| It was a brilliant wedding. An outdoor event planned for mid-September, when so much can go wrong, but nothing did. The weather was at its Fall best. Even the ceremony, was illuminated by the sensuous slant of the autumn light.
As the couple spoke their vows, a great blue heron glided onto the pond beyond, amidst a coppery glow that matched the weather vane on the cupola, a present from groom to his bride atop the house they had so recently built together. And as the couple, now wed, turned to face family and friends, the assembled guests stood and applauded, sharing a collective joy and “feeling the love.”
And relief. All those thousands of pre-wedding details were done with just enough time to spare. It was a grand tribute to the bride and groom — to their planning and organizational skills, their thoughtful devotion to one another and also, one has to note, to their many volunteers. Hardly anything was out-sourced: Labor, tents, materials, flowers, food, hair-do’s, food, photography, music, set-up, clean up and more, no doubt more. A local caterer created his menu to use local farm-raised chickens and pigs. Friends offered up their elk and venison for the potluck. The official wedding photographer, imported from Greenfield, took over 1200 photos, all artfully edited. The groom’s father forested birch for the Hoopah,the sacred altar, which the groom and his team built the day before. A trusted family friend, a temporary justice of the peace, presided over a ceremony that wove together the traditional and the personal. The musicians, who really got the guests dancing, might be familiar to anyone attending first Fridays at the French King Restaurant. Sunflowers, bouquets and the petals strewn by the flower children were all grown and arranged by local hands. Meanwhile, just the Sunday before, an assembled team scooped fiddleheads, gathered in the spring by the couple, and pickled by the couple’s stepmother, into tiny glass jars, with special designer labels and fancy calico caps to make up the wedding souvenirs. (Martha Stuart, don’t even try to take credit.) And the sister of the groom painted an original Ketubah, the traditional Jewish marriage contract as well as beautiful slate markers.
And still there was more sweat equity and last minute errands to run keeping family, extended family and good neighbors from idling. Did I mention that what went up also came down — tents, tables, chairs and the left-overs, all done in record time as the couple sped off on their honeymoon, towing their fully packed pop-up tent.
As the mother-of-the-bride I was witness and a frequent consultant to this wedding phenomena. Actually, consultant might be a misnomer. “What do you think about … ?” my dear daughter would begin, more telling than asking. And as it turned out, we did not need the job lots of umbrellas, I had proposed. And ice cream sundaes, instead of a wedding cake, was an inspired choice; the bouncy house was genius despite my “reservations.”
And her green bridesmaid dresses, well, we both agreed, it was sensational.
But as MOB, I did take on one last minute, but significant job. “Mom, would you decorate the porta potties?”
“Really? Porta potties? Me?” In truth, I have never been a big fan of these outdoor facilities. Given the option, I’d use the woods, and yes I know that the technology has improved, witness the luxurious comfort station set up at the Green River Fest.
I could only hope my potties, would be the newer ones. So I headed off to a dollar store, purchased colorful doo-dads, sparkly trim, superhero hand wipes and lotions.
I also got thick beer mugs intended as vases. I would cut hydrangeas from home and set each one up with flowers. And then satisfied, I rested. On the day of, I set forth with my shopping bags and cut flowers. These portable toilets were clearly your more basic potties, without shelves or room to spare, so how was I to arrange the finery? Then I noticed a small curvature jutting out on one wall. It had a small lip with a blue disk that wasn’t doing diddly-squat as far as I could tell. So there I put the sparkles and lotions, the doo-dads and batman wipes.
On the floor, I set up the vase with hydrangea. Inspected, approved and closed the door. Later, it turned out, but perhaps you suspected, I had decorated the urinals.
Which may not have been a bad thing.
Billowing tents, solemn vows, a euphoric couple, rejoicing guests, feasting and dancing and of course, well-appointed Porta-potties. It was a perfect down home wedding.
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