Ann's description of Leila and Alex's wedding reminded me of my wedding day.

Martha and I were 23. It was June 21, the first day of summer. We lived in the country, I had started my life as a rancher the previous fall. My mother had died in April, but before she died Martha and I told her that we were getting married. My mother gave Martha her own engagement ring. 

It was my first full year as a rancher, it was all new to me. By June we were in the hayfields, and filling the pole barn with square bales. Hot work. Cold water was the drink of choice, from the hose outside of Walter's house, near the barn. Walter was older and knew something about tractors, mowers, rakes, balers and work. 

On the given day Martha and I got up early, made the two hour drive to the city, Kansas City, in our very untrustworthy International Scout. The day was predictably hot and humid, but the weather wasn't the topic of the day. Our first stop was the Plaza, a shopping district. Martha disappeared to find a dress, I went to find a suit. An hour or two later I saw her from a distance in her new dress, walking down the sidewalk, and as Van Morrison sang so eloquently, my heart went:

boom, boom, boom. 

We drove downtown to the county courthouse, a tall federal-style building, one of the tallest in the city at that time. We registered at the office on the first floor. After the paperwork, the secretary gave us a little bag of goodies and coupons for newlyweds, a starter pack for life? A nice gesture by the county. We rode the elevator to the 22nd floor, which was one of the courtrooms. We got off the elevator to see prisoners in an orange jumpsuits, hands cuffed to a chain around the waist. We found the judge's chamber. The judge, old and no-nonsense, married us. I have no memory of what he said except, put a little religion in your lives. Then, that will be twenty dollars, to which I asked, do I pay the secretary? To which he said, no. I slipped him twenty dollars and we were married. At least I think, there were no witnesses. As we were about to leave his office he redirected us to a side door, saying (regarding the door we had entered), bunch of criminals out there (referring to the courtroom).

We drove back to the shopping district, which also the cultural center of the city, art museum, restaurants, shops and so on. It was late in the day, we hadn't eaten since early morning, probably had had nothing to drink, this was years, decades, before the era of bottled water. Who thought water was so important back then? We went to a Japanese restaurant, Hibachi, where we, and others, sat around a large table/grill, and the chef prepared the meal. I remember some shrimp being flipped through the air by the chef, a trick of the trade, apparently. After dinner we drove to a motel, a Holiday Inn by the football/baseball complex, Chiefs and Royals, and crashed, fully clothed on the bed. That was our wedding night. The next day I was back at work.

And, that was 43 years, two kids, a seemingly endless number of summers in the hayfield, and no shortage of trials by fire, ago. We're still in the same little house in the country, watching deer graze the yard, still fighting the heat and humidity in the summer, the ice and snow of winter, but happy. We never did have a honeymoon. Time got away from us. I don't ranch anymore, I write my little story-poems, play the guitar, cut and split firewood, tend the land and fences, mow the fields. I spend a lot of time walking in the woods that surround our house, or on the deck, face to sun, thinking about life, much as Colin's grandfather does. One might even think he is me. One might also think Marketa is a young version of Martha. Martha paints and hikes up and down the lane which leads to the gravel road, getting in her two miles a day. We visit our kids in Los Angeles every month or two. We have a life, and that's about it.  

Except, I'm still in love with Martha, and my heart still goes:

boom, boom, boom 

when I see her.