I stayed the night at the Quality Inn in Jeffersonville, Ohio and ate dinner at Wendy’s, the only walkable restaurant from the motel. I had a “Dave’s Double” cheeseburger, fries and a Coke; should have had Dave’s Single but I was tired and hungry and making poor choices. I ate the whole damn thing.
I spent the weekend celebrating my cousin Betsy’s wedding to long-time beau John at Pine Lake Trout Farm (just outside Cleveland). Eighty hilly acres of towering deciduous forest with five 1940s pine-paneled cabins nestled about. A stream that here and there widens into fishing ponds runs through it. I had Cabin Four; a queen-size bed, a screen porch and a wooden rocking chair.
The ceremony was held before a hundred people seated on white folding chairs on a lawn in a sunlit clearing next to a trout pond at a balmy noon-hour. The minister had a ponytail and wore frock coat. His sermon was short, secular and included a Carl Sagan quote. He made no speculation on a higher authority.
At the reception, the chicken cacciatore, eggplant parmesan and risotto were all wedding-grade fine. The pies, blueberry and cherry, were made by a fellow guest. I didn’t meet the baker, but her/his crusts had that delicate, flaky mouthfeel that makes good pie crust so wonderful and all other pie crusts so disappointing. The fillings were the perfect marriage of sweet and tart. As a long-time pie-maker, I recognize the artistry. Compliments.
For the evening, the party moved to John-the-groom’s house where he had two aluminum canoes sitting on hay bales filled to the gunnels with plastic tubs of pulled pork, jerked chicken and noodle salad. As it got dark, John lit the twenty-five foot tall bonfire he’d spent the previous day constructing (photo courtesy my aunt Signe). The embers blown vertically into the night sky became a silent fireworks display and the warmth and light wrapped around us.
The next morning, we had brunch at Betsy’s house. I took my cousin Molly’s son Will aside and had that conversation. He’d been ROTC in college and hadn’t been selected. He’s twenty-three with a masters degree in economics and working as a roofer. I encouraged him to reconsider the military, to simply enlist and if he wanted to be an officer, to go to OCS (Officer Candidate School) as an enlisted soldier. The military is a formative experience; you learn a lot about people, you learn a lot about life. You learn a lot about yourself.
