Our daughter chose to have her wedding at the cabin. We loved the idea–we pictured a homey and rustic event, flowing dresses and cowboy boots, champagne and chuck-wagon grub in the mountains. We imagined a blend of present and past, new chapters in our family story and old childhood memories. It would be perfect!
Bride’s vision was a little different, though. She wanted a celebration of family roots and new growth, but in the couple’s style: formal dresses and heels, dark suits and bow ties, a white tent with linens and china, and a very long bridal veil.
The summer before the wedding, the whole family worked together to clear a space for the ceremony, put up a pergola, and prepare extra rooms to house wedding guests. Spreading gravel and clearing pathways replaced our typical vacation activities, and Bride and Groom were enthusiastic about investing in their future with sweat equity.
The ceremony site was on a rise behind the cabin, where an overgrown logging road curved up to a clearing. Looking to the south towards Colorado, a raggedy patch of dead trees obscured the view of Bull Mountain and the Rawah Wilderness–a lovely vista that we had not noticed at that spot before. In a burst of bridal energy, my daughter started pushing a dead tree, rocking it until it fell. Encouraged, she tackled another one. Soon her fiance joined her, making good progress on the unsightly stand. More family members joined in, one with a chainsaw, and when we had pushed or cut as much as we could, we stood back and admired the view that we had opened up.
The day of the wedding, a white, four-peaked party tent filled the space in front of the cabin, outfitted with a long wooden head table covered by a sage-colored runner, round guest tables with white tablecloths, sage napkins and rangy, romantic bouquets in rose and burgundy, and a square parquet dance floor. Up at the wedding site, hay bales lined up in rows in front of the pergola, draped with colorful Mexican blankets Bride and Groom brought from Albuquerque.
The little log cabin, down the hill and off the to west side, was transformed into a bar, and down the path a little more to the east, the large front deck held cocktail tables, a photo station and a gift table. The big cabin, with the only real bathroom, became the Golden Club, reserved for guests over 45. Cafe lights crisscrossed the tent, the deck and the front of the log cabin. Rope lights marked the paths between them all.
I was so caught up in all the details that I was still in shorts and a t-shirt when guests started to arrive. As my daughters helped me change into my dress, apply my makeup and curl my hair, I could see guests winding their way up the path to the ceremony site to take their seats on the blanket-covered hay bales. Crowded into an upstairs bedroom, we watched nervously as Sister-Bridesmaid pulled tiny loops over the long line of tiny buttons climbing up the back of the wedding dress.
Before I left the cabin, I wanted to give Bride a handkerchief to carry–her “something old.” It belonged to my Grandmother, the namesake for Bride’s middle name, and had a pink script “R” embroidered in one corner, surrounded by roses. Sitting on the daybed in the living room, our hearts were full, holding this moment along with all that came before–a momma and her baby girl, summers at the cabin, a dream wedding, and the beginning of a new family.
I crossed the deck to join the wedding party at the bottom of the path for the walk up to the ceremony site. My parents were in the UTV with Uncle to ride up the hill, Mom hanging on to Dad as they bumped up the path. We walked up then, skirts gathered in hands, on tip toes to keep heels from sinking into the dirt, giddy and excited. Bride and Father of the Bride stood by the cabin window, watching us make our way up the path. At the top, both Sons walked me down the aisle; I was floating. I was careful to take it all in: so many happy faces, sunshine peeking through cooling clouds, all the plans unfolding. It was perfect.
As soon as Bride appeared at the the top of the path, the first notes of Sunshine on My Shoulders played, and tears fell from almost everyone, even the famously stoic Father of the Groom. To symbolize the beginning of their life together, Bride and Groom planted a little spruce tree behind the pergola, with the four parents helping. The vows and exchange of rings was emotional and sweet, and then they were down the aisle, with dip in the middle for a kiss.
The bridal party lingered at the ceremony spot for pictures while the guests hiked back down to the deck and the tent to find their tables for dinner. I watched as Bride posed, her veil flying in the wind, mountains visible in the distance–the view she had so fiercely wrestled trees to clear a month before.
As we ate and talked and enjoyed the first dances, the clouds cleared and the sun came out, slanting through the trees into the tent. The newlyweds and attendants hurried away with the photographer for sunset pictures. When they came back down the trail from the promontory, they looked like fairies flitting out of the forest, laughing and dreamy and pastel in the fading light.
The cake was cut, and I hurried to bring a slice to my Mom. She was standing outside the tent surrounded by Grandchildren, who were dancing and laughing with her. For this day, she recognized her family and she remembered where she was and what we were celebrating–a gift I relished.
After the sun set, it was dark in the trees. On a normal cabin evening, I would not have ventured off the deck after dark, fearing the critters that might be lurking out there, especially when I can hear the coyotes yipping through the woods. On this night, though, we were in a wonderland.
Lights twinkled in the big tent, over the bar and on the deck. Guests traveled the paths through the aspens to go between the dance floor, the cabin and the bar. They lingered between the deck and the tent, and music, laughter and chatter filled the air, chasing away lonely animal sounds. Fireworks, a gift for the couple from fun-loving friends, lit up the sky (and brought the volunteer Fire Chief around for a visit).
How different it felt that night, waltzing around in the moonlight, my long gown swishing past the sage, the dark woods transformed by the magic of the wedding.
In the following days, when the tent was packed up and hauled away and all the festivities were done, quiet returned to the woods. The space around the cabin shrunk down to its former size at night, keeping us close. The bouquets and flowers from the tables were jumbled together on top of the covered hot tub and the deck bar. I pulled them apart, hanging roses upside down to dry for Bride–now Newlywed–and setting succulents aside to root at home.
I made small bouquets from the still-lovely flowers to set on the memorial stones at the promontory, telling that little group of loved ones that we missed them, and knew they were with us. The rest of the flowers I scattered around the wedding site, under the newly-planted spruce, and in the meadow where the tent had been, sowing memories into the soil, mixing these most recent joys into the rich family history already there.
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