I went to Maine over the weekend for the wedding (& four-day fall foliage & high school-and-college-friends extravaganza) of my friend since age five, and came back jaw-drop speechless about the intensity of the foliage, the perfection of the sunlight, and the picturesque choreography of nearly every element of the weekend. We arrived in Portland Thursday night after sharing a flight with John Legend (smoking hot), which seemed a good omen for commencing the trip. There was a near-hurricane Friday night with whipping winds, and terrible rain during the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner; as we headed to South Portland that night for pumpkin ales and a little night music, we sprinted from car-to-bar doors, praying for the rain to pass.

We awoke to clouds the following morning, but as we made the motions from hotel to hair salon to house of the groom for bridal party prep, the sky seemed to all-of-a-sudden break open and the sun came pouring out, *glowing* through the leaves, the temperature settled at sixty-five degrees, the light appeared in all of the right places at all of the right times. We hopped on a trolley to head to the church, driving through a fiery rainbow of trees, green pastures lush with the moisture of the just passed rain. The dresses fit like T’s, the ribbons were just right, hair glistened, the orange callalillie bouquets matching the boys’ orange cufflinks, and the bride shone like ever a bride could shine.

After attending sixteen weddings in the last two years I have myriad reasons to moan and groan about weddings. I’ve been there as solely guest, solely photographer, bridal party member, and as both photographer and guest. Some weddings seem to go through the motions of what’s dictated by wedding tradition; at others the energy seems flawed, the dancing never quite starts. The Big Day can be exhausting, overwhelming, joyous–unexpectedly moving or unexpectedly nostalgic—and as something long planned, hugely invested in, and with a great amount of pressure bearing down on the food, the décor, timing, the music, the day can be generally stressful.

What amazed me about Vicki’s wedding—and we’ve been friends for twenty years so I know her pretty well—was the attention to detail and the focus she and her now-husband Tom put on not just making it their big day, but on their approach towards making it a great time for everyone who attended. There were the home-baked Maine blueberry muffins in the hotel rooms, the monogrammed tote bags for the bridesmaids, mix CDs with songs containing sentimental meanings on them going as far back as elementary school, childhood photos on the tables, apple pie in lieu of wedding cake, a hand-constructed family tree with intricately cut-out leaves bearing the names and affiliations of each generation. The ceremony program was official, but whimsical (tissues tucked inside for the criers among the audience), the bride wore orange crocs with a silk organza gown, hand-carved pumpkins along the walkway to the reception. The unabashed breaking-it-down on the dance floor to “Let’s Get Retarded” after a Louis Armstrong father-daughter dance commenced four hours of insane sweaty, shoes off, singing-at-the-top-of your lungs fun-time dancing, laughing, and spinning–and when midnight struck and we all boarded the Portland City School bus ordered to charter us back to the hotel, we could hardly stop bouncing in our seats.

We drove home yesterday after many goodbyes, passing through Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, before finally crossing the Triborough Bridge into New York. We were five—crammed into an old Honda Civic, a combination of old friends, significant others, and new friends. Though now hundreds of miles from the newlyweds, by the time we walked out of the car in New York last night, we were also friendships renewed, and friendships evolved–brought together by the occasion.

Congrats, Vicki & Tom!

(More photos of the wedding weekend HERE)

p.s. Check out the interview with Rena Tom at the Modern Letter Project website, whose brand new store and gallery, Rare Device (San Francisco!) opens this Thursday, October 25th with an opening for Los Angeles artist Kelly Lynn Jones. 1845 Market Street (between Guerrero and Valencia) in San Francisco. 415.863.3969.

Published Tuesday, October 23rd, 2007 at 7:36 am. Filed under Elsewhere, Friends. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.