By Madeline Marin-Foucher
Dearest readers,
When last we met, I had woven for you a beautiful love story filled with mystery and intrigue, drama, love struck tears, and many cross-country flights.
I had wowed you with my sparkling romanticism and left you with the promise of an Oregon wedding in late September, the religious union of my dapper, gravel-voiced husband Manuel, and your funky ol’ newspaper standby.
Now, a few months later after all the dust has settled, I shan’t disappoint you: the tale of our wedding day is one filled with even more hijinks, twists and turns, and a few declarations of love – besides our own. Let’s revisit that day in warm September, at a sprawling ranch in the heart of La Pine.
I woke at the crack of dawn, pulled on my ropers, shuffled to the kitchen for coffee, and found my mother urging me out the door with the battle cry of “we’re late already, no time to eat, and who’s doing the flowers?!” It was my wedding day and darned if I wasn’t going to tackle every little task ahead of me. Sure, I was tired, and sure, my husband was off somewhere with a massive and testosterone-filled group of amigos freshly arrived from Mexico City, but I had a slew of international friends, two crafty sisters, one former principal mom, and the determination to get this wedding done. We were off!
I had decided, characteristically but somewhat obtusely, to give my wedding the theme of Eastern Oregon Summer Picnic circa 1912, and the day just wouldn’t be complete without scores of pine cones, sarsaparilla sticks, and at least 200 boxes of candy cigarettes. I had buckets of flowers laid out ready to be arranged and stuffed into charmingly mismatched vintage blue vases, while my guest book lay propped open, an old ledger from the Stayton flour mill, mine through generations of family hoarding. Folks had come from all over the world to be with us that day, the longest-traveled being Mike Etzel (a hometown boy teaching English in Taiwan) and my old French friend Mathilde, now a flight attendant based in Dubai. They joined pals from all corners of the US (Virginia, New York City, Chicago, Princeton), not to mention Manuel’s boisterous and lovable contingent from Mexico, all gathered in little ol’ La Pine, a fact that never failed to amuse me.
I was determined to be a nonchalant bride, the very opposite of that startling and all-too-common generational boogeyman, The Bridezilla. I kept my cool cutting heaps of flowers, supervised the set up of all 80 chairs and corresponding tables, and was wowed by the power of a bunch of Oregonians putting on a homemade wedding together, my two sisters off in the distance balanced precariously on ladders to decorate our wedding arch. Never underestimate the chutzpah of us northwesterly folks! When it was time for wedding pictures the last thing on my mind was transforming my granola-y, roper-wearing self into some kind of glamazon, but with the help of my sister and sister-in-law the transformation was complete. I was ready for my close up, awkward and unphotogenic as I may be.
I had some nerves about seeing Manuel for the first time in my wedding dress, an admittedly poufy confection that I was afraid he’d deem ridiculous, but he only twirled me around and gave me a huge grin. He looked handsome in his grey suit (the result of a long battle we’d been waging after he insisted that an old timey tuxedo frock coat was the only acceptable groom garb at a modern wedding) and our bridal party was charming in cowboy boots and blue ties. As we saw our guests filtering in and prepared to walk down the aisle it seemed like a year’s worth of efforts, getting to know yous, and trials and tribulations had all come down to this. Sure, we were already married, but this was in front of God and, perhaps more startlingly, dozens of friends and family. I took a deep breath, grabbed my dad’s arm (was he already tearing up?) and took those first steps.
We were lucky enough to have my childhood priest, Tom Moehl, from Stayton’s Christ the King Episcopal leading our ceremony, and he did a fabulous job; careful, meditative, and classic, exactly what we’d hoped for. My godmother, Monica Weber read the majority of Bob Dylan’s Shelter From the Storm which is when I really lost it emotionally, and Manuel’s sister did a Spanish rendition of First Corinthians. Walking back up the aisle when it was all said and done I saw the faces of all the people who meant so much to us, smiling in overwhelming support. It was beautiful, touching, and time to party!
Though we only ended up with about 80 folks at our big day, they brought the crowd like several hundred. The dancing could not be stopped, the revelry continued until the wee hours, and old and young alike boogied down like there was no tomorrow. Some Mexican traditions showed up and some Oregon-y traditions materialized, like the cutting of our cake from Stayton’s own Lovin’ Oven. In the midst of all this carousing we were later to find out my best man, Evan, and French flight attendant friend, Mathilde, fell in love after meeting just days before, and decided to follow us to the altar! They were wed in Salem’s city hall just one month after us and Evan packed up and moved to Dubai a few weeks later. If that wasn’t enough drama, my oldest sister and her husband decided to part ways at our wedding, a decision our family was happy about despite the odd timing, and my sister moved home to Oregon that weekend much to everyone’s delight. What is it about weddings as a time for some serious life perspective? That night we also found out friends from Chicago had recently become engaged, and myriad single pals mingled with other eligible bachelors and bachelorettes for a romantic weekend.
Looking back on our wedding day I can only say it was one heck of a party, and I’m tickled to know that folks in attendance rated it high on their best wedding lists. For me, the absolute best part was being surrounded by friends and family I rarely get to see, let alone all together, and feeling the love and support of those who have known me for decades, as I took those brave first steps toward my future.
