On the farm…

This weekend was blissful and like hell all at once. I will never understand why small towns and ‘the country’ can be at once liberating and oppressive. How the same soft sweet air that lulls you to sleep can drive you to drink. Is is boredom? Lack of opportunity? The abundance of purity; unadulterated goodness. Is that what makes everyone a bit nuts?

The wedding this weekend was lovely. I don’t know if it was because everyone was happy to be there, or because they were excited to see the grooms or simply pleased to be in their Sunday’s best. There were a lot of big girls in black dresses with little white polka dots and skinny white girls with big black ear plugs. There were tattoos and chunky black sandals. There were Salvation Army three-piece suits that fit surprisingly well given the short notice. There were older women in flowing linens, layered one upon another as if to say – I am as much the shapes created in the asymmetry of my garments as I am a woman. There were handle-bar mustaches and seer sucker suits that yearned for the days of pushcarts, snake oil salesmen and yellow journalism.

There was a strange amount of joy in the air as well. It was a pleasant event.