Welcome to Forgotonia

Allow me to share with you the mental wrestling I’ve been doing over something as seemingly insignificant as choosing the place to exchange (and celebrate) one’s marital vows.

Chapter One: A Little P.C. for You and Me

Over the last several months as I’ve been researching the how/where/when and best ways to put together a fairly low-key, low-budget-and-yet-not-too tacky wedding and celebration for me and my future husband, (or FH), I’ve come across some good advice on blogs and in magazines about making choices that reflect your values.

And I think, for the most part, I’ve/we’ve done that so far.

For example, it’s ridiculously important to me, for some reason, to not create tons of waste, either financially or materially. I want as little stuff as possible to end up in a landfill or as clutter in the back of closets (tiny picture frame favors, anyone?).

I’m planning to purchase little pop-up recycling bins to place throughout the reception area for anything that will be recyclable.

I’ve chosen items for the ceremony that can be re-purposed: paper flowers; a suit Chris can wear again; asking friends and family to wear what they want, rather than buy matching taffeta dresses.

I even got a little feeling of satisfaction when one of those articles pointed out that, by having the ceremony and reception in the same spot (as we will be), you create less of a carbon footprint. (Never mind that some guests will be flying here, and none of the out-of-town guests will be carpooling. I want Brownie Points for being green!)

The only problem is, we’ve picked a venue that comes with…well, shall we say…”interesting” decor. Here’s how it happened.

Chapter 2: The County Courthouse Called…

In the early days of planning, we talked seriously about going to the courthouse, and then inviting close family and friends go out for dinner afterward.

But in my hometown, there are exactly 4 restaurants (and that number includes the Dairy Queen and Hardee’s).

And the number of family and friends to invite after the Signing of Documents started to grow too large for one restaurant. So, then it seemed like I was actually planning a wedding reception.

Which then led to: why don’t we just have one, then?

Well, the first answer is this: I tend to get a wee bit stressed when it comes to orchestrating social events. Instead of having fun, I worry about pleasing everyone, so I end up a wreck. (I know, I need to listen to Ricky Nelson.)

But the larger reason is that FH and I live two hours apart, both of us with solid jobs and careers (and in a bad economy), with no easy answer about how to bring ourselves geographically closer together. After the initial engagement excitement, the idea of planning a wedding seemed almost silly when compared to other priorities.

But the more we talked about courthouse’n it, the more I started to feel like we were being too businesslike. It hit me that—even if we would have a lot going on as a couple, like potentially moving and/or starting new jobs—it was making me sad to think of sealing the deal in such a private, ho-hum way. Meeting Chris has been the greatest stroke of luck I could have ever experienced, and I wanted my closest friends and family to be part of the act of he and I taking this step in our lives.

So the next thing we knew, we were planning an actual wedding.

We could have looked into venues in FH’s area, like the Quad City Botanical Center, for example. Or Vander Veer Park (where we often took walks when we first started dating, and where there’s a perfect setup for outdoor weddings).

And, of course, we could’ve chosen to be married in the beautiful, historic church in my hometown where I was baptized, confirmed, and spent nearly every Sunday of my youth (and where I still consider about half the congregants to be honorary grandparents).

But no. Instead? :

Chapter III: Goin’ to the Chapel…of bucks

We chose a hunting cabin in Forgotonia. One that just happens to be adorned by several startled-looking, deceased deer.

And does that go along with our “values”?

Considering that I shiver at even the sight of the word “gun,” the answer is um, no.

(And, while I do understand the purported benefits of thinning out the deer population in rural Illinois, I’m also such a softie that I think I got Disney-induced PTSD from Bambi.)

When I think about those Ethical Wedding blog suggestions, I tell myself that the tucked-away cabin (and lake next to it) are located on a family farm. The property is owned by close friends of my family, with something like 30 years of shared history between us. I used to babysit for the owners’ now-almost-grown grand kids.

And choosing this spot is a way for us to have an outdoor wedding next to water (which feels really “right” to me) but also have an indoor back-up plan (the cabin) if it rains (did I mention I’m a worrier?).

Still, it’s a choice I’ve been feeling the need to justify lately. Not just because we’re not exactly camo-clad, but also because it’s located in an area that might best be described as “BFE.”

Our out-of-town guests (mostly on FH’s side) will have to drive at least 40 minutes just to get from the venue to their hotels in Macomb or Keokuk. 

And our choice has created some logistical challenges, such as: will the DJ booth fit in that corner with the 16-point buck? And while we’re standing under a gazebo saying our vows, if there are local fisherman on the lake, will they realize they’re behind us (and therefor refrain from, say, taking a leak off the side of their boat)?

But more than that, I’ve been asking myself why I wanted for everything to be in my hometown (or 10 miles outside it, actually), in the first place.

We could’ve picked a bright, shiny space in the Quad Cities with lots of amenities (and little to no taxidermy), in a city where there were multiple choices for a rehearsal dinner and after-hours nightcaps, chain hotels… not to mention four-lane highways to get there.

And even though I don’t believe the wedding should be “all about the bride [only]“—I guess I just wanted this day to be about home, for me, on multiple levels. And this location is just a few miles from the farm where I grew up and where my parents still live.

So I guess the answer I’ve landed on is: it’s just me. And it’s just us. Because, like FH and I, it’s casual, authentic and comes with plenty of character.

Epilogue: Ah yes, character.

Early this spring when we drove out to this spot to visit with the owner and ask about renting it for our wedding day, we asked a ton of questions about catering, the DJ set-up, etc. The owner stressed that we could do whatever we wanted. He didn’t even require a deposit.

But as we were leaving—after we’d told him we were pretty sure we wanted it but would let him know—he held up a finger and said, “Wait, now, there is just one thing.”

FH and I looked at each other.

“The only thing I ask,” the owner said, “is that whatever fish you take out of the lake, you pay for.”

Luckily, I don’t plan to do any fishing during or after our nuptials. So at least there is one aspect of the rustic location that I won’t be worried about at all.

What in the world do these strange-looking trousers have to do with the Forgotonia region, and why are they in (a division of) the Smithsonian?

The answer, from Arago: People, Postage & the Post, involves a tiny nearby town, and a man named Forrest W. Crookham.

“This is an automobile and driver’s robe [...]. It provided drivers of open-air vehicles with protection from the cold and dirt.[....] Purchased by Forrest W. Crookham early in his career as a rural delivery service carrier, the driver’s robe helped Crookham face wintry weather conditions while delivering the mail on his country route out of Roseville, Illinois. Crookham began as a rural letter carrier in 1915 [during the 'horse and buggy days'] ,and was still working a route when he donated this article of clothing to the Smithsonian Institution in 1960.

“It was a God-send to me,” [he said], “as before wearing it I froze or frosted my feet every winter. . . .”

Cool!

(Thanks to Double K for the tip!)

Ferris, Illinois Post Office

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

Officially endangered.

(As well as those in
Bardolph,
Basco.
Tennessee,
and several other Forgotonia towns that, unfortunately, have their best days behind them.)

Signs of earlier days…

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

This photo (titled “Lonely Ipava”), along with two others I took in the Forgotonia region, was recently selected for inclusion by the editors of Midwest Gothic, a new online and print literary magazine.

A photo by my BFF, kindred spirit (and professional colleague, too), Jane Carlson, was selected for the cover of their most recent issue. (Thanks for the idea and courage to submit, Jane.)

Sciota sunset

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

(taken near Sciota, Ill., population approximately 50 people.)

Yay! This photo, along with two others I took in the Forgotonia region, was recently selected for inclusion by the editors of Midwest Gothic literary magazine.

Rainbow Barn

Originally uploaded by Rural Rose

(taken near Viola, Ill.)

Yay! This photo was selected for inclusion by the editors of Midwest Gothic, a new online and print literary magazine.

I’ve been spending more time on the David’s Bridal website lately than I would care to admit. Honestly, as the book Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress helped me realize, the store/chain is actually worth giving a chance, and for a reason you might never expect. (Hint:  feminism, and/or the belief that not all bodies should be a Size 0).

Anyway, I just have to say, despite my softening stance against the company, I still think….they need to hire me as an editor.

Sale on Bridal Party gifts:

• Cooked! Several meals! which also meant that I: washed. dishes. all. weekend.
• Received an awesome surprise in the mail. I was making dinner (a sun-dried tomato, caramelized onion, spinach and gorgonzola pizza from a Weight Watchers recipe that I can’t find online, otherwise would link here) Friday night, waiting for Chris to arrive, when I sorted through the mail. Excitedly, I realized that I had received a small package, and was relieved to see that my wedding hair flower (or so I thought) had finally arrived. (After spending several weeks eying it, I finally ordered it, and then…realized I had placed an order for something made in Turkey. SO, it’s taking forever to arrive in the mail). And Friday I get this tiny package, with a strange, scrawled handwriting that I think is in another language….and instead, a tiny bubble-wrapped item falls out…my wedding band! I had no idea that the goldsmith who works at the Iowa Artisans Market in Iowa City was going to mail it to me when he was done (I thought he’d said we should come pick it up), AND I thought it would be mid-August before he was done. Not only did it arrive early, but…I love it. He did exactly what I/we asked him to do–create a simple but sturdy silver band, with a “hammered” design that almost resembles flowing water (hard to describe) and include an inscription inside. Thankfully, his “handwriting” was perfect inside the ring!
• Saturday: Went to a matinee. Enjoyed soaking up the AC, so it wasn’t all that disappointing that Horrible Bosses turned out to be pretty…horribly stupid. (And I’m definitely not above stupid movies. I laughed a lot at The Hangover, for example.) The Jennifer-Aniston-as-boss-who-sexually-harasses-her-employee bit was definitely over-the-top, but not actually funny.
• Watched another movie, The Adjustment Bureau, in which Matt Damon and Emily Blunt gave good performances, (and in which there were some good visuals), but in which I thought the basic premise was kinda sexist. (Hmm, a theme here.)
• Sunday: Invited my dad, who is bach’ing it for about 10 days, over for grilled burgers and corn on the cob. Made poor Chris do the grilling in the oppressive heat, (and, true to form, he didn’t complain or even say a word about it—while, meanwhile, I complained that the AC in the house wasn’t “wafting” enough from the window unit in the bedroom into the living/dining room, waah!) Enjoyed dinner together and cracking up at my dad’s stories, like the one about the time he accidentally maimed (very slightly) an exchange student with a ball-point pen when he was a student at WIU.
• Marveled at how laid-back and stationary this weekend felt, after lots and lots of driving around and wedding planning stuff over the past several weeks. Sunday marked the exactly-two-months-away mark for the big day. And we received our first wedding gift on Sunday, too! (A friend from my hometown gave us our first purchase on Traveler’s Joy, where we registered for our honeymoon. I’d long wondered if there was a way to make your honeymoon a gift suggestion, but worried that it might seem tacky or whatever, so it was cool to see someone not only give us approval, but a gift toward it too!)
• Dug further into The Little Friend by Donna Tartt, which is proving to be the most deliciously juicy fiction choice I could have chosen right now. What I mean by that is: I’ve been on a long string of non-fiction/memoir reading, and this is the first novel I’ve opened in a long time. A friend pressed it into my hands two or three years ago (and, in my defense, I did warn her that anyone who loans me a book runs the risk of not getting it back for a long, long time, because I’m slow reader and because I go in whatever order I choose, and if I happen to find something on sale at the bookstore that catches my eye, I’ll read that one, or something else, and maybe never get to the loaned book…). I had no idea what this book was about, and, as I often tend to do, I made a point to NOT read any of the back-cover copy, in an effort to go in totally uninformed and just let the fictional experience itself (rather than any quotes from well-known authors; reviews; etc.) influence me. And so far this book is so incredibly good, so rich in detail, with two young protagonists who bring notes of Scout and Dill to mind…. I just want to keep [sitting in front of the AC and] reading.

Thursday, June 30

• drove to Rochester, IL (just outside Springfield) to meet up at my sister’s place with my aunt and uncle from Seattle, who were briefly in Illinois. We had an…interesting lunch at a local joint called the Buckheart Tavern (air conditioner dripped onto my mom’s shoulder as we ate, and the waitress was actually kind of pissed at us for being there, seeing as how she already had her regular lunchtime crew (guys in overalls and mullets, truly) and we just made her busier. Then we just sat on the back porch at my sister’s new place, visited, and enjoyed the summer breeze. And the sangria that my aunt made (which I promptly spilled down my leg and onto the porch.)

• I got to play with my nephews and have a grand day. But then on the way home I got pulled over in a speed trap outside Springfield and got fined $120. Yeeouch. Oh, those $75-ticket days of yore…

Friday, July 1

• worked. (Okay, so, my actual vacation didn’t start until the next day, but I had to include that family visit above). Chris arrived from Davenport in the evening, and after I rushed around trying to tidy up the house and pack, I/we

Saturday, July 2

• Drove back* to Springfield, but this time on the way to St. Louis to visit one of my BFFs and her husband. This was the first time bringing Chris with me to visit these friends, and a mini vacay for both of us.
• On the way down, we listened to an audiobook of the latest collection of essays by Sloane Crosley, and I was bummed to find (especially since I was the one in the role of, “Oh, her last collection was really funny. You’ll love her!”) that I couldn’t really get in to it.

*Chris has a GPS, and apparently the Way of the GPS is to take the most direct route, even if it means sending you on two-laners when you could, ahem, just as easily get on 55. While the thing barked at us all the way from Rushville to Beardstown that we needed to turn around immediately, I barked back that “that’s not the way to get on 55!” Much gentle and passive-aggressive arguing about the worthiness (or lack of) of the robot ensued.

• Arrived in St. Louis, where our hosts treated us to the most absolutely amazing meal at Modesto, a tapas restaurant. (If I ever commit a crime, please make sure that my last meal is…appetizers. Specifically, Spanish ones, like tortilla espanola, and some bread dipped in goat cheese and tomato sauce….and red wine, too please.)
• Walked from my friend’s house to a park nearby, where their neighborhood fireworks show proved to include, in one night, about a decade’s worth of the booms and flashes that go off in my hometown. Oh, and, for some reason—either because we were sitting too close or just in a weird spot downwind—we were showered with little papery pieces of firework casing. But we didn’t move. Drunk? No. In a heat/humidity coma? Yes. (I soaked through my clothes in sweat more than once on this trip. Did I mention that I’m a cranky, irritable child who hates to sweat, and that it was 100 degrees? I am, and it was.)

Sunday, July 3

• Went to breakfast at a place called Local Harvest, where, upon our friends’ recommendation, we commenced in eating THE ABSOLUTE BEST BREAKFAST IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. That would be the chorizo and potato potpie, with a fried (locally produced) egg on top, served with fresh fruit and other delicious sides (that I shamefully ignored because I could not stop eating that damn pie). Delicious iced coffee, great service and nice people running the place…awesome.

• Drove around (or, rather, were chauffeured around by our friends), getting a tour of neighborhoods all over the city and what kind of characteristics each is known for.
• Took a tour of the beautiful, grand old home our hosts recently purchased in the city and will soon be moving into/fixing up. Proceeded to be extremely happy for my friend (and do my very best to tamp down feelings of inadequacy, what with my ongoing status as renter of a cabin that attracts possums, and all).

Monday, July 4

• Toured the Missouri Botanical Gardens, which I knew were going to be amazing because my friend had told me so, but which still made me go, “Wow, this place is so cool!” at every turn. Commenced in sweating like a disgusting sweaty pig. Fell in love with the dreamy, peaceful Japanese garden area and vowed to imagine this space in my head next time I’m anxious (oh wait, that’s always!).

• Waited in a line that snaked for what was surely a half mile at Pappy’s, a BBQ joint that features pictures of Man vs. Food host Adam Richman and other celebrities, and ended up getting theee best pulled pork sandwich my mouth has ever known. (Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, we really did eat this many “best evers” in such a short time. Oh and the Midwest is totally known for its lightweight fair. Ha!)

Tuesday, July 5

• Reluctantly said goodbye to our friends and drove back* to Macomb.

*By way of about 10 wrong turns, courtesy of the robot. I’m just saying.

Wednesday, July 6

• My one day at home. Got to spend some nice leisurely time with Chris on a weekday, enjoying a big breakfast together and just hanging out. Later, rented The Company Men starring Ben Affleck, Chris Cooper, and Tommy Lee Jones, (which was nothing too earth-shattering but still pretty decent; I’d stay 3.5 stars).

Thursday, July 7

• Ran around doing errands, (but one of those, at least, was a much-appreciated pedicure).
• Got back in the car and drove to Springfield (third time’s a charm!). Passed the cop who pulled me over in Pleasant Plains; subtley giving him the bird by “scratching” my head with my middle finger. Got to my sister’s house just in time to watch the end of The Incredibles with my nephews and then read them a Bearnstein Bears book before bed.

Friday, July 8

• Went to Knight’s Action Park with my sister and the boys, spending the morning and afternoon in the wave pool, floating in innertubes on “The Lazy River,” and going down the long curvy water slides (this latter at the urging of my oldest nephew). I hadn’t been on one of those slides in ages, and the sheer, intense joy of that 30-second or 1-minute ride had me spewing lots of cliches about feeling “like a kid again.” Loved it. (Sunburned scalp at the end of the day: not so much.)

the nephews making weird faces, July 8, 2011

• Drove back to Macomb at the end of this long, fun day in order to be able to leave the next morning for Davenport to help Chris pick out his suit for the hitching day.

Phew.

Wonderful, fun, too short. (I have to say that the next headline I see about “Recommended Summer Reading” or the “Books for Those Hazy, Lazy Days of Summer…,” I’m just going to break down and wail.)

But I’m thankful for the days I got and all the fun things I got to do.