day so you can – daydream?  Get some work done? Make a hot chocolate?

Having lived in Colorado for almost 20 years, I get it.  I get the ebb and flow of the seasons, appreciate the natural variety that Mother Nature imposes, four times a year.   There’s still nothing wrong with 80 degrees all year round, I’m holding fast to my initial impression of the world, but I do love the crisp air of autumn in the mountains and the frequently uninterrupted sunshine, so different from those hot summer afternoons punctuated with sudden showers and thunderstorms.

As I move towards nesting, I love feeling my appetite change.   Like clockwork, I crave something warm to drink and something thicker to eat.   Beef and Red Wine Stew at the Woody Creek Community Center tops my list of “change of season” cravings and after working up a hearty appetite, I look forward to stopping by the café.  

Thank goodness WC3 is within running distance.

Dear Mr. President

THOUGHTS FROM WOODY CREEK

SUNDAY, AUGUST 21, 2011

I await with baited breath to hear Obama’s economic message when Congress returns after Labor Day. The trouble is that it's a political ploy. Obama is not going to seriously talk about re- building our economy; he is going to lay out talking points he knows the Republican Congress will not vote in just to build a case for re-election in 2012.

Why bother!?

Mr President, let's be serious and lay out a vision for a tax structure that is simple and fair.

Oops... I forgot; the Republicans have all signed pledges to support a tax structure that is archaic and regressive.

Mr. President, please lay out a future foreign policy that is based on peace and not war. A policy that will allow us to invest in the Peace Corps and not the Armed Forces. A policy that will reduce military spending.

I forgot again... those Republicans. How can we reduce our military and still dominate the world?

Mr President, please paint a vision of an economy structured to grow with common sense regulations and rules.

Of course both parties have their special interests to protect.

Mr. President, show us the way to work together and get things done!

Oops and double Oops... those pesky republicans who's only agenda is to get you out of office will be troublesome when it comes to getting positive stuff done.

I guess that speech will just be political after all.

There is some shit we won't eat... and there is so much shit we are starving to death.

Gandhi and Obama

Gandhi and Obama

We were visiting the residence of Gandhi in Mumbai…. It had been turned into a museum. It is amazing the power that the life of one person can have.

I had been puzzling over the role of religion or a better word might be spirituality in a person’s life. It has seemed to me that people who pursued the spiritual side of their being had a more complete persona. I am not sure how to describe it and I would not the reader to read “religion”; but perhaps the understanding that there is a higher power is the key.

There are basic aspects to a person; they all compliment each other. I think they are 1. Love 2. Compassion 3. Physical being as in fitness 4. Health 5. Intellect and 6. Spirituality or the acceptance of a higher power.

Gandhi said he was a Hindu, a Moslem, a Christian, a Gin, a Zoroastrian; he never said he was an Atheist. He recognized in importance of the acceptance of a higher power in the complete construction of the human being.

Obama is a Gandhi to the people here…. Or better put has the potential, read hope, of being a change agent like Gandhi. The view we get of the election of Obama is quite interesting. There are those that hope he can straighten out the economic mess as everything here in India is about economics. In Dubai, I think the hope is more political. The are looking for someone to change the Mid East Policies of Bush

However, as you read the press, there is a subtlety underlying all the words about our new president. I think the world really sees the United States as the place where dreams come true. The old Horatio Alger story. They also see the US as the place where all humans are equal, a place where the people want to help the rest of the world and not just dominate it. Our wars to these people were the great world wars where the US saved the world from evil empires. The Bush years belied all that. The hope is that Obama will bring back the “city on the hill”.

I think Gandhi would share those sentiments. I hope the power of one person can change many things. He is going to need some help though.

Woody Creek awake!  There is some shit we won't eat!
Where are politicians who will tell us the truth instead of passing blame and pandering to be reelected?

S&P downgraded out credit rate because of a math error? Really!  How about Congress publicly declaring that defaulting on the debt might be a good idea.  What would you do if you were a lender and the person you were lending to declared that maybe they would not pay you back.  I think you would charge them more, right?

We are running huge debt and we should cut expenses.  But tax revenue is at historic lows and needs to be addressed as well.  On top of this.... we still have a recession to dig our way out of; two wars that we financed with debt, a crumbling infrastructure, an education system that can’t even graduate 50% of the students in most large US cities.  What a mess!

Politicians spend their time telling us who is to blame.  Then they stake their own narrow turf.  “No new taxes.”   “Social Security is inviolate.”   “We need deregulation. “Cut taxes."  They sign pledges supporting narrow views that prevent them from compromise.

So...Woody Creatures...this is shit we won't eat!  Write your Congress and Senate today.  Come to the WC3 and express your views..  Above all: be willing to put yourself out there and demand that our leaders find common ground.

Fidel Duke

Feeding the Soul: the Sunday Soiree at WC3

I turned onto Hwy 82 around sunset, circa 8:32 or so these days.   Spent from a solid day of rock climbing – or attempted rock climbing – I felt a comfortable fatigue in my bones, the kind that comes from over-exertion and the promise of a good night’s sleep within the next 30 miles.

Time had flown, as it always does while clipping bolts, but I was hoping I could catch the tail end of the Sunday Soiree at WC3.  I’d seen the lovely little invitation, promising an evening of musical entertainment, food and wine and a night on the patio.

WC3 comes up with these really festive, comforting and communal creative gatherings – from the cross-country ski dinner last winter, to the Mediterranean Cruise themed food and wine extravaganza for the armchair traveler, in between passport stamps – and the Sunday Soiree looked like another heart-warming way to pass an evening.

I pulled up to the patio, lit up by strands of white lights strewn across the back fence. Music poured out the front door while a few guests gathered outside the building to enjoy the calm night air.  Inside, an intimate group was still passing some quality time, seated around the musicians and softly singing along to Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire.

The young musicians call themselves Abraham and the Booths and commanded attention at the piano, on the strings and across the crowded room with clear vocal harmonies. Chef Martin joined them periodically for his trumpet accompaniment; my ears stayed tuned for the next guest voice or musical interlude.

 The desserts were arriving, part of the three-course prix fixe with appetizer, succulent WC3 entrée and an array of sweet treats, all for just $20. Some folks were simply enjoying a glass of wine or a truffle, taking it all in with a peaceful smile.

I missed dinner but arrived just in time to soak up the camaraderie.  I sat with some frequent WC3 visitors, locals from just around the block and a dear old friend who’d been enjoying the evening for hours, sipping a cool glass of pinot grigio and laughing her glorious laugh.  Her laugh sounded melodic tonight, in perfect key with the music and stillness bouncing off one another during this mid-summer night’s celebration.

Kris came out to greet us and proffered a dollop of the newly-arrived Apple Whiskey. Beer and wine was the standard fair but WC3 is now welcoming some tasty, zestier after-dinner drinks, for the adventurous of palette.

Sunday Soirees will continue every Sunday throughout August, to showcase the garden, the cuisine and the general spirit of community contained within that white picket fence. 

It’s Membership Drive month at WC3 and the Sunday Soiree highlights the very reasons why WC3 is important.  By becoming a member – just $35 a year – I’ll be directly contributing to the goodness, helping the music and the laughter spread through the garden, and out into the world.

                                                                                                                               

 For more info on membership, and Sunday Soirees, visit: www.woodyc3.org.

Not sick of Mick

Posted on April 3, 2011 by fidelduke

I am already sick of the “sick of Mick” campaign.

Those “sick of Mick” people deserve Herbert Hoover. Actually they should go recruit the mayor of Vail (whomever that is) as it seems like a Vail is what they want.

Who can leap tall buildings in a single bound? I don’t know, but I think he or she is practicing in Vail.

I for one am thankful that there is someone looking after the long term interests of all in our community, instead of the short term interests of the monied few. I hope Mick is mayor as long as its legal and then becomes a county commissioner again. Maybe then we will be landing 737’s or their equivalent and he will bulldoze the runway expansion.

All seriousness aside; what better way to grow our property values than to create a town that considers the environment as a design system of living, playing and learning.

-Fidel Duke

fideldukeblogspot.com

Our Secret Garden

Personally, I’ve never been an outside eater.  Is that strange? I love being outside, feeling the weather and moving through the panoramic summer in the mountains but I like to eat and be still, indoors. Bugs, pollen, wind, heat – I find digestion easier in a controlled environment.

And then I discovered the WC3 patio.  I first started visiting WC3 last summer after rediscovering the Rio Grande bike trail.  The ride from Aspen to Woody Creek is civilized, occasionally arduous and just long enough a sojourn to make me feel like I’ve done something. Years ago, I’d head to the Tavern and join in the fun, attempting to gauge how many margaritas were too many to ride home; there are a few hills on the way back and most likely, there’ll be rain and paved pathways aside, it takes some concentration to navigate the afternoon cross-winds. One day last summer, wanting to sit and ponder a few hot topics, I decided to stop at WC3, instead.

Julie brought me Still-Life with Salad Bowl: a brilliant blue platter with wooden tongs and bowl, each of the toppings artistically displayed around the perimeter. I kept coming back, marveling at the new-found joys of dining en plein air.

 

This summer, there are flowers blooming in all the colors of the rainbow.  WC3’s garden is the stuff of imagination.  It reminds me of one of my favorite childhood books, The Secret Garden, a place I’ve always wanted to discover for myself.  As I get older, the occasional need to retreat from the outside world takes on new meaning and a stolen moment away from navigating daily life is a thing of wonder.

The garden is teeming with life as others trickle in, to eat and think and quietly soak in the beauty and the abundance. Business meetings are conducted but the energy of the patio brings a sense of calm to the table. Conversations are held, thoughts are exchanged and journals are filled against a backdrop of white roses, or bright orange tulips. 

Families gather – grandmas, grandkids, newborn and newlyweds. Friends are made and numbers exchanged.  The world keeps turning but time stands still for awhile inside the picket fence.

 

Woody Creek Wisdom

There’s this woman that comes into my workplace.  As a writer, I’ve discovered the isolation everyone talks about, the zoning out in front of a white screen for hours, delete delete, run-on sentence, ramble, eyes blurring, come back and look at it later, time to get some fresh air – so it’s good to step out and join the world in an official work capacity while carefully surrounding myself with good influences in my choice of part-time jobs. I’m careful about that these days; I’ve had so many jobs in my life, proving to myself over and over that I can get by, good to know; but I've finally realized that it’s better to remain sane and serene while making ends meet, conserving time and energy towards cultivating my creative goals.

It sounds good on paper.

So a couple of days a week, I work at a café, bookstore, gourmet grocery and community center in a suburb of the already none-too-big town of Aspen, Colorado.  Introducing Woody Creek, tucked away just off Hwy 82, a small town within a small town.  Woody Creek’s the second to last China Doll, the progressively deeper layer of onion, the final few leaves of artichoke before you get to the heart. It’s a small world, after all.
A few weeks after I start, we run out of farm fresh eggs and organic butter on the same day.  One local’s day is cast asunder.

“No eggs? Really??”

I repeat the bad news; it seemed like she heard me the first time, but just in case.

“Sorry. It’s true. No eggs. Only regular butter."

The woman sighs. “Wow.  That means I’ll have to go… onto the main road. And to the - store.” Deeper sigh, head shake.  NC-17 expletive.

I can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since she’s left the one and only road that winds through Woody Creek and crept out onto Big Bad 82, and that maybe the dearth of eggs is a blessing in disguise. Pa’s headed to town, Half Pint.  Need anything?

But on most days, the small, simple lifestyle is refreshing.  Having lived in Aspen so long, I now see people I’ve never really seen before; and then I see them a lot, but only in Woody Creek.  I sort of feel like I have a double life and my own world’s gotten larger, not smaller.  And it feels like I’m taking care of them and their need for good food, awesome coffee and a friendly place to daydream.

There’s a woman who comes in from Twin Lakes; when she first started visiting, she’d always ask about the other gal who works here, who she’s known over the years. She always seemed to come in on my co-worker’s day off and my day on, so we started chatting. I began to look forward to her visits.  She’s beautiful, with long, dark, grey- streaked hair and bright eyes.  She looks like a gracefully wise bohemian from back in the day.  She effuses over the amazing food, especially the Curry Chicken Salad, and always appreciates the hearty portions; she likes my Chai Lattes and thanks me for my smile. She always asks for a receipt and always leaves a nice tip.

She first started coming in during the winter, when the mountain pass to Aspen was closed, turning the 50 some-odd miles from Twin Lakes to Woody Creek, into at least a four-hour drive over the hills, around the mountains and back onto the interstate before even reaching Hwy 82.  I've never asked her why she comes to town, and always on Wednesdays; now that summer’s finally here and the Pass is open, I hope she comes in more often.

The other day, she came to the counter to get a macaroon for the road. I readied her receipt, then asked her if she had an email and would like to join our mailing list.
“Oh, I don’t do computers,” she replied, with a chuckle.  “No computers, no fax machines, no microwaves.”
I smiled to myself.  Her words made me so happy.  And rather envious.

* * *

I remember when an old boyfriend and I were considering moving in together and the first thing he brought over to the brand new, just built apartment was his worn down, pizza-stained microwave. And how excited he was to have the perfect counter for the microwave and how I didn’t share his enthusiasm.  I think I even told him I didn’t want that smelly thing in the nicely polished kitchen.

Looking back, that was surely ridiculous of me, and surely a sign that we had larger issues lurking; but I still have the same my gut reaction to microwaves.

They just bum me out.

Microwaves make me think of kids whose parents aren’t cooking for them, or of not bothering to cook at all,  just heating up food fast and hoping it will taste like it looks on the commercial; they remind me of when I’m in a hurry and not taking care of myself and then I wonder what I’m so busy about because I don’t have a family and I’m not a workaholic and I see those same commercials and decide I should be able to cook that meal from scratch, not defrost it and then nuke it and try and enjoy with some ice flakes still on the top and still kind of frozen in the middle.  As you can tell there are other issues lurking, not solely limited to microwaves; but it’s best to avoid known triggers and so, No Nukes in My Kitchen.

Fax machines.  I couldn’t agree more.  Do people really still use fax machines? My friend’s ahead of her time on this one. Every time someone asks me to fax a form or, even worse, scan a document, I move that task down the to-do post it and invariably forget to complete the application or send in the paperwork and then forget where I put the post-it and, well, you get the picture.  Who even has a landline anymore?  I feel ahead of my time on this one; no Qwest bill, only a 10-year old cell phone and unlimited texting on a keypad that still beeps and is squishy to the touch.

However, I most admire her for the fact that she “doesn’t do computers”. I’ve often written about my Luddite-like leanings: “Damn you, Spinning Jenny,” said a friend of mine, laughing at my latest anti-technology rant; but surprisingly, I’m getting more and more adept at the ins and outs of social networking, the intricacies of the internet and its obscure tangents of information. I hardly remember how things got done before computers and I can’t imagine the world without them anymore.

If only I could remember all the damn passwords.

The little information I manage to track down and establish is invariably locked away behind secret codes of my own making, which are required, should I want to establish my own lane on the great information highway.
We create them to outsmart others, but we only outsmart ourselves.

It started with my online banking account.  (Maybe I should tell you which bank, in case you crack the code and want to deposit money in my account.) I was doing fine, transacting, transferring, having panic attacks, heaving sighs of relief, the usual emotional roller coaster that comes with owing a dollar saver checking account when one day, my trusty password (I forget it now) didn’t work.

I was asked to please change my password.  All of a sudden?  Why??  I was doing just fine!  Some new routine security policy requiring changing of passwords every 6 months, was the answer. For your protection.

Dammit. I tried to change it to something I could remember in a flash, but I didn’t know where to start. Arggh.  I was only trying to check my balance, definitely no need for new high security clearance.  I was just hoping it was in the double digits. Above zero.

I decided on something similar, a slight variation from the original; but I was momentarily denied, this time in red letters, and given more specific instructions which for some reason weren’t given the first time. Password must have a symbol, special character, Upper Case, Lower Case and Number.

Whahhh? Come on. Seriously?  It’d already been about 20 minutes including the aborted login attempts, and now another good 10 just to re-read the list and figure out what’s so “special” about those characters.
So I managed to create a suitable password that first time - and it was the last time it ever worked.  Did I use forget to use the caps lock? What was more special, the @ or the *? Didn’t matter, I couldn’t remember which one I’d chosen and I misplaced the post-it where I wrote it down.  Actually, I don’t even think I wrote it down, I was hoping the computer would “remember me” this time.

This trend started to creep up with other websites.  User name taken. How is that possible? It’s me! That’s the thing about computers, they’re very impersonal; they can’t tell if it’s Jamie Lynn Miller or Jamie Lynn Spears on the other end of the keyboard.

Password can’t contain any words that appear in username. Shit. Here we go again. Password can’t contain any words contained in past passwords. NC-17 expletive.

Hours have gone by with me trying to login to sites I infrequently use, or signing up for others in order to complete any basic transaction.  Why is the name of my second grade teacher so important to Cheapo Air?
I’ve started keeping a spreadsheet – very advanced of me, I know - to remember logins, passwords, secret characters and screen names, but I can’t help but be simultaneously annoyed and amazed at the amount of time I spend just trying to get from one information stop to another.

I remember using the World Book Encyclopedia, the 1978 equivalent of Wikipedia, to get information. A teacher friend of mine says she allows her students to use Wikipedia as a reference for their research papers; I ask if she ever actually checks the definitions. What if Christopher Columbus becomes Christopher Cross? Well, they both liked sailing, anyway.  We laugh.

I remember our instructional classes on the Dewey Decimal system and I remember using microfiche at the beautiful old UCLA library to find some obscure quote for a well-written but most likely melodramatic college paper, which was  put in storage and misplaced, or thrown away shortly thereafter.
That’s one of the coolest thing about computers: you can store information for all time, or until you back it up with your external hard drive.

You just need to remember your network key.

 * * *

I think it’d be really cool if there were no locks, on doors or cars or storage lockers; if we didn’t need keys or passwords or codes or not-so-special characters, because there weren’t any characters out there trying to steal, at least in my case, relatively useless information and not-so-worldly goods and my identity. I can’t imagine my identity’s worth much to anyone but me, in the end; I’m probably someone else, anyway…I just can’t remember the password.

It’d be awesome if we could access all our accounts and peruse all sorts of websites and leave our bags unattended and take candy from strangers and get through the day without faxing or rebooting.

And we never ran out of farm fresh eggs.

* * *

Maybe it’s time I moved to Woody Creek.

Dedicated to the lovely woman who will probably never read this, because she doesn’t do computers.

The Duchess Loves More Than Me

I share my marriage with various other “men”. I had never heard of any of these “guys” before, but I understand they are quite well known in certain circles.

The first I met in London on a side street after considerable search. Manolo Blahnik is stylish and elegant and soon several pairs graced out closet.

But you know its funny..... I discovered there are more and Jimmy Choo entered the scene. We can find Jimmy Choo in many more locations; most visited for us being Chicago. She even braved the rugged streets of Mumbai alone to find a Jimmy Choo!
I soon found that new closet space was required.

I have learned that there are limits. On a visit to Hong Kong the Duchess became ill. We had to call the hotel doc and get her some medicine to recover. We even had to delay our departure for Beijing for a day to fully recover. Well... my story is this; I took the Duchess for a walk to access her well being before heading to Beijing. On the walk we passed a corner with Manolo Blahnik on one side and Jimmy Choo on the other. When the Duchess was not interested in visiting either I knew she had not recovered.

There are others of course. Lesser known players that tug as her heart strings; like Michael Kors, Cole Haan, Donald Pliner, Salvatore Ferragamo, Stuart Weitzman to name only a few.

The latest is now showing its red bottom. Christian Loubouton has arrived. Will we find them in Africa?

Of course the Duchess had to share me with the likes of Lang, Nike, Footjoy, Sidi Sperry and of course Merrill. -


Fidel Duke

A Diamond in the Rumble Strip

"Wow. This place is great.  I didn't know all this was here!"

So began another conversation at the counter, inspired by another delighted passer-by who'd just discovered WC3.

"Who makes these truffles?" she asked, voice full of awe, poking the pastry case and staring longingly at a dollop of Stranahan's Whiskey covered by dark chocolate.

I tell her Chef Martin makes them; all the pastries, all the curries, soups too - right here on site.

"He's English, and really knows his curries and spices. He uses fresh herbs from the garden for the Dilly Egg Salad, too!"

I feel like a farm-girl, in from the fields, enthusiastically pointing out the fresh bounty of the day.  I didn't plant the herbs, or lace the chocolate with orange liqueur, but I'm glad to be a part of the quality floating around WC3.

She asks about a beer and I tell her that WC3 is a non-profit operation, supported by members and membership. That the tremendously healthy food, the wireless, the plethora of interesting and affordable books, even the truffles, are all cultivated and delivered at the best value possible. Membership dollars make it all possible; they keep the lights on, safeguard the garden and keep WC3  the charming, welcoming place that she's just discovered.

I tell her that members get to drink adult beverages, get discounts on our exceptional coffee, enjoy many other perks but most of all, I tell her that her membership will ensure she'll  have a WC3 to call home.

In truth,  I only alluded to all of the above but she smiled, a hint of understanding in her eyes. She lived just a few miles down the road and said she knew she'd be coming back soon; the next time, as a member.

Live Music comes to WC3

Some still ask, what's the C3 for? Creek Community Center - Woody is understood.  Relatedly, there's more and more going on at WC3 each and every day... so think of the acronym as a synonym for the exponential summer excitement in the works.

WC3's hallowed halls are about to be filled with music.

It's a phenomenal venue with a perfect vibe, for solid musicians to display their wares. Kicking off the summer season, it's the Matt Flinner Trio, Acoustic, a critically-acclaimed and fan-appreciated outfit known for writing spontaneous music the day of the show, and performing it live for the inaugural listening, the evening of. Their Music Du Jour tour delighted those lucky listeners across the country, each and every night; for every audience had its own unique performance. 

  For further show prep,  visit: http://compassrecords.com and, as always, peruse woodyc3.org for all about WC3.

Ready to Sit Outside

We're ready; the flower beds are blooming, the tables are waiting and Biffy, the black cat, is on the prowl around the perimeter, searching for sunshine.

Summer bursts with beauty at WC3.  Ride your bike, walk, rollerblade...there are many outdoor modes of arriving at your favorite destination.  This summer, live music will hallow WC3 halls. First up, the Matt Flinner Trio, Acoustic, June 28.

Movie nights, special events, quality used books and an ever-changing art display in the Gallery.

 And, of course, fresh gourmet curries, salads, paninis and heralded truffles, all made on-site.

Visit woodyc3.org for more info, or just visit us!  Right next to the Tavern, in downtown Woody Creek. 970-922-2342.