I went to Canada this weekend. My lifetime friend, Tall Farmer Nathan, was getting married and he asked if I would play for his ceremony. Once upon a time we were playing Beanville with Lincoln log cabins and Lego people farmers and dry bean crops on the basement floor and now here we were, organist playing Bach and groom walking down the aisle. Needless to say, because childhood and because witnessing the love of the couple and the kindness of the family, my eyes were not dry.
Farmer Nathan married Tractor Goddess Aleta; they had met at a square dance, are both farmers, were both homeschooled, and both came from Christian backgrounds. Needless to say, there was no wild drinking and sloppy dancing at this wedding--like some--unless you count cartons of chocolate milk and square dancing.
I was so happy to be serving as organist and getting to know the bridal party. Mr Uncle Pastor high-fived me when we met, "we're gonna make this thing HAPPEN!" I said. For the rehearsal, just about every male showed up wearing plaid (plus myself, and yes I was pandering) and the group was completely slap-happy. Laughter and puns and everyone talking at once. "Remember not to step on Aleta's train" said Sister Sylvia; "chugga chugga chugga" went Nathan. Then Nathan kneeled at the moveable bench at one point, to reveal manure still on his boots. A great hoot of laughter.
Some of my favorite moments were cleaning up from the rehearsal dinner, a large and farmer-feeding affair homemade by the family. I worked with Suemom GroomMother (who took care of my sister and me one day a week for years when we homeschooled) to wash dishes, clear tables, and load empty tofu roasting pans into farm packing crates. Although Suemom essentially raised me for 1/7th of my homeschooled life, I hadn't until my adult period truly appreciated what a model human being she is. Kind, compassionate, beautifully patient, wise about love and communication. Somehow, as a child, I only cared about lunchtime and thought she was "weird" for inviting us to eat Indian food with our hands. But now I want to emulate her communication and empathy and generosity and non-stress nature. "Oops", she said as we prepared to load dirty crates into the back of the Prius, "I've forgot the trunk plastic lining. Well. We'll just not slop then." This was hilarious and adorable to me. And we did slop. And that was ok.
The wedding day was autumnally beautiful, the bridal party had photo shoots with a cow in the alfalfa, the wedding cake was delicious and made painstakingly by Sister Sylvia. During the reception the bride's family spoke of her growing up as a star member of Rabbit Hopping Club (and her homeschooler's dedication for making jumps), and her prowess in plowing competitions.
After the reception, I decided on a whim to join Mr and Mrs Ride (how I got to the wedding in Canada) for their little trip to Toronto before they returned to the states. So Saturday night I slept in a cozy third floor room of a friend's friend's friend's house near Queen St in Toronto. I felt like a traveler again, me and my backpack, meeting new people. What fun!
Sunday morning I walked for hours in Toronto, building gazing, people watching, sipping coffee, eating falafel, looking at Lake Ontario. Feeling the buzz of a large city, the potential of it. I love wandering alone, miles and miles, just being and viewing and not having to talk to anyone. I heard so many languages in Toronto, Spanish, Russian, French, Chinese... It had an expansive international feel to it, and felt like being all over the world at once.
Canada had no comment on my hair. (Blonded, spiky short funk) Not that this is scientifically very sound, but I sometimes do use my hair as a social barometer. Like, where does it receive comments, and by whom. What does that say about the style preferences of an area or the outgoingness? In Rochester, the black women love it. In Ithaca it is often older white women or young men. I was surprised by the favorable reaction it received in St Louis MO, actually, for being the midwest. Lots of praise. But not a single person, whether among the conservative Mennonite farmers (not surprised there) or in hip Toronto, commented to me about it. Though it may be subtle, I think this may be a reflection of Americans being slightly more outgoing and Canadians being slightly more shoe-gazy.
In my Toronto walking I came across the Toronto Marathon occurring on this day. I watched hundreds of runners cross the finish line. Running for 26 miles, running for hours....what a moving picture of humanity and determination. The variety in running movement is astonishing, the bouncing runners, the power walkers, the sprinters towards the end. And how people approach the finish, some flapping and painting, some slow and measured, some blowing their last energy and then coming to rest on their knees, some pumping in the air, guys throwing arms across their buddies shoulders in celebration. With tiny tears in my eyes I watched this display of stunning motivation and determination.
Also, seeing Lake Ontario from the northern side was huge for me. Growing up, there was nothing more northern to me than the lake. It was our back yard, one couldn't see across it, it was so huge and wild and churning. I had an internal compass around it and could sense it's location and could "feel" north as I navigated further and further from home. Lake Ontario was the definition of "North" to me, in my little child brain. To be "more north" than the lake now, to look south into it, was stirring and amazing. It was somehow a metaphor for growing up and finding new broadening perspectives.
1 comment:
I think it might be Ms. Ride, not Mrs. Ride, that you accompanied to Toronto
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