Marriage...part 2

Written by Loiuse Evans

We arrived home from Europe penniless, relatively jobless, and homeless for a month. But spring was in the air, and we had a new project to plan, not to mention announce. All in all, people didn’t think getting married was bad idea in the least, and we were pleasantly surprised at the lack of awkward moments, doubtful looks or heeds of caution from near and dear. The only dubious moment was when our friend Haley nearly drove off the street from cheering when we told her in the car. We were away!

We had set the tentative date a year and a half to showdown. The party of the century required a worldwide representation (a decision which later proved particularly rewarding), so we had to be kind enough to let the representation save some moolah to actually get here (Josca’s mum’s response to the long planning period was ‘well, at least you can change your mind.’) This did leave us in a strange no-man’s land of when to start organising. Closer to the actual wedding this settled into a deep anxiety of leaving the house in case someone needed ringing or a list needed to be made.

One thing we were sure of from the beginning is that we wanted people, taste, and colour. The setting at my parents place at The Tree House in the Hokianga was perfect. A vibrant community all around, and beautiful land to hold festivities. A big guest list and a small budget meant doing most things ourselves or with friends, and we were lucky enough to have people willing.

Our first dilemma was what to wear. A white wedding was never going to be our style, so we threw ourselves into a world of vintage fashions, custom fabrics, handmade buttons, antique trimmings. Early aspirations to make the outfits ourselves were soon shelved by the complexity of the patterns. Sue Scarf whipped up a pattern for my dress from 30s photographs and sketches. Rawiri Brown took on the task of constructing a futuristic Mr Darcy number for Josca. Lise Strathdee, Northland’s foremost fashion designer/blogger/commentator, donated her new skills at plant dyeing my fabric.

Our thoroughness continued to know no bounds. A month or so out from the big event Molly, Tom and I made a road trip to get started on the longdrop for Tent Town - a macadamia paddock at my parent’s property that would house half the wedding population. Tom, a prop maker and all around constructionist, took to the job with a vigour previously unknown to toilet blocks. A sad, abandoned duck pen was disassembled and reborn as an icon of ablutionary architecture, with fire engine red paint and clad in split bamboo. Molly found her calling in digging an enormous hole, whilst Polly the sheep waited eagerly at the top for fresh chunks of clay to nibble on. Johan, freshly arrived from Sweden, woke up at 3pm in a jet lagged state, and abandoned most of his clothing to get amongst it all.

Acquiring enough decorations to fill the huge town hall in Kohukohu meant industrial bunting needed to be made. Emily, Freddie and BB’s hosted us and our steady roster of friends/workers in Devonport one Sunday. It would be eight hours before we emerged into the night - with enough bunting to outfit several second-hand car yards. In the midst of the roaring machines, swishing scissors and flapping of fabric, I looked around and saw all the concentration of our friends making something that was going to give our wedding just that bit of extra flair and marvelled at how many hands make life more meaningful. It seemed that our future wedding had moved beyond just us, and that all our friends now owned a small piece of it. And it was very very hard not to just have a good sentimental cry.

The day was drawing closer.....