Last weekend was the wedding of two of my good friends, Pat and Emilie, who I’ve been staying with off and on in San Francisco for quite a while now. They’re both originally from the east coast, so they held the ceremony and reception in a town called Kent, Connecticut (about 3 hours north of New York) near where Pat went to school. And it was indescribably awesome.
All the groomsmen were staying in a great little fishing lodge right by the river a little way out of town, which smelt of sap and leather chairs. Having got the red-eye over from San Francisco and arrived first, Justin (the best man) and I nabbed the best beds, said hello as the rest of the wedding party began to trickle in, then headed off to the rehearsal.
The rehearsal probably left me more confused about weddings than before, as the priest was barking his instructions about the myriad different responsibilities of groomsmen, how they differed from ushers, protocol for leading in family, leading out the bridesmaids (all 15 of them!) and when to stand and sit, all in an echo-y church with a full-on thunderstorm raging outside. I was hoping everything would fall into place for the real thing…
After the rehearsal we headed off for an unbelievable dinner laid on by Pat’s mother. Everyone got a pouch of seafood, with a lobster, clams, mussels and the tenderest sweetcorn I’ve ever had. I managed to sneak a second lobster too: textbook manoeuvre. It was great to talk to lots of Pat’s friends and family from when he was a nipper in Manhattan, along with Emilie’s boss and a bunch of her east-coast bridesmaids who I’d never met before.
However, the real fun started after the groomsmen retired to the lodge for chit chat and drinks. What happens in the lodge stays in the lodge, but suffice it to say that a well thrown marshmallow leaves a mark, and hanging onto the bonnet of a rental car while it bombs round a field is difficult.
On the morning of the wedding, the bridesmaids were up at 6am to get their hair and makeup done. The groomsmen were up at 7am, and still managed to fit in a row on the river and breakfast in town before getting suited and booted for the church.
The wedding itself went completely without incident: everyone was where they needed to be and it all went off without a hitch. I have never seen someone as nervously excited as Emilie was outside the church, waiting to walk down the aisle.
After some photos, and narrowly avoiding another thunderstorm, we jumped onto buses and headed out to the reception, which was at a gorgeous house a few miles away. I’m running out of superlatives, but it was a great night. All the stuff you hope for: delicious food, a few drinks, dancing like extras in Miami Vice, a stunning location and a tent full of interesting people united in their happiness for Mr. and Mrs. Buckley.
