Every Sunday, the New York Times features “Vows,” an article offering backstory on a couple recently married, with their nuptials described in detail. Something special in the relationship and the event gives the story poignancy that a wider audience, beyond those personally knowing the couple, would appreciate. I’ve read them over the years. Sometimes the story brings tears to my eyes, sometimes a broad grin, and sometimes, both together.
One such compelling story, reported by Vincent Mallozzi in the September 13 issue, surely played the heartstrings of some readers like me, who know and love the Maine coast. It confirmed what many of us attribute to it: there’s magic there, and it isn’t surprising when it’s romance-inducing.
Is it possible Cupid worked those odds, there in the village of Five Islands the summer of 1938, aiming his arrows one day at Beth Ashley and Rowland Fellows?
Rowland was 13, Beth 12. When her heart stirred, she attributed it to a “little girl crush.” As for Rowland, it seems he hardly noticed-any twang of Cupid’s bow, that is. He did notice Beth, but at the time she was the kid sister of his friend, her brother, and as Rowland described her, “a tomboy,” “a buddy.” Cupid may have had the timing wrong, but he got the place right. Beth and Rowland shared four summers of their adolescence in that magical place, vacationing with their families.
Now, Roland fondly recalls those days, appreciating the spirit of adventure and the love of outdoors that Maine nurtured in him, a place so “freeing and pure.” Those halcyon days ended when both families relocated from the East Coast to the West Coast, the Ashleys moving to Marin County and the Fellows to Berkeley in California. Contact ended.
Beth went on to Stanford University, Rowland to University of California, Berkeley. She embarked on a career in journalism; he became an electrical engineer as well as serving in the Navy. Each married and had children. She divorced, married again, became widowed in 1971. Rowland was married over 50 years, widowed more recently.
In 2004, after a visit back east to Five Islands, she wrote a story for her regular column in the Marin Independent Journal describing long ago experiences there. A friend who read it told her she knew a Rowland Fellows in California, wondering if he and the Maine one were the same. Beth decided against contacting him; as she says now, “I was having a good life, and he was married.” But three years later, Rowland, now widowed and curious to connect with some childhood past himself, called her. They met for lunch, after almost 70 years.
I tracked down the newlyweds in California recently. To my questions, two voices over the phone responded. What happened, I asked, that made you reconnect? Beth laughed and said Rowland had almost immediately suggested taking a trip together. She was hesitant. Not about travel-she is a world traveler, has visited a hundred different countries, lived abroad. Was it the question of accommodations? Rowland assured her they could have separate rooms, twin beds. It wasn’t until he said the magic word, however, that she agreed. “Maine.”
A trip to Maine was one she couldn’t resist; the “deal breaker,” she called it. And with that, their visit there, Cupid could finally chalk up a success; the fix was in. Not that the idea of marriage was in the picture yet, but a series of trips elsewhere followed. Many were to other islands and coasts. The first kiss, Rowland told me, was in Shanghai. They became engaged.
Of course their wedding ceremony took place in Maine at Five Islands. The “I do’s” were exchanged onboard a lobster boat. I asked the couple about the other celebration marking their union, the party 300 attended in California afterwards. Rowland enjoyed recounting the details. It seemed to be his idea to call it a “Down Maine affair,” homage not only to the place where they’d met, and later rekindled a friendship, but a place both had always held as special in their hearts. There was an all-Maine slide show. Each table was named for a lighthouse somewhere on the Maine coast. Each centerpiece was composed of blueberries and birch bark from Maine. Loaves of bread decorated each table too, baked in the shape of a lobster. Salmon was served, garnished with a blueberry sauce. Atop the wedding cake, a lighthouse reposed.
And there is no doubt in my mind the couple themselves glowed, resplendent, lit from within, emanating the joy that comes from an unexpected and delightful turn of events. Yes, with this story come both tears and smiles. “A happy ending,” I said to them on the phone as I wrapped up the call. Rowland corrected me: hardly an end. It was, rather, a beginning.