The tents were all in place. The forecast was for clear skies and gentle breezes, perfect for an island wedding in June. In the event of a short rain shower, common in June, we were fully prepared.
Prepared for anything, expect perhaps a Sou’Wester.
On my wedding day, I awoke to one of the wildest summer storms I had seen on Vinalhaven. Summer storms had always been a treat for me, a time to batten down the hatches, settle down in front of a roaring fire with hot cocoa and a good read while the rain pelted the roof and the wind howled.
But not a treat for my wedding day.
Coffee and hot donuts in the kitchen ensued. We needed solutions, and fast. Feisty, resourceful women combined with strong coffee can do wonders. The women in my family thrive on challenge and in the midst of a crisis, you can see the corners of mouths turning up with the thrill that chaos brings. My mind kept asking me why I wasn’t stressed, concerned or upset that an entire year of planning was being completely restructured at the last minute, on one of the most important days of my life. Yet I wasn’t.
Even though I had been a summer resident of the island for years, the fact that my husband-to-be was a native was our saving grace. He lifted the phone and put the network into motion. The entire community was assembled and mobilized for action. My heart still yearned for the original site, but I knew that was out of the question now. We needed an alternative to our stately tents, now soggy and windswept by the storm. The phone rang. Would we consider a century-old barn? We grabbed foul weather gear, piled into the trucks and headed out. We knew the location exactly, next door to the old Grange, across from Pleasant River Chapel, overlooking Winter Harbor.
Long, cedar-shingled, studded with rows of crisp windows and tall white painted doors, the barn was magnificent. The accompanying farmhouse stood bridal white against the shuddering pines. Shades of brown and green created a cloak of serenity within the summer storm.
Inside, with the storm battering against the roof, I felt warm and rescued. A notched and worn wooden tool bench ran along one side of the barn, perfect for the buffet table. I was surprised with myself. How was it that I so easily adopted this new place for such an important event? Why wasn’t I ruing my lost plans, my months of preparation?
I was allowed to remain only long enough to note where I wanted the head table, the dance floor and the two bars. As I was leaving, I saw my fiancé’s jeep pull in, filled with his side of the wedding party. We both ducked just in time to avoid seeing each other before the wedding.
While I sat at home in the bathtub, soaking my skin before the ceremony, our friends and the community performed the transformation. The tool bench was draped in soft white tablecloths and lights were strung throughout. Votives and candles of varying sizes and shapes were arranged in decadent abundance. The meandering driveway was lined with torches.
At home, I dressed in the blissful calm of knowing that I was about to marry the most wonderful man. The wedding hour had struck. Surrounded by my inspirational and spirited family and friends, I walked down the aisle in peaceful serenity with my fiancé’s eyes as my beacon. It was then I understood. It was not my love of crisis that had made kept my sanity during that day; it was my love for my new husband and for my friends and family. While chaos reigned, my mind had remained serene and elated, because in the end, the only thing I had really cared about was our day, and our dearest friends and family being there.
During the ceremony, the storm had calmed to a soft fog, casting an ethereal glow over the island. The barn had been utterly transformed, and in the process, so had I.