If you live in the Midwest and have taken a vacation, you've likely gone to the East Coast – say to Florida, or North or South Carolina. And at the end of this vacation, you've likely felt some brief disappointment, lamenting what precious time you spent at the beach, surrounded by foreign vegetation and wildlife not found in our land-locked states. What I feel when I leave the great state of California far surpasses the conventional regret accompanied by the return home. It is soul-crushing. It's like coming home after years and years away – but just for a minute – and then you have to leave again.
I'm probably being melodramatic. I do love Indiana and Kentucky, their beauty and more affordable, somewhat slower-paced way of life. I often belt my war-cry, "I'm a Hoosier fa life!" mainly because there's such rivalry between these states in which I have dual lives, living in one and working in the other. But in my mind, they're pretty similar. I'm just partial to where I've lived the longest and gone to college.
I've been making trips to California for years. I have family just outside San Francisco, and until 2001, in Los Angeles. It was only on this last trip that I ventured farther north to Humboldt County.
Now, before we start cracking jokes about Marijuana Country, it's important to note that I was there for a destination wedding in the Redwood National Forest. This was not some hippie journey to find America's dankest weed. (Although we did that too.) This was a spiritual experience, not only because of the sacred event that brought us there, but because of our surroundings. Blue, blue water, giant ocean rocks, black sand, elk, redwoods, and acres and acres of forest filled with clown-sized clover leaves and banana slugs.
We arrived Wednesday night, a day late, thanks to US Airways and an awful, now kind of comical trip that I will likely blog about later when we're not pontificating the holy wonders of the west. We had a full day and a half to explore the area with the bride and groom before everyone else arrived. They picked us up from the airport, and after 3 hours of sleep and 10 hours of traveling, all we wanted was a hot shower, a non-airport meal and a bed.
But they had other plans. N & T had rented a convertible for their trip, which with the top down, left barely enough room for our luggage in the trunk. But it was worth it. Instead of taking us to the hotel, they drove us straight to Patrick's Point, a state park just off the 101. B & I didn't know where we were headed, but as we turned into the park, we instantly fell silent. It was like walking into church. The four of us made a short hike to Wedding Rock, where N & T kindly passed out local micro-beers, bread and black bean hummus. If only I could arrive with such a reception after every shitty airport experience.
On Friday we checked into a house in Trinidad. Not only did we have an incredible view of the Bay of Trinidad, but we could see whales swimming around at any given time. For Midwesterners who have never seen fish so large, this isn't merely environmental wallpaper. Throughout the day, more friends and family arrived, until our small group exploded into a chaotic, joyous party. Standing on the deck, local wine in hand, looking around at all the excited faces, I felt so grateful to be part of this experience.
Ours was a house of seven girls and B. (Lucky B.) These girls are almost ten years my junior, and I could only have hoped for one girlfriend as sweet and sincere as these girls at that point in my life, let alone 6. Getting ready for the wedding was THE girliest scene I think I've ever been part of – hair and make-up and clothes flying EVERYWHERE, everyone helping each other get ready, picking out jewelry, passing around the wine, giggling. It was awesome.
N & T's ceremony was by far THE best wedding ceremony I've ever witnessed. And not just for the obvious reason – standing in a clearing of a group of giant redwoods in Northern California – but also because it was the most personal ceremony I've seen. Before the vows, each of the parents had a little something to say about the bride and groom. Then the bride and groom shared a personal story about the other. Oh, we were all a mess. I didn't cry this much at my own damn wedding. All tears of joy, of course. For what's worth making a fool of yourself in a group more than witnessing the union of good friends and most importantly, two people who obviously couldn't be more perfect for each other. Ah, it's just gross, really. Wonderfully, beautifully gross. And I was honored to be one of just 25 folks to be there.
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On our last day, we took a trip to Fern Canyon. Literally, a canyon walled from top to bottom with ferns. And if that doesn't interest you, they apparently shot some of the Ewok scenes from Return of the Jedi there.
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