It was one of the hottest days I can remember, the steamy tropically oppressive kind of heat that reminds me of my childhood summers in Southern Ontario. The thermostat registered well over 30 degrees, and with the humidex it was at least 40C, maybe more.
As we dressed for the day, my mother and I kept stealing worried glances out the window at the stormy skies. As it turned out, no rain would fall that day, but the morning skies were grey and threatening.
When we arrived at Fanshawe Provincial Park around 11:30, the skies had begun to brighten, but the sun peeking through the clouds only escalated the humidity. The tiny white clapboard church, built in the 1800s and relocated to the Pioneer Village in the 1970s, had barely enough pews to hold our 50 or so guests. They had come from near and far – Toronto, Windsor, and a large convoy traveling with us from Ottawa.
My maid of honour was my brother Sean, and Beloved’s best man was his sister Belinda. We were married by an ancient Justice of the Peace whose name has since escaped me. She had no sense of humour whatsoever, but was accommodating enough to marry us in the little church in the pioneer village using a ceremony mostly of our own design.
My dad escorted me down the aisle to the sound of Stevie Wonder’s “You are the Sunshine of My Life.” Beloved and I wrote our own vows, and my friend Candice read a poem by e.e. cummings. The first stanza goes like this:
the great advantage of being alive
(instead of undying) is not so much
that mind no more can disprove than prove
what heart may feel and soul may touch
–the great(my darling)happens to be
that love are in we,that love are in we
It was a simple, short and lovely ceremony, full of love and laughter. That day in the pioneer village there was a strawberry social, and so while the guests treated themselves to strawberry shortcake after the ceremony, we posed for photos in the wildflower gardens and in the replica of the original Labatt’s brewery. We hired a friend of my brother’s as the photographer and instead of stilted portraits, we have a lovely set of bright candid photos that truly capture the fun of the day.
Our reception was in the provincial park next door. We had a catered barbecue picnic, with corn on the cob and peanut chicken skewers and the most wonderful salads. It was so unbelievably humid that the caterers had difficulty getting the charcoal lit and burned down enough to cook the chicken, and we ran out of bottled water and ice twice. We decorated the all-season gazebo, open on one side to overlook Fanshawe Lake (which is really just a wide spot on the Thames river), with sunflowers and white tulle ribbons, and little frog figurines danced around a mason jar filled with wildflowers on every table.
(We didn’t mean to start a frog theme when we fell in love with the sweet invitations that showed two frolicking frogs with the words “Join us in our leap of love” on the front, but that is exactly what we did. There were even frogs on the wedding cake my sister-in-law Belinda baked for us.)
There wasn’t much dancing – it was simply too hot – but there were waterfights. Beloved and I did manage a dance to “A Whole New World” from Disney’s Alladin as the afternoon drifted to a close. By six o’clock, the official wedding part of the day was done, but most of us reconvened later that night for an evening of camraderie, beer and souvlakis in several of Richmond Street’s finer establishments.
Nine years ago today, I pledged myself to Beloved with these vows:
I, Danielle, choose you, Mark, to be my love.
I pledge to you my life, my heart, my hope and my joy.
I promise to love you with my finest kindness and my deepest care.
You are my prince, my knight, my king;
My friend, my jester and my inspiration.
I promise that I will love you always, from this day forward,
Blissfully, joyfully, infinitely.
Nine years later, and my heart still sings when I think of the life we have built together.
Happy anniversary, my Beloved. You are the centre of my world, and I love you.
