My Wedding Day...

Our wedding day dawned crisp and clear, I had planned to sleep well and get up refreshed and ready for a long day that I KNEW would be quite an ordeal to get through. Well, instead I got up at six, finished packing up my few things and drove the Montana over to help Bryan finish up smoking the bbq and make a few tomato cages in the garden. We had rehearsal at eleven, so we needed to finish up a few things first. We gave up on the tomato cages and walked away from the garden exasperated since the wire wasn’t strong enough, even though it had cost plenty. The smoking got done fast, there wasn’t too much work to that, just put it on, pull it off, dump it, cover it, taaaaa-daaaa! Then we pulled the truck around and hosed out the back of it, sprayed it down with cleaner, and hosed that down…it was a mess, and we wanted it clean for out honeymoon trip. As soon as that was done, and relatively dry, we packed out bags and hanging clothes into it, and finally sat down for a minute on the sofa downstairs. Whew. I was already tired! He had thought I was going to take a shower at his place, but I had left everything for that over at the Gidden’s, so I drove back over there at about ten-thirty to take a fast and furious scrub all over, I even shaved my legs pretty good in about four minutes! Now THAT takes talent!

At about five til eleven I emerged from the apartment downstairs, lugging my last two bags behind me, and my wedding dress over my shoulder, ready to RUSH to the church that is about five minutes down the road. Pastor Tim was working on his Suburban with Aaron and Sarah, and Sarah rushed upstairs to get some shoes on so that she could come on ahead with me. As I stashed my toiletry bag in the back seat of the van, and draped my wedding dress over one of the front seats, I turned and looked at the place that had been home for almost two and a half months. All I could see of my Pastor was his legs sticking out the door of the vehicle he was working on. Wow. What a lot I owed to that man. My mind traveled back over the last few months, memory after memory, tear after tear, change after change filling my mind, but….I jerked back to the present and jumped into the van, tearing down the driveway at breakneck speed, I only had a few minutes to get there to be on time! As I swerved around the curves by the water I caught a glimpse of Sarah’s white face in the passenger seat, oops! Some law abiding citizen I was! I slowed down enough to give the poor girl another hope of life, and we soon arrived at the church.

Not everyone was there for the rehearsal, so I went into the sanctuary with my daisies and tulle to do a bit of decorating. I didn’t want a whole lot of floof and poof everywhere, but I did want a little up at the front, soooo….I arranged this and that and the other, but nothing really looked right until Kathy came and suggested we move the altar. Then it all fell in place. When we were done there was a cloud of tulle and daises right in front of the pulpit, graceful silver candlesticks with white candles, and daises in the windows. Simple and perfect. Just what I had wanted. Bryan came in the church right then, and we both plopped down on the front pew to await the rest of the wedding party, and to rest some. I remember thinking that my hair was a frizzy mess, my face was blotchy and red since I had been sun burnt the day before and hadn’t put any make-up on, my skirt was wrinkled, my back hurt, my toenails were not painted very well….but then Bryan leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You look very pretty.” Hmm, I felt a little better.

Soon everyone was there, and it was time to begin, so as Pop and Ma started down the aisle I gave Krystal my 1 gigabyte memory card for her to take pictures on for me, and as Momma Lisa and Daddy Gerald walked down I finally settled in to prepare myself for the actual ceremony. Jonathan didn’t have his little bridesmaid with him since she would arrive late, so he went down the aisle pretty uncertainly, not sure that he was doing it al right. Laughter and teasing followed the next couple down the aisle as Kelsey held onto Sebastian’s arm, both of them red faced as could be, but obviously enjoying it. Tiffany glided down the aisle alone, perfectly stepping along slow and elegant. The doors shut on me and Daddy Gerald, and as I took his arm I looked up at him and told him once again thanks for being willing to do this, and thanked him profusely for all that he and Mom Lisa had done for me in the past several months…There was no-one I would rather walk me down the aisle except my own father, and Daddy Gerald knew that, but felt honored to stand in that place since Dad wouldn’t. The doors slowly opened and we walked down the aisle, dum dum da dum, to the front where Preacher Larry took Bryan and I through everything that we were gonna do, ring exchanging, vows, how to hold hands, and all that fun stuff. Then came the exit, and as we turned around to face the ‘congregation’ [which consisted of seven Blake kids and Momma Lisa] and Preacher Larry said we could now go, Bryan took him at his word. Gripping my hand even tighter than before he said, “lets go!” Lord help, if I had known what he meant, I would have slipped my flip-flops off first cause off he took! We RAN to the back of the church, me trying to keep my feet in my flops, and laughing my head off at the same time.

Kathy got all the females of the wedding party together and told us that she wanted pictures before the ceremony and to go get ready. Now, listen. It was already one o’clock. The wedding was supposed to be at TWO. You’ve got three bridesmaids and a bride to get ready in half an hour? For pictures? Before a ceremony??? Hmm…We were not sure that would work, but we hurried out to the fellowship hall and began to get ready. I think we all started with make-up, I put my base on, and Tiffany did eye-shadow while Momma Lisa did blush, while I put my hair in hot stix. We had a TIME getting electricity in the bathroom, we had hot stix and rollers to heat up, but none of the plugs were shooting juice, so we ended up getting Preacher Larry in the girls bathroom [yes, the girls bathroom] to fix them. He got them working somehow, and we got our hair stuff blisteringly hot. That all took a half hour, so we knew that no pictures would be made before the ceremony, but we still tried to hurry. Tiffany put make-up on Kelsey and then herself, and I pulled the rollers out of my hair and shook it out the way I wanted it. After checking out my make-up in the mirror close up, and adding some mascara, I headed to the toilet stall to change into my dress…as the folds of white fabric fell around my shoulders down to the floor I felt a calm come over me…I was ready for this to be over, but I was looking forward to enjoying every single moment of it as it came. This was my day. I called Tiffany in to button up the top eight buttons that I couldn’t reach, and as I stepped out, in my silver high heels and white satin everyone in the ladies room went on and on about how beautiful my dress was, and Momma Lisa started to cry and said “Oh Hope you are such a beautiful bride!” She helped pin my veil on as I clasped on the pearl necklace that Matt had given me, and hooked in my ears the new silver pearl drop earrings I had bought just for today.

As I looked into the mirror I gasped at how well everything fit together…the smiling faces of my bridesmaids were looking back at me on either side of the mirror too, with their mothers in the background dripping tears and smiles. Tiffany, Kelsey and I all had gone shoe shopping together, so we all had the same shoes on, and before we left the ladies room we got a foot picture. They looked so good in their green skirts and white shirts and Tiffany had done an AWESOME job on applying the make-up, they were beautiful! I’m sure we all felt special as we left the bathroom and headed over to the church, Kathy holding my train up free from the grass as we went.

It was about fifteen minutes until the ceremony was supposed to start, so my bridesmaids and I went into the ladies room in the church to await the rest of the visitors to get seated and it was time to begin. Sara had showed up and got into her green skirt as well, and Anna was an adorable flower girl in a vintage creamy lace dress. They had got their hair put up professionally and they looked absolutely adorable. I was proud of my soon-to-be nieces.

Missy and Grandma showed up, and Missy told me that Hana was going to be coming but that she would be a few minutes late, so Bryan talked to Pastor Larry and they held the service off fifteen minutes so that Hana could be there for it. I had hoped that she would come because she was my favorite sister and I wanted her to be there so I was glad to hear it, and more than willing to hold off a few minutes. A quick hug was exchanged as she arrived and as soon as everyone was seated Mommy and Daddy Blake went down the aisle with my soon to be in-laws coming right behind them. I peeked around the corner of the door and saw Pastor Larry and the men taking their places in the front of the church as Lavern started tinkling the soft beginnings of the wedding march. Sebastian and Kelsey took off down the aisle, and then Sara and Jonathan behind them. Tiffany gracefully drifted down the aisle next, and tears sprang to my eyes as I thought of all that we had been through together over the past several months, and before that, the past several years. She truly was an honorable friend, and I was so glad that she was my maid-of-honor…Kathy’s granddaughters rolled the filmy aisle runner down between the pews all the way to the altar as Anna got her basket of rose petals ready and started down the runner dropping handfuls of flowers as she went with a sweet shy smile on her face. The doors closed behind her as she went into the sanctuary and Daddy Gerald and I took our places behind them. I tucked my hand in the crook of his arm and looked up at him again and thanked him…words couldn’t get across to him what I wanted to say, so all I could say was ‘thank you’. My sweet crazy adopted father, boy was he a mess, but I sure did appreciate all he and Momma Lisa had done for me…I was blessed that he was willing to walk me down the aisle.

The cue came, dum dum da dummmmm, and the doors swung open wide and we started our slow walk down towards the front of the sanctuary, towards my Bryan, my love, my soon to be husband, the one that I had dreamt about in my younger days and now was there, at the end of the aisle, ready to bind his heart with mine for the rest of our days together. The people on either side of us rose to their feet as we walked forward, people I loved, friends through the years, family by blood, Bryans friends that I didn’t even know, but still stood in honor of me as I walked towards him…none else mattered now, as we neared the front, no one else was in my scope but him…Pastor Larry started out ‘we are gathered together this day…’ and prayed. Then Daddy Gerald put my hand into Bryan’s and we said our vows, ‘til death do we part’…’in sickness, in health, for rich, for poorer…’ At the time I didn’t know that within two weeks Bryan would be deathly ill, and almost die. I didn’t know that we would struggle financially almost every step of the way. But regardless I vowed that I would stand by him through it all, and he did the same to me.

‘I hold in my hands these beautiful rings’ Pastor Larry started. Bryan chuckled and I almost cracked up, we had already spoken to each other about how corny that sounded, but as we slid the rings on each others hands as a representation of the vows that we had just made and the love that we held for each other it didn’t matter. It was beautiful. As we bowed our heads for the closing prayer Bryan softly prayed in my ear for us, our lives together while Pastor Larry prayed over us. It seemed as if it were just me and him, holding hands and praying to the heavenly Father over our future. As Pastor Larry ended his prayer with a fervent ‘Amen’ he looked down at Bryan and said, ‘you may now kiss the bride!’ ‘May I now present to you Mr and Mrs Bryan Biggs!‘ As the recessional music played and we stepped freely towards the back of the church with our friends and family clapping and congratulating us I looked up at the face of my new husband and anticipated the days to come, living and working with this man whom I had come to love…

Yes the reception was beautiful, the cake was GORGEOUS, Kathy did a wonderful job. Yes, I did spill my punch, and NO, I did not smear cake all over my new hubby’s face, there was an agreement we had made before our wedding day! And as we took off in our painted up ranger that was plastered with banners and signs and tin cans I was glad to be through with it all…it was beautiful…it was perfect…it was my wedding day…

Gardens...

As far back as I can remember we have always had a garden. And where I couldn’t remember us having one, my older siblings do remember. At first, the biggest garden I remember us having was a bout fifty feet long and twenty feet wide. HUGE. I mean, GIANT! I was seven, and that was a BIG place, especially when I had to weed one whole fifty foot long row of green beans. Then once they started bearing, I had to pick them too! All throughout my life I had those long dirt rows staring me in the face, starting out furrows, waiting eagerly for the hands that would drop the seeds, one by one, into the small furrow. Once the dirt enveloped the seed the easiest part of the gardening was done. It was after the small shoots began to pop out of the dirt that we had the battle begin. Weed after weed was pulled, clod after clod of dirt was broken up because Mom never allowed a clump in her garden; bucket upon bucket of water was hauled from the pond by hand up the hill to the never ending rows.
The largest garden that I ever worked in with my family was the three acre one that we planted in 2007. We had corn in two of the acres, and the rest was potatoes, maters, beans, squash, melons, peas, peppers, strawberries, asparagus and a bunch of different herbs.
I remember the day that we planted that two acres of corn. No, its not a lot of corn, compared to what the old timers used to plant each year, or the mountain folks would put in the ground just as a matter of course, but to me, as I stood there barefooted surrounded by empty dirt, watching Adam cut row after row after row out with the tractor and plow, I felt small. Very small. As we gathered up buckets filled with the powdery red seed in it, and started hauling wheelbarrow loads of mushroom compost up to the first row, I realized that this was gonna take a WHILE.
Seven hours later. Halfway through. Burnt as red as a overripe mater. Worn out. And just halfway, get that? HALFWAY through? The sun was out in full force that day, I remember shading my eyes with my hand to look up at the sky and not seeing ONE cloud.
There were seven of us working out there. Once an hour Noah would take a break to run down to the house and bring up a bucket full of fresh cool water and a dipper to drink it with. After a few hours had gone by there was more water being poured on our heads then there was going down our thirsty throats.
Then we were finished. We all stood back with our hands on our hips at the edge of the field, where the green met brown. Nasty filthy sweat rags were hanging out of the boys limp overall pockets, and my skirt was full of dust and filth. But looking over that field, at the two acres of corn there was such a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done, that we could look at each other and say, ‘it was worth it’. There’s nothing like putting in a good hard day of labor to accomplish something big like that.

A Stitch in Time...

I remember when I first began to learn to sew. When I was six I asked Mom if I could help her while she
was sewing on the multitudes of heaps of mending and sewing that she attacked each day in the basement. Surrounded by heating pipes, winter clothes storage, shelves full of row upon row of home canned goods and the never ceasing washing machine and dryer, I made my first few stitches on a piece of rough canvas. Soon Mom had me embroidering and cross stitching, which I enjoyed doing since I had always loved drawing and painting, this was just another way of expressing the creative imagination by needlepoint. My first masterpiece was in cross-stitching, with wobbly black lettering that read “home is where the heart is”. I hung that with pride on the end of my bed, which just so happened to be the bottom bunk, and pointed it out to anyone and everyone who passed by. But soon, after a few of these creations, I began to want to make something useful.
Then I remember when I was around nine, sitting on the stool that Dad had made for one of the older kids when they were a baby, my knees to my chin, watching Mom work with the sewing machine. The flying needle, the oily smell, the row after row of tight neat stitches and the finished garment all made me want to be as able as her to make something neat and pretty, but in my own way. The dresses and pinafores she made for me were nice, and they were clothes, I was always sternly told to be ‘thankful for having clothes at all, some little girls don’t have anything but rags to cover their birthday suit’. And I was thankful. I was thankful for my mother sitting there for hours on that hard folding chair sewing the bloomers and skirts that I wore each day of my childhood. Yet…I wanted to pick out my own kind of fabric, not only printed cotton, my own pattern, my own style and my own designs. I wanted to create something of my own FOR my own that would express who I was.
So. One day I took my embroidery needle, and a cone of the smooth white thread that always hung on the wall next to the sewing table, along with every other color of the rainbow, and headed to the privacy of my room. I closed and locked the door, and took stock of what I needed. Hana read, undisturbed on the bunk above mine, as always her mind was in another place, and in another time. Very rarely did I ever break through her time traveling among the pages of a book. I grabbed my box of fabric scraps and set to work on my own masterpiece. My silver scissors snipped and cut, and my little envelope full of yellow headed pins were stuck every which away in the purple, pink and blue fabric.
When I walked into the living room in my creation and pivoted in front of Mom, pride oozing from every pore of my nine year old body, she definitely stood in awe of what I had done. The purple and white flowered cotton had been made into the bodice, with brown and cranberry checkered sleeves and a black seersucker skirt. I had lined the bodice, put some frilly lace around the sleeves, and even hemmed up the skirt and I was proud as proud could be. What Mom saw however, was something different. The black fabric was supposed to be blocks for a quilt for Adam, the hemming was six inches higher on one side than the other, one sleeve was skin tight and elbow length and the other was way too big and down to my wrist, and the neckline was scandalously low.
I suppose after that day I didn’t use any more of her fabric without asking her first, and that dress was only used for dress-up when I was playing in my room. But it was a beginning! Even from that first dress until now, I still don’t use a pattern when I’m cutting out most of my creations. But now, after years of sewing hundreds of dresses, poking thousands of pins and pulling out what seems like millions of stitches, I don’t have to worry about the process-just have to concentrate on finishing. The outcome is worth it all…