Weekend Wedding Report, Part 2: The Tourists

“This is a view to which nothing needs to be added. This scenery satisfies my soul.”—Isabella Lucy Bird (1831-1904), A Lady’s Life in the Rocky Mountains

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The Rocky Mountains are, in fact, rocky. I know this sounds silly—probably downright ditzy. But I hadn’t really thought about the fact that the terrain would be comprised of gigantic stone conglomerations every which-where. I was awestruck by the peculiar beauty of the landscape. So was Will.

“Nature finds a way, doesn’t it?” he mused.

“What do you mean?” I asked, rounding the next burnt-orange bend in the Rocky road.

“To make stuff grow—even out of rocks.”

It was true—the cliffsides were strewn with trees, shrubs and flowers. Small sunflowers lined the winding thoroughfares, the way chicory and Queen Anne’s lace border the berms of the Northeast, where we live.

The place was so strikingly pretty. The journey from Denver to Estes Park reminded me of another airport-to-destination drive. Nine years ago, I had flown to Los Angeles, rented a car, and driven up the California coast to Santa Barbara for a work-related conference. I remember laughing out loud, for 2 reasons: 1) I was driving a dinky Daewoo in a land of luxury. I had made my reservations with frugality, rather than glamour, in mind. 2) It was so breathtakingly beautiful, it seemed almost unreal. And I wondered, “Do people who live here come to take this scenery for granted? Probably. But wow!” We drove from Denver to Estes Park in a rented Kia—a smidge more horse power than the Daewoo, and only slightly sexier.

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The Elkhorn Lodge, where we stayed, was true to its name—rustic. We did have electricity and running water in our cabin, and even a working water closet. We’re fairly simple folk when it comes to housing expectations, so the Lodge suited us jist fahn. But The Stanley, it was not.

The Stanley is a rather famous, century-old, purportedly haunted hotel where a ghostly Steven King-inspired movie called The Shining was filmed in the late 1970s. It is large and grand and, according to our friends who stayed there, horrifically overpriced. However, they invited us to join them for lunch on the veranda and a dip in the hotel pool a few hours prior to the wedding we had come to witness (and, in Will’s case, officiate).

What a treat! I ordered a fantastically flavorful mango-crab-guacamole appetizer for lunch. Will enjoyed the asparagus soup. We threw caution to the wind and swam immediately afterward. The pool was very large and very warm and, surrounded by the magnificent mountains, a very lovely experience. That we were guests of the groom’s mother and stepfather, who happen to be noteworthy children’s author Sarah Stewart and acclaimed author-illustrator David Small, added to the loveliness. They are gracious hosts and fun company. (I have linked their names to Wiki articles, but http://davidsmallbooks.com/ is probably the better site for learning about them, including David Small’s upcoming graphic novel, Stitches.) Incidentally, David Small reminded me quite a lot, in appearance and mannerisms (aside from the 30-40-year age difference), of a college acquaintance of mine, David Stith. Known professionally as D.M. Stith, he is a musician who recently released his first album, entitled—eerily connecting these components of my tale—Heavy Ghost.

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The morning after the wedding (which I blogged about yesterday but failed to mention the fabulous reception band—gotta find out their name for a link shout-out here): I decided to attend St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church. I belong to an evangelical Protestant congregation—that is my background and my spiritual home for the foreseeable future. But I love the liturgy of the Anglican tradition in a deep and abiding way. I worship with the Book of Common Prayer at every opportunity. St. Bart’s did not disappoint my hopes for sublimity—music and words raised in worship of the Creator of the whole realm of nature! And! I saw a black-billed magpie on my 1-mile walk to church—an everyday occurrence for many Westerners, but for a bird girl from A-Town, another delightful moment in a soul-satisfying trip.