Unthinkable multitudes of vehicles were pouring into the Glacier Point parking lot and it was our cue to get the hell out of there.
We are a down-to-earth couple; there was no stretch limo, horse-drawn carriage, Hummer, tank, or fighter jet waiting to transport us in attention-grabbing style. Me, my groom, and two bridesmaids piled into my unassuming, sub-compact Toyota Yaris and headed back down the dead-end road in a strange sense of normalcy. I remember almost none of what was said; some discussion about where the missing bridesmaid was (avoiding my chauffering bridesmaid's aggressive driving tactics,) and perhaps some recap of the events that had just unfolded. We may as well have been driving to the mall. I was drunk on joy.
I cherish this about my friends. Can I say here, that I am no social butterfly. I strike toxic friends from my life like poisoned stingers from a bee, and over the years this amounts to many people, leaving few. It takes a special kind of person to befriend an egotistical, antisocial writer type with a dark sense of humor. Harder yet is to maintain said friendship without feeling offended at the months-long stretches without contact, the overly-sensitive defensiveness, and forgotten birthdays and events due to my memory span of a goldfish. The ones that stick with me, as a result, are cool and calm. They take jokes in stride, do not get bent out of shape, and do not attempt to take over the collective agenda. They do not take my sarcasm personally and they keep me in check. They are, in a word, awesome. I was engulfed by appreciation for this throughout my wedding day; and this quiet, collected car ride was no exception. They kept me grounded and even neglected their own needs (mostly minor ones, like eating) to act as my posse until long after the sun had gone down on my wedding day.
In keeping with this awesomeness, they agreed not to split off to enjoy the park on their own, but to stick with us and pose for endless photos in as many locations.
Our first stop was Tunnel View; probably the most iconic and surreal views of Yosemite valley.
To our great surprise, we found a parking spot and my family there.
We went through the various assortments of friends and family through what was now becoming a familiar set of poses. Again I was picked up, put down, arranged, and groomed. Fleetingly, I noticed my father had changed into casual hiking clothes. After another round of congratulations from strangers and attempting to peel away from my guests, we made it to the car and headed down to the next stop: the aptly named Bridalveil falls.
The parking lot overflowed with a surplus of humanity one might expect at the Matterhorn line at Disneyland in July. We circled three times looking for a parking spot; so did our trailing groomsmen in the car behind us. We narrowly avoided several accidents and pedestrians, finally somehow finding two parking spaces.
A few slams of the car doors and we were on our way up the trail toward the falls, passing through the most concentrated round of congratulations I'd heard all day. We almost had to be rude to escape the endless small talk that would have resulted in anything more than a hurried "thanks."
At this point I began to notice the pavement had a dark streak of wetness that began to grow in width the nearer we got to the falls.
I should mention here that Yosemite had experienced the longest winter in nearly a decade; and that snow melt was significantly more bountiful than I had ever seen. Waterfalls appeared that did not usually exist; and the existing iconic ones overflowed with ground-shaking and deafening force.
We passed by some of our guests, an entire family of old friends from the groom's side. Their mother sweetly handed me a sweatshirt with concern in her eyes. "You might want this," she explained. "It's pretty wet up there." Sure, I thought. It's usually pretty misty at the base of these waterfalls. It was nice of her to warn me, in case I hadn't known.
Turns out, I didn't know. We walked further, and a literal stream of water began to run over my toes. Flooding icy streams of runoff inescapably covered the asphalt and my feet. My three-inch heels became soaked. Holding up my dress became difficult, and my gown became a miniskirt as I hiked it up almost around my waist to protect the dirt-browning train. The air was heavy and thick with moisture; large water drops turned from mist to near rain around our heads. Finally understanding the purpose of the sweatshirt, I gingerly put it over my head to keep what few curls I had left in my hair.
We were at the base now, and shouting to hear each other. The 600-foot waterfall thundered; the tourists made jokes about the bride at bridalveil falls. We posed twice, and nearly jogged back down the path towards dry land. Wow. My dress had unpredictably become a bathing suit.
Thankfully, traffic was heavy. So as we drove into the mass of cars we had plenty of time to dry. We missed a few stops thanks to traffic merging impossibilities, but finally made our way into a parking lot near a beautiful meadow in the center of the valley. Bright green grass laid the foreground to Yosemite Falls. We exited and headed toward the grass.
Some of my favorite and most stunning wedding photos came from this part; and it was an outstandingly bright moment in a blur of beauty throughout that day. Relaxed and too tired to feel anything but happy, we held onto each other while our last real photo session transpired. Insects fluttered nearby and hikers pointed. The sun shone on us warmly and a slight breeze rustled through the tall grass. It was a very zen kind of moment.
Until, that is, my bridesmaid/photographer told me to stand still, and approached, calmly saying "there's a bug in your dress." I knew she was doing her best not to freak me out. But as I looked down at the lace overlay resting on top of the heavy ivory fabric, I saw what appeared to be eight black legs squirming for freedom between the two layers. Oh, god! A spider is trapped in my dress!
She grabbed my arm, thankfully stopping my automatic reaction to swat (and splat) the thing forever into the fabric of my dress. "It's just a fly," she reassured me. Oh. Yeah, I guess I haven't seen many spiders with wings.
She gingerly lifted the lace overlay from the dress, releasing our winged companion from his Jessica McClintock prison. He (she?) gratefully buzzed away.
Now, I was still a little bit wet from the waterfall. My train was quickly becoming a brownish-gray and my hair had lost nearly all its curl. My earrings had readjusted themselves, dangling from awkward angles on my ears. My "body shaper" (girdle) was bunching beneath the fabric of my dress. And I had flies spawning from my finery. Three hours had already passed since our ceremony. I was feeling about as garish as a bride could feel when my favorite stranger of the day, standing with a shy young daughter, congratulated us from afar. "She wanted to say hi to the princess," said her mother of the little girl.
If I'd had any iota of presence of mind, I would have approached the bugger and introduced myself, and said something sweet and inspirational, like "you're a princess too," or "someday you can get married here, and be a princess just like me." But regrettably, I have always been terribly awkward with interactions with kids - my nephews included. All I could think of was to flash a thousand-watt smile towards her, and mutter something like "thanks," or "that's sweet." I really can't remember what I said; but I know it paled in comparison to the mile-high compliment she had just given me. It will be forever one of my favorite wedding memories. I may go against the social grain, but I would be lying if I said I, like every other little girl, wanted to be a princess on my wedding day. To realize that feeling was a surreal and fantastical moment.
Not much could top that, and we were running low on time; after all, we stil had to drive two hours back to the reception site. We needed to get there early to set up decorations, centerpieces, and direct the caterers. We had yet to set up the sound system, photo booth, guest books and wish bowl. I was even naiive enough to think I would have time for some portrait shots of myself in the dress, or maybe even a snack. So, contentedly, I took the drive back as an opportunity for a desperately-needed nap. It was the first chance in at least 9 hours to rest.
My groom beat me to the punch and used my lap as a pillow. I collapsed over him, and my robo-bridesmaid-photographer-driver-coordinator unimaginably drove us for two hours in silence and considerately let us sleep. Even while upholding her photographer job and capturing the moment perfectly from the driver's seat.
Up next: trouble brews and the inevitable "something" goes wrong. Stay tuned.
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