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.

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.)

(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.

Also, how can you not love an event that brings chart-toppers out to perform in what is quite literally in the middle of cornfields? In past years, the festival has featured performers ranging from MC Hammer to Sixpence None the Richer to Over the Rhine (the latter of which seems to have indie cred way outside the Christian rock market). This year’s big-name stars appear to be P.O.D. and—get ready for it—”Classic Petra.”

Now, having said that: I also like to poke a bit of fun at the Cornerstone Festival. Here’s why.

A few choice promo pics from the list of this year’s performers:

Henderson County Museum – Originally uploaded by Rural Rose (Alison on Flickr)

A cultural opportunity in Raritan, IL (population 140, give or take a few).

It was Sunday morning, so it wasn’t open. I’m not sure what we might have found. Though I did enjoy the birds’ nests in some of the MUSEUM letters.

Here are a few more highlights from this tidy village in Forgottonia:

Behold! :

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes, people; Carthage, Illinois is getting a stoplight!

This is a big deal because the  signature characteristics of my tiny hometown, since the beginning of time, were:

1. being home to a man named Wendell who greeted every single person he saw, giving them their own nicknames like “Little Darlin’ ” (or, depending on your lineage, “Alvin’s Son”),
2. sending high school sports teams to state championships, and
3. a red light at the 4-way, hanging on a wire between the Hardee’s and the DQ, blinking away at the non-existent traffic.

Now, as I told you previously, this project has actually been in the works for quite some time. In fact, construction on the intersection was supposed to start 15 years ago, when the Methode car-parts factory was still functioning at full steam and there might be a stream of cars when a shift was letting out. (You can read all the details on the Hancock County Journal-Pilot online.)

But, with all due respect to the mayor, who tells the paper, “I think we’re very lucky that we haven’t seen accidents where people have been seriously hurt,” I respectfully submit that we’re still talking about Carthage, here:  population >2,800.

1) I’ve heard of the whole Sudafed thing, but… odor eaters? Really?

2) The klassiest sounding new business in central IL since Detox.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve been boycotting short stories for the last couple of years. It’s hard to explain why. I actually prefer semi-ambiguous endings, and I prefer the literary and lyrical over the straight-up entertainment type of reading. But I began to feel that every short story I read was "too writer-ly," that the author was being weird just to be weird, or that the ambiguity of the larger meaning of the story was dissatisfying rather than stirring or thought-provoking. Oh, and not to mention, too many of them were dark and depressing–and again, I *like* the darker fair most of the time.



So it was probably good timing that, when I found this series entry on a clearance table, I picked up the 2007 year, with Stephen King as edition editor. Not only were all of the stories in this edition accessible and straightforward, but also, King’s intro essay actually addresses the "too writerly" trend (my words, not his. Read his essay to see what he’s really trying to say. I’m doing a quick and dirty stab at this here.) Anyway, it’s hard to explain how this edition is different, but I’ve been reading this Best Of series on and off since the mid 90s, and this book definitely had a different feel than all the others I’ve read–and yet the stories are still literary, and still feature some of the biggest names in contemporary literature, like Alice Munro, T.C. Boyle and Richard Russo.



That said, I didn’t find many of them to be as memorable or as moving as I have with "Best Of" stories in the past. With one exception:



The story "Findings & Impressions" by Stellar Kim almost literally took my breath away. I found myself sobbing at the end, which is not something that happens often. (I might tear up fairly frequently at movies, but short stores? No.) Perhaps this one just caused me to "project" too much, since the main character is stricken with terminal cancer at my exact current age. It was so stirring I felt compelled to keep reading and yet had to stop and set it down every few minutes– I wanted to savor it and yet was "afraid" (not in the typical sense associated with Stephen King) to know what was going to happen.



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