"The" Wedding
Our last daughter, Shoshanna, 20 years old, has joined the ranks of her married sisters. She is now Shoshanna Easling (husband James). There are weddings, and then there was Shanna’s wedding.
Some called it a production, others an experience they will never forget; everyone said it was the only three-hour wedding they ever attended that they were sorry to see end. Shoshanna was beautiful. But that didn’t help the groom any. The groom’s father addressed the wedding attendees, disclosing to them that he had invested in his son, extolling all his skills of mountain climbing and rappelling, airplane piloting, wrestling, martial arts, etc., which no doubt ably prepared him to marry Shanna. It was funny, because it is so true. It took a MAN to win her.
She and her friends produced her wedding—an expression of all her dreams come true. Our weddings are never conventional—no two the same, little to nothing of tradition in them. But this one took the prize for originality. None of us knew the agenda, not even the groom and I. And I was so surprised by all that transpired, that I forgot my entire message and ended up speaking only about four lines before we actually pronounced them “man and wife”.
To begin with, it was outdoors at 7:00 in the evening, a cool day in June, situated on the very top of what we in middle Tennessee would call a mountain—actually just a tall ridge overlooking miles and miles of beautiful timberland, lakes, rivers, and pastures—not a house or road in sight. The guests, about 250 in number, sat among the wildflowers scattered about, some under the oak trees, others on the sloping hillside itself with the sun to their backs, looking into the ever changing backdrop of evening colors—a breathtaking panoramic view. James, the groom, and James senior and I stood under an arbor that Shoshanna had made from small trees with vines twisted around them, beautifully and artfully covered with wild flowers. It looked like the forest in which she grew up—something almost medieval.
James’ siblings were playing stringed instruments, the violins dominating. It sounded like a cross between Celtic battle music and a love song, nothing that you would ever hear at a church wedding.
We waited for fifteen minutes, and still the bride did not come out of her large tent set back in the trees. As the sun lowered, a stirring in the forest drew our attention, and there, silently emerging from the dark green of the tree line was a prancing horse being ridden bareback by Elizabeth, Shanna’s best friend and cousin. She came out of the forest like a phantom, her flowing, silky gold gown trailing in the gentle breeze, blending with the clouds behind her, and her long golden hair gracing her shoulders and back. The horse and rider as one glided across the ridge top toward us, and then, picking up speed, she swept past, seeming not to see us, as if we belonged to two different times and dimensions—an apparition, surreal, like something riding out of a story book. Many were now standing to their feet in wonder and awe, watching her silently pass. Ghostlike, she rode under an oak tree and disappeared into the deep foliage beyond.
