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.
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