Weddings I Hear Sitting on My Porch
The August sun hits my back porch about 3:45. I sit in an Adirondack chair and wait for what starts every Saturday afternoon during the summer. Every Saturday is different. Sometimes muted, oftentimes loud, always hopeful.
Today it’s a lone violin. I suppose the violin could sound sacred. To me, it sounds lonely and unwelcoming. Are they hoping this one violin will soothe guests or allay the anxiety someone has about this day? Or were they simply on a budget? One violin will do the trick.
Two hours later, I water the plants and hear what’s next. Oh, God, the father of the bride is droning on and on, longer than the sad violin that played before the vows. Then it’s a young woman’s voice, followed by a young man. So much talking this week. Polite applause after each toast, nothing too raucous or even spirited.
As I listen to random wedding sounds from my porch, I wonder about this marriage. The joy seems repressed. Or maybe they are simply a polite, WASPY family that doesn’t go in for noisy, messy love?
At 10 p.m., I am in bed reading, the windows open. The crickets are loud tonight. The warmer the day, the louder the crickets.
At 10:20, cars and minivans carrying guests drive down the hill, right on schedule. Because a handful of us live up here next to historic Highfield Hall and Gardens, weddings must end by 10:30.
These wedding people end early. How prompt of them. Are they people with rules-based professions? Lawyers, actuaries, surveyors, surgeons, CPAs?
I close my eyes and add this new couple to my evening meditation:
May you find strength in your quiet love.
May your gentle spirits provide enduring hope amid uncertainty.
May this day comfort you when love seems lost.
Wait a minute, the sounds from this wedding didn’t seem intense enough to last into the dog days of marriage. (Many nights I fail at meditation, especially wedding nights.) Or, maybe they’re introverts and quiet love will deter loud, marital storms. Maybe quiet love will help them think things through and avoid cruel outbursts of frustration.
Today is the second Saturday in September—only a few more weeks of the wedding season at Highfield Hall & Gardens.
I put on a fleece jacket as I get comfortable on the porch. It’s 4 p.m., but there’s no music, just latecomers speeding up the hill, hoping there’s a parking space left, hoping that they won’t have to run across a lawn to get to the ceremony because their spiked heels will sink and stain the shoes. Or worse, make them stumble and fall, splitting a tight-fitted silver sequined mini dress.
Oooh, here we go at 4:20. Not one, but possibly four bagpipes. It must be a big wedding party marching from the manor down the uneven granite steps into the garden that serves as the ceremony site. The bagpipes are strong, loud, sacred, and encouraging. Yes, a very good start for this wedding and marriage.
After 40 minutes of quiet during the ceremony, the bagpipes start up again. Are they leading the wedding party and guests around the back path in the woods and up to the grand front entrance of Highfield Hall? That’s what I’d want. A procession together - sisters, brothers, cousins, old and new friends, aunts holding their grandsons’ arms for support. A short, reverent walk through the woods to feel into the music and love before the exuberance of a party.
Another rule for weddings at Highfield Hall is that dancing and music must be indoors, while the speeches and dinner can be held outdoors under the large tent. (How could music and love be disturbing, I think. Who are these new neighbors of mine who are bothered by weekly celebratory sounds for two months of the year? Maybe they’re like the solo violin wedding people.)
Against the rules, the bagpipe wedding bursts from the indoors. Everyone sings. They seem to know every verse of every song. The last song is thunderous and very late, almost 11 p.m.! These crazy kids.
Where it began, I can't begin to know when
But then I know it's growing strong
Oh, wasn't the spring
And spring became the summer
Who'd have believed you'd come along
Hands, touching hands, reaching out
Touching me, touching you
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seem so good.
So good! So good!
The music ends. People walk down the hill, not worrying that there are no streetlights, that the mosquitoes are fierce, that the deer run wild, that departing cars may not see them. (Perhaps the sequined mini-dress leads the way, a wedding guest crossing guard of sorts?) People talk loudly as they walk. Some sing. Others call out a name to see if that person is in the walking-to-the-hotel pack.
I imagine this couple may bicker loudly 10, 20, 40 years from now, but never hold a grudge. They’ll think back on tonight, turn on a long-dead Neil Diamond singing “Sweet Caroline,” and claw back some of the joy from their Highfield Hall wedding day. Their friends and family will be there to comfort them, unasked, sensing their need and showing up as intensely as they did to support their new love.
Though it’s late, I pray for the bagpipe wedding people:
May you find serenity in your boisterous love.
May your joyous spirits provide an enduring resiliency.
May this day comfort you when love seems lost.
These are my hopes for the brides and grooms I do not know. For weddings I hear sitting on my porch. Who knows what marriages will endure, dissolve, or blow up?
Beginnings, however quiet or loud, are sacred. They honor a belief in possibilities. And that is enough to celebrate.