Just call us Mr. and Mrs. Overcommit. We said we wouldn't do it to ourselves again. But then my brother and his fiance had this idea of an outdoor wedding and a barn reception on our farm, and it was too tantalizing to resist. It was a test of our health and sanity and stamina and marriage. But as always, we came out on the other side. Not unscarred, but unbeaten. Months of mowing and trimming and weed-pulling and seeding and watering and sodding and barn-painting and garage-building and roofing and late-night to-do lists later, we're basking in the satisfaction of having accomplished an unreal amount of work in a very short time and reveling in the fact that our nights and weekends belong to us once again.
The wedding was on Saturday. And it was just right. Simple and fun and right. And Bob and Sarah were glowing. And the weather was perfect and the barn was handsome and the food was tasty and the string quartet was grand and the guests (approximately 200 of them) were smiling.
Now trips to Fleet Farm or Lowe's or Menard's no longer need to be a daily occurrence, and our friends can come for a visit without expecting to pick up a hammer or a paintbrush. And this place we've called home for barely a year, the place that was deserted and coming apart at the seams when we bought it, is shining these days.