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Publisher’s Letter One thing I have quickly learned in publishing this magazine is that I am not a born salesman. I am not a salesman anymore than I am an Olympic figure skater. Yes, I could learn to sell, but technically I could also learn to figure skate. (Neither one, in my opinion, being easier than the other.) The equation doesn’t go both ways. While I struggle to sell, I can’t not buy. I have spent a lifetime as a mark for aggressive sales people. By saying no, I have that feeling I am taking food out of their child’s mouth (therapy is helping). This only results in their quota being met and one more brick of resentment being placed onto the Monument-To-UnwantedItems being built deep in my gut. Mind you, I am not about to crack, or implode. I have learned to embrace this part of me. It manifests itself in ways that range from a general state of bewilderment to a growing preference for animals. My dogs are not trying to sell me anything—unless it is after five, then they are trying to sell me on the fact that they are starving to death. And yes, I always buy it. Do you want dinner? What do you want? Dog food? Wag, wag, wag. Pant, pant, pant. Smile, smile, smile. It’s always worth the price. But now that I have been on the other side of this give and take (selling ad space), I have to say, in no uncertain terms, it is an art. I have a newfound respect for sales and the people who do it—and not like the respect one has for a guy who robs a bank and gets away with it without firing a shot; a deep-seated respect. Sales keeps the wheels of commerce going. It’s lonely, it’s taxing, it’s uncertain, it’s incredibly demanding, and it is absolutely integral to every nook and cranny of our way of life. Look around you. Everything—everything—was brought to you by a salesperson. The chair you are sitting in? Salesperson. There was one to sell it to the store, and one to sell it to you. The parts that make up the chair? Salesperson. The flooring on which the chair rests? Salesperson. The table, your coffee cup, your coffee, your cream, your sugar, your spoon? You get it. People produce things, salespeople sell it. Otherwise nothing would ever leave the factory floor, the farm, or the ranch. But when it is my turn to sell I tend to project myself into the place of the person in front of me, and I think: I don’t even want to be talking to me about this. Folks, this way of thinking is not good. It is actually really bad, especially if your very survival depends on SELLING SOMETHING. Here is how it goes: As soon as I see somebody struggling with the decision (should I or shouldn’t I?) I want to take their hand and say: It’s okay ... I understand ... you don’t have to do this. Now, I am here to tell you that if the Toyota sales dude had taken my hand and said, ‘it’s ok, you don’t have to do this,’ I would not be driving a yolk-yellow SUV—no offense to my fellow yolk-yellow-Toyota-SUV-driving brethren (and I do see you out there.) It is a great vehicle, but it does come in other colors. Like white. We must have had the same sales associate. I am just wondering if that associate is interested in selling advertising. I couldn’t sell yellow Toyotas. I couldn’t give away yellow Toyotas. What we do have to and want to do is build a magazine that people simply want to read. (It is a “we” thanks to a team of near-volunteer writers dedicated to the mission of this magazine. Read some of their bios in this issue). We want to be the connector between the consumer and the producer. We want to be educational without being preachy. Most of all, we want to be relevant and entertaining. Because if you read it, then you will see our advertisers’ beautiful ads. And then it all becomes rather symbiotic. Thanks to the writers, the readers, and our advertisers who are making it all possible. Enjoy issue 3. Rick Scibelli, Jr. Publisher and Editor in Chief 2  edible SAN JUAN MOUNTAINS   WINTER 2010


san juan mountains Editor & Publisher Rick Scibelli, Jr.


DESIGNER Bambi Edlund

Writers Molly Anderson-Childers Eileen Burns Kris Holstrom Joe Lewandowski Anna Riling Kris Oyler Lauren Slaff Rachel Turiel

Copy Editor Michelle G. McRuiz

Photographer Rick Scibelli, Jr.


advertising Eileen Burns, Telluride, Montrose, Ouray and Northern San Juan Account Manager, Rick Scibelli, Jr., Durango, Pagosa Springs and Southern San Juan Account Manager, Jess Kelley,

contact us edible San Juan Mountains 361 Camino del Rio Suite 127 Durango, CO 81303 To send a letter to the editor, email us at rick@ For advertising inquiries, email eileen@ediblesanjuanmountains. com or For home delivery of edible San Juan mountains, email; the rate is $32 per year. edible San Juan mountains is published quarterly by Sunny Boy Publications. All rights reserved. Distribution is throughout southwest Colorado and nationally by subscription. No part of this publication may be used without written permission of the publisher. © 2010. Every effort is made to avoid errors, misspelling and omissions. If, however, an error comes to your attention, please accept our sincere apologies and do notify us. Thank you.

Profile for Edible Southwest Colorado

Edible San Juan Mountains Winter 2010  

Telling the story of local food throughout Southwest Colorado and The Four Corners.

Edible San Juan Mountains Winter 2010  

Telling the story of local food throughout Southwest Colorado and The Four Corners.