Saturday, May 21, 2011

Bugs and Brides

A new quiet has arrived on the farm. Thankfully, the past few weeks’ incessant humming, whirling, buzzing, and droning of the millions of love starved red eyed locusts, has come to a predicted close and out door farm life is again so much more peaceful and easy without them. Theirs’ was a relentless tone, and now, it’s mostly gone, at least for another thirteen years. The dogs have all been enjoying crunching on these spent adults that have fallen to the ground after their mating game was done, and I am sure that Jack will miss them the most, but he will find something else to eat to keep his figure suitably rotound. He always does.

This past weekend we left the recently quieted farm for a brief journey to Birmingham to see a dear friend give away his only daughter in marriage. I hate weddings in general, and the idea of dressing up and driving two hours there and back were not high on my want to do list. This, however, was a must do attendance for us, and so we resolved to do what was necessary to give support to our good friend in his hour of need.

Thus resolved and reluctantly all tidied up, we drove to our destination site, The Club, an uber swanky club straddling the steep peak of Red Mountain and overlooking the valley to the north which is the town of Birmingham. The Club was built either late 50’s of early 60’s and has a suave and sophisticated look about its architecture and lines as it lays like a relaxed cat upon the narrow top of a fence line, slowing flicking its tail. It is a white, smoothly finished structure with slow sensuous, curving lines and is topped with a low profiled flat roof. Tidy gardens line the path from the parking deck and lead you to the glass front doors. Once inside the view from the glass walled foyer/bar is a expansive scene of the busy urban life below. It has fortunately stood the effects of time, both physically and socially. It is so nice to see that some later architect of decorator was steered clear of “improving” its character and has left this elegant old place alone

The wedding du jour, was to be held out on a broad deck that perched over a very steep slope below us. It was a mid-May wedding but the weather didn’t get the memo. It was chilly to say the very least, a late in the season cold front had come in to lighten the humidity and the temps and the chilly north wind was blowing steady into the faces of the already seated. We found our way to some chairs and we waited for the quartet playing the usual pre-wedding songs to wrap it up.

Finally, after all of the grannies and the moms had been escorted in, and everyone had gotten a chance to see and judge their frocks for this special day, the show began. The anthem chords of the marriage parade were sounded and all eyes were turned to the back of the seating area, and there was the bride and her father.

She was beaming in her joy and he was smiling and squirming in the discomfort of both his tux and his being in the spot light. In they paraded and vows were exchanged and all the hooplala of the typical ritualistic Gentile/Hebrew wedding was done with all the mixed metaphors from both religions, they kissed and the grannies and moms were escorted back from whence they came.

Servers stood by with trays of wine as the thirsty guests unseated themselves and turned to try to find libation. It was a good thing because most of the wedding party and their many guests had not counted on a stiff cold breeze for a May wedding, were freezing and needed antifreeze badly. The coldest I saw was a bridesmaid with a particularly interesting shade of red hair, wearing a moss green, gossamer, strapless gown. She had become a bit of a study of contrast in colors when she walked by. Her skin had become a vivid and cool shade of purple which really set the two secondary colors of the soft moss and the electric orange hair off to a tee.

As far as weddings go, it was okay. The weather was overlooked as the wine settled the nerves, and the food was excellent. The bride’s father was so happy it was over and he even survived the first dance with his married daughter on a brightly colored dance floor to the sounds of a kick butt band playing mo town hits. We ate and we drank, and chatted with those we did find in the crowd that we knew, and then were about to leave when the father said that there was to be a special announcement back out on the deck. So back into the cold night we all went.

Kaboom….kaboom, kaboom etc etc etc. Below us cans of exploding gunpowder were launching streaks of fireworks upward into the sky and the launched fireworks exploded into mind blowing patterns and colors, some very close from our vantage point. The air was thick with the smell and the sonic booms shook out legs. This was no amateur exposition. This was a fantastic show, in a fantastic setting, but the reason for the show was the most fantastic. As a child, one day the future bride told her dad that at her wedding she wanted fire works. Unbeknown to this bride, on this her wedding day, her dad had obliged and had secretly arranged for this dazzling show. It was a great end of the evening for us and we said our adieus and drove back home in the dark.

As I said earlier, I hate weddings. The happiest moment of a wedding, in the traditional style regardless of the culture, is when it’s over and the bills have been paid. Why it has evolved into such a ridiculous event that causes so much stress and involves such a huge investment of time and money, is a total mystery to me.

My own was sufficed in a court house on a Monday in May. I wore blue jeans and flip flops and stood with my legs crossed. Job done, we left to go camping. No thrown rice, no tacky brides maid dresses, no jittery nerves about where so and so will sit, no protocol, no wedding planner, no Godzilla bill for friggin’ flowers, no preacher giving a mini sermon, no stupid white dress signifying my purity, no worrying about the caterer making enough cheese biscuits, no diamond to ooh and ahh over, no year’s worth of planning and a life time of money to pay for it all, the very idea of it all makes me crazy.

But, to each their own, and this recent bride seemed to have a good time at her almost flawless wedding, despite the chilly breezes. Her dad can breathe again and go back to fishing in his little pond and life goes on,too, here on our farm. May is nearly done, my daughter turned twenty six this week, and soon there will be another anniversary for Mark and me. The horses are glossy in the paddocks, Jack has managed to not make any news in a while, the Purple Martins are busy feeding baby bird mouths, and the corn is knee high in the garden. Good news this week was that Joline, my geriatric broodmare, was confirmed pregnant, so I will be keeping fingers crossed that she can carry it to term successfully. I guess weddings, love starved bugs, and pregnant mares are really on the same big page in life. It 's all about keeping it all going.  Another day, and another page turns.

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