All my bridal wisdom, given freely to you today: marry quietly, party months afterward.
Nearly a year ago now I remember writing Olivia, dreaming up the kind of reception you may have stumbled into 50 years ago. A twilight soiree in our family backyard, bistro lights strung above long communal tables, a neighborhood affair within walking distance of all these tree-line avenues in our beloved corner of the city. Make that 100 years ago. Have you read Maud Hart Lovelace, her Betsy books? Those Sunday night sandwiches in the yellow house on the Big Hill, Julia at the piano and the rug rolled up for dancing? The boys in the kitchen chopping onions with Mr. Ray, the whole gang harmonizing to Where the Morning Glories Twine About the Door? That. Can I have that, in a wedding reception? (Further inspiration, I admit, in Australia’s Committee Ball scene. Though that might have just been Hugh Jackman in a white tux.)
Skipping over the freakish weekend cold front, our September reception was a joy ad infinitum of friends and family who have shaped and made us, my little dream come to life. Our kitchen was beehive busy with my many neighborhood mothers, childhood friends were art-directing the wedding cake presentation, New Zealand kindreds dancing between tables, bussing and bundt-ing. My neighbor of twenty years helped do up the back of my dress; another appeared with a heater in tow as the sun sank long over the lake and the evening caught cold. We have been so blessed to grow up among the best of people — thank you, all, for everything.
FLOWERS by dear friend and extraordinary human Carolyn May.
CAKE (autumn spice & buttercream) made to perfect simplicity by Maha Anais El Barrani.
STYLING mum and me: a shared vision, full compliments of our shared insanities, innumerable brass bowls, and a healthy dose of midnight oil.
PHOTOGRAPHY by the unparalleled Kate Osborne, childhood friend and wedding day dream.