Here we are, Juliets without our Romeos
When Mom says “sca-doo!” at home, we know we can find amusement at Grandma’s house. Aside from the mysteries of the woods behind her house, other attractions include a slope where lilies of the valley blossom in April. A chicken house big enough to actually play house in. An out-house equipped with a Sears & Roebuck catalog for wiping, its little roof-top smothered by lilac bushes–wonderful air freshener! And a willow tree. We love that willow tree by a trickling brook where we play Bride, with a cast-off piece of netting like my mother, aunts, and grandmas use for prayer veilings.
At ten, I’m the oldest, so I direct my sisters at first. “Jeanie, go to the chicken house for the veil.” There are no chickens in Grandma’s chicken-house anymore, just a bunch of crates and wooden boards we use other times for make-believe. Jean goes off to retrieve the big square of white netting in its hiding place inside the door in a crate on the right. “Janice, let’s find some flowers for the bouquet.” Off we go in different directions, and Janice comes back with dandelion blossoms, and I find some irises.
Blue Willow book from parents early 1950s
We meet back at the willow tree, its arching fronds our sanctuary for many a glorious wedding. We need a bell ringer, a bride and a groom. Before I can get a word in edgewise, Jean pipes up, “Let me be the bride this time; I wanna be the bride, pleeease.” Well, I guess we can give in this time. Then Janice and I dicker for who plays groom and who rings the bell. Next, we have to get the bride ready.
Janice places the netting on Jean’s head just so, and I pull her pigtails up behind her ears and use the light brown braids to tie the veil securely to the top of her head. Now, we’re all set: Groom Janice loops one arm around Jean’s, and I rush over to the longest willow branch I can find and pull on its thin, sinewy length until the wedding bell chimes overhead, and then we all, including the bride, sing together in warbly voice: “Here comes the briiide, please step asiiide.” It’s a magical moment. A breeze blows gently through the willow branches and fans the bouquet of purple and gold. But before the bride has a chance to whisper, “I do,” we hear Daddy’s truck drive in the lane. He’s come to pick us up and bring home a big kettle of saffron-flavored pot pie from his mom’s stove for our supper at home on top of the hill.
There are no crystal balls to visualize our own weddings in the future, but we are careful not to duplicate color choices for our attendants. Jean starts with blue, Marian with pink, and Janice has yellow, a pleasing bouquet of hues. But our veils are white.
7 thoughts on “Grandma’s: A Wedding under the Willow”
Little girl innocence and make-believe 🙂
I love the visual of using pigtails to anchor the veil! Children can be so creative if we give them room to experiment.
Yes, we had to improvise. No hair clips in sight! Thanks for reading and commenting, Traci.
Loved seeing the raised garden beds in the picture of you three. Such a sweet story. You were as considerate then as you are now! See you tomorrow at church.
Considerate? I thought I was Miss BOSSY-pants! Glad to know you got out of Atlanta–finally.
Lovely little walk down memory lane of all those days I played dress up or, as in your case, Bride. Using our imaginations was the toy of the day then. Such fun deciding what to play and who would be dressed up as what. No time for getting into trouble, was there?
Yes, we were innocent and sheltered and inventive. No Toys-R-Us or advanced technology for us. My own children were happiest when they played with pots & pans or boxes. Our grand-children are another story.