When it comes to getting married, I don’t care either way. Do it or don’t. Spend a year planning a huge bonanza, or procure a marriage certificate and throw a BBQ. Whatever! But I will say that Annie and Justin’s wedding held this weekend near Bozeman, Montana was a fairy tale wedding in all its magic and awesomeness. I couldn’t believe it, but even I choked up when I saw her walking down the aisle—a crisp white flower on the arm of her dad all handsome in his navy uniform—and of course I was fully in tears during the best man’s speech, all about perfect matches and the dearly departed and lots of both humor and sadness. The candlelight and the white Christmas lights, the old people and old friends, the Johnny Cash and Iron And Wine, the thunder storm rolling in from the South, the first dance to Band of Horses, the smell of new rain coming in off the orchard, all the Maker’s Mark and rich red wine … I don’t know, it cast a spell on everyone, I think.
Oh, and the cake. I could write a whole paragraph about the cake, about how it was bedecked with tiny daisies and about how it was a concoction of the most delicate lemon frosting spread over a deep, dark chocolate cake infused with ghostly hints of raspberry—when you put it in your mouth, you immediately thought of fawns prancing around in the dew of a meadow at dawn … I could go on, but I’ll stop there, and just note that even many drinks deep, I was floored by its loveliness.
Not much more to say besides that. It was a quick trip, with lots of driving, lots of blue sky, lots of sun washed rivers and mountain peaks off in the distance. For the record, I love Montana. Without further ado, some pictures from the trip.
I’m wearing my mommy’s dress from 1964. I felt like a cupcake.
A sniper shot of, “And now, you may kiss the bride!”
Pre-thunderstorm view of the rolling ranch-lands awesomeness.
They is now Mr. and Mrs. Eeles hyphen Fast, or whatever….
Turn of the century tools on one of the shacks in the orchard.
Why am I doing that with my arm?!
Jardine and I, post cake, pre dance.
We hit the road the next morning, too early of course. Here, outside Butte, with piles of mine-tailings off in the distance.
The essence of Montana.
The fresh bear track we saw on the beach of the below god-given river spot we found by a rest stop outside Missoula.
Rest areas in most states are seedy places rife with tumbleweeds and the smell of outhouses, but rest stops in Montana are gorgeous jewels of nature. See above.
Sunset over the Columbia River Gorge. Tired-eye-induced hallucination. 85 mph. 43rd street exit off the 84. Couch. Pizza Hut cheese pizza. Bed.