Our Wedding : The Party

All these gorgeous photos by Honey by Hive Photography

At my friend Kendra's wedding, I managed to secure eight pieces of cake. Before you get too bent out of shape about this, please keep in mind how small your average slice of wedding cake is. For every wedding I've been to, I've spent roughly thirty minutes eyeing the dessert table, mentally dividing it into how many guests I estimated to be in attendance, always arriving at the same, stricken conclusion: there wasn't nearly enough to go around.

Always the same feeling of distress, quietly slipping away from my table to strategically position myself as close as possible to the door where the waiters emerge, plates in hand. Always the same panicked routine, and never, ever have I been denied a piece of cake. At Kendra's wedding, I had eight.

I was so horribly sick the next day. I told my parents, who had flown out to Seattle for the occasion, that I was hungover. It just seemed more dignified than the truth. 

All this to say, I put a lot of thought into my own wedding cake. Definitely more than the average bear. I dreamt and fawned and wept over magazines in the same manner that some people obsess over the idea of their dress, or perhaps even, the person they marry in the first place. 

We settled on one small three tiered vanilla cake and an assortment of other round cakes from King Arthur Flour, which, if you're not up on your flour purveyors, is based out of Norwhich, Vermont. They use a european style recipe for their wedding cakes, and it's only available in wedding cake form- meaning you can't just go into their studio and buy half a cake to eat on your lunch break, you have to be committing to spend the rest of your life with another human.  

Which is so, so special, and also terrible. Their wedding cakes are lighter than air, a soft and delicate sponge, and the buttercream frosting is whipped and subtle, not too sweet. I can't stop thinking about them, but I'm not certain I'll ever have the opportunity to ever have another bite. Such uncertainty is difficult to live with.

Because it was cheaper to buy a number of small cakes than to get one big one, and also because I wanted them all, we settled on: vanilla, chocolate with mocha buttercream, lemon raspberry, tiramisu, fresh berries and cream chiffon cake (one regular, one gluten free, which I forgot to label so.....I'm sorry about that.)

Our friend Angie from Pie Mamas in Montpelier Vermont baked us three rhubarb cream crumble pies, a heavenly combination of tart berry and rich custard. SO I HEARD. 

My mom worried at one point that we'd selected too much cake, 'an outrageous amount' I believe were her words, but man, those things were gone. I had one bite, the one Dave fed me for the camera, which I didn't really taste anyway because there was so much going on. Then I went and danced for a little bit, and when I came back- gonzo.

("Whaaaa? But I had a piece of each one!!" exclaimed a handful of friends upon hearing this. To you I say: strong work, and good positioning.) 

A word about the toppers: these incredible Sculpey mice were handcrafted by my little cousin, Noel. He gave David Mouse a kayak paddle and Melina Mouse a camera. Things to note: the red hair, the veil, the way the paws are crooked just so as to make the mice appear a teeny bit nervous. Should there be a fire at our house one day, I'm grabbing the mice first.  

find us on Instagram: thewildercoast

If that isn't enough detail about the cakes, please message me privately and I will be happy to tell you more. 

Here is the rest of the reception. 

Toasts by our fathers, brothers, cousins, friends and Kerry, my english teacher from high school and mentor for the last fifteen years who reminded David that I have "plenty of friends North of the wall." Very important and thank you for the Game of Thrones reference, Kerry. (I was banned from walking down the aisle to A Song of Fire and Ice fairly quickly in the wedding planning process.)

Dad was kind enough to include Lisa in his speech, my best friend who could not make it at the last minute. He spoke about how happy he was, and that he was not 'giving me away' because I wasn't his possession. The next day he came up to me and said, "Kid, I really think your friends liked my speech."

They really did, dad. So did I. 

Austin, the lewd gesture is unintentional.

We nixed a lot of the traditions, like introductions and a first dance, but I did toss my bouquet. Colleen, the florist, ripped it out of the air caught it. I like to call this series, "You couldn't let the nine year old catch the flowers, could you."

As the sky deepened and the lights inside the tents glowed warmer, our aunts and uncles (so very sharply dressed) gathered around the fire pit outside and children ran races across the field in tiny gowns and little rented tuxedos. But I never left the dance floor, save for a few visits to the photo booth. I never steeled away for a breath, to stand in the cool night air and watch it all from a distance. It simply did not feel ethical to leave the dance floor when our DJ was cranking out every hit ever produced.

Our DJ, the best in the business, was a young man in a blue suit and iridescent shades who broke a handful of hearts when he went home alone, at the end of the night.

(There was an older gentlemen who approached me about halfway through the reception and asked, earnestly, "Your officiant, tell me about his hair." "Isn't is something?" I replied. "It's been that long since I've known him!" The gentleman nodded his head, still puzzled. "Yes," he said. "But....what does it mean?")

 

At 10pm, herded out of the tent by the noise ordinances of our tiny town, we ran through mist and a tunnel of spontaneous sparklers back inside the inn, at which point our photographers put down their cameras and joined us. The DJ set up in the main room and the party continued for another remarkable four hours, everyone flushed with wine and darting through the halls.

Our best friends slept in our suite that night, which is what we wanted- to be in their company until the last possible moment, spread as they are throughout the country. I remember my throat hurting so much as I tried to fall asleep and then sitting bolt upright at 5am when it dawned on me: we forget to label the damn gluten free cake. 

The very next day, we went to the rope swing. 

And that was that. Now we're married, and if everything goes according to plan, we will never have another wedding. I'm glad we made this one count.

Thank you to everyone who travelled from so far.

And thanks to you, for tolerating such an outrageous amount about our wedding.
If you were in attendance, visit honeybyhive to purchase photos, and FREE downloads from the photobooth.
Album: Melina & Dave
Password: Clarke