The Wood is Dead. Long live The Wood

I live here because of The Wood.

The Wood closed today.

It was a sunny. 20 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. The perfect deck party day. And the deck stayed packed to capacity and beyond. The local band, The Pocket Rockets claimed a corner and set the beat. Inside the pace ran hectic with Mike and Andrea pouring drinks like there was no tomorrow. Well, there was no tomorrow. $3 beers and drinks. $11 pitchers. Food to die for on a great spring day. When it is gone, the party’s over. There’s no running n empty in the bar/restaurant biz.

Six winters ago, I spent 10 days in Banff and Lake Louise. At the end of the time I asked a ski biz player where we should ski on the way back to the States. He mentioned Kimberly. I asked about Fernie. He shook his head no and said the sun never shined in Fernie, it snowed too much.

“Ah, excuse me? Snows too much?�

Fernie it was.

Still light when we drove into town, the mountains set us on our heels. This was great. Driving up the access road and checking in to the Wolf’s Den left us anticipating the next days skiing. There was the issue of dinner. Asking at the desk, they mentioned the restaurant next door, and in off-handed way mentioned there were more downtown.

Downtown?

As we came off the mountain, clouds atarted rolling in. The sunset’s last glow reflected off the building clouds onto the Lizard Range.

As I’ve mentioned previously, for a couple of decades I lived in Breckenridge, another mining skiing town. Walking down Victoria, I was home.  We wandered, looking in windows. Walked in shops and just looked in others. Looking at buildings. The streetlights came on. Our “guide� was right. The sun wasn’t going to shine. It started snowing big fat flakes. Enough so your steps filled in the block behind you. At the end of the downtown core, we came to a funky cobble built building with “Livery� painted on the side. A simple wooden sign hung off the front by double doors. “The Wood� And I think it said tapas.

We looked at each other and shrugged. Cool building. Clean simple graphic sign. We walked in.

The meal was the best of the trip. The wine was equal. At the end, I remember saying,� I could live in a town like this.�

The next year we came back for a few days. The year afterwe returned for 10 days and found The Wood moved to the Mountain. We missed two seasons and then I moved up in July.

There was The Wood. There was The Mountain. And after moving here, I discovered the people. I can live here. And I do live here.

There are not many towns like Fernie. Not many mountains like Fernie. You can work as a liftie with a lip piecing, with a beard, with a purple streak in your hair. Try that at Breckenridge, Aspen or any of the Interwest Corp Clone Villages. Noooo. Might offend someone. We can’t risk offending that “one� person. Conform. Fit in the peg hole.

Not so in Fernie. Do your own deal. And you are still OK. We have Hippy Pete. And we have a host of straight, button downed biz folks. The mix is the joy

So today I went up to the deck of The Wood. I drank some wine. Ate a little. Tapped my feet to the music. Enjoyed the sun. I mourn their closing, but in a town like Fernie, things change. For good. For bad. For whatever. Simply because it is another day, things change. Andrea, Mike and the gang are moving to Vancouver. Stepping into the Big Show. The best of luck to them. They deserve it. They’ve given us some of the best eats in the Rockies and every bite has been savored.

The Wood is dead. Long live The Wood.