Orcas lies squarely in the time warp of Washington State’s San Juans. This little batch of islands sits half way between Seattle and Vancouver, sheltered nicely from the Pacific’s storms by both the Olympic mountains to the south and Vancouver Island to the west. Within this archipelago, the waters lack not only waves, but also swell, making for a small boat and kayaking paradise. Killer whales loiter here as well.
But it’s tough to get here. Sail, small plane, ferry ride – the permanent population and tourist trade is limited by the transportation options. So no high rises, no modern resorts, interiors either wooded or cleared for small farms converted to quaint B&B’s. Basically a colony for water enthusiasts, artists, retirees, and innkeepers.
Recovery week ended on Orcas, where Cheryl and I took one last tandem ride, in advance of a wedding for our ring bearer. At age 2, on August 25, 1979, Benjamin and Gabe, dressed to the nines as only toddlers can be, frolicked so innocently in the Albion Basin, at Alta, Utah, while Cheryl and I took our vows. So, thirty years and four days later, we returned to favor, to him and his parents, while he and Carla held hands, exchanged rings, and kissed within the Chuppah. The Chuppah serves as a symbolic house into which the groom and the bride step into to start their ‘real’ house. (A symbolic house was originally used instead of a real house so as not embarrass the groom who couldn’t afford a house of his own!)
Something about the sea attracts weddings, and there we were, within a field of 3 foot high dried grass, gently sloping down to the waters of Westsound bay. A foggy morn had given way to a brilliant afternoon, and by 6 PM, the sun hung above the waters, sharply marking the west side of the booth. The parasol handed out by the Red Rabbit Inn came in handy, as did the sun glasses most of the older guests wore. The young folk, their eyes are stronger, so they could look full face at the glassy waters shining back at us.
I always marvel at the stomach churning, lacrimal flowing effect of weddings on us all. It’s got to be ingrained; we all feel it, whenever two your people come together for the first time to say, “We will be together forever, always, no matter what.” Surrounded by their family, friends, music and quiet beauty, the ceaseless flow of generations comes sharply to the surface. I think that promise to continue, to create the future, with the implicit belief that two people want to make some more, is what makes the lump in our throats.
For some reason, I thought of elephants, and how they seem to linger over those who’ve recently died, showing that other animals, not just ourselves, feel deeply about the rhythm of time, and the passing from past into the future, and how it takes continual new creation to HAVE a future. And I thought, there are some animals which mate for life. (Here’s a list I found from Google: Gibbon apes, wolves, termites, coyotes, barn owls, beavers, bald eagles, golden eagles, condors, swans, brolga cranes, French angel fish, sandhill cranes, pigeons, prions (a seabird), red-tailed hawks, anglerfish, ospreys, prairie voles (a rodent), and black vultures – a lot of birds there!) Do those birds, or apes, or wolves feel the same strong pull we get when discovering our own companion, or see others make that commitment? I bet they do; I’m sure there is some ornithological, or primate, or canine level of emotion that binds them one to the other, and maybe even needs a social recognition to validate it.
But whatever the source, it is a deeply held ritual, and one not taken lightly – until the party afterwards! The fun begins, of course, with the stomping of a wine glass (protected in a napkin), and revs up the the Hora. Poor Benj. looked downright fearful as four strong and brave men raised him on a rickety chair, moving him close to Carla up on her throne, so she could pull off one sleeve and hand it to him. It was all he could do to grab it without falling, twirl it a few times, then try to right himself as the drunken mob moshed him overhead.
As the dancing wound down, Ben and Carla went around, thanking each of us who remained for coming and making their night so special. I shook his hand, and said, “Congratulations. You had a wonderful wedding. Don’t have another one!” He smiled, drunk though he was, and said a heartfelt, “No, this is the only one.”