Monday, June 7, 2010

Love is Sweet

I've only officially been a full-time farm wife for three weeks now, and already I have gotten the chance to welcome a new wife to the club. My good friend Kiya married into a local farm family this past weekend.

Knowing that their wedding would be beautiful, I brought my camera and set out to take some fun artsy-fartsy pictures of her decorations. But between the low-lighting and the high-octane drinks, those intentions were washed away along with the rain that brought good luck to Kiya's wedding day.

Kiya has been asking me to teach her how to can strawberry preserves for a couple of years now. So I welcomed her into the family of farm wives with canning supplies. She's now got better stuff than me though. So I debated heavily the option of keeping the gift myself and just throwing some cash in the envelope and calling it good. But then I thought ... if she now has better canning supplies than me, I'll just can at HER house, and mess up HER kitchen. I'll pass it off as a "canning lesson." I'm brilliant.
While most fathers' primary roles in weddings are to write checks and walk their little girl down the aisle, Kiya's dad took on one major responsibility. He designed and made her wedding dress. And it was gorgeous, a one-of-a-kind gown.

It rained. But that did nothing to dampen any spirits. The ceremony setting was perfect. But my color-coordinating OCD self (and that's about the ONLY obsessive compulsive disorder my messy butt can ever claim to have) just wishes people would have better coordinated their umbrellas with the wedding colors. That giant rainbow job there in the middle is totally throwing off the balance of my pictures.

The wedding was at a local farm. The dance was in this beautiful old stone and wood barn that was apparently built in 1812 -- that's "new" around here where there are houses like my in-laws' that were built in the late 1700s. This Kansas girl hardly knew buildings could pre-date 1860.

The love of my life. Whose behavior typically pre-dates that of an 8-year-old.

I am so sad that I didn't get a picture of the groom's cake. It was a chocolate cake modeled after a compost pile, in honor of the groom's family running a composting business (among other things). There's nothing like taking a bite out of a big mound of brown delicious nastiness and discovering the clever baker even made edible deer carcases to add a little character to the heap of cake. Steel Magnolia's armadillo cake ain't got nothing on this sucker.

The decorations were so simply sweet. Apple crates with candles, mason jars with flowers, and little favors of local honey. My husband had suggested to the bride that rather than "Love is Sweet" she should have ordered the labels to say "Marriage is a Sticky Situation." Always the comic. The day I entered that man's life was the best day of his life, I don't know what he's talking about.

I mean, who else would put up with him forking the honey out of his favor jar at the table? Sweety, I'm pretty sure those were meant to be taken home and eaten at a later date.

I swear, I can't take him anywhere.

No really, I can't.
Between his tongue always being out and my dancing, I think we've been barred from anymore weddings.

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