29 June 2002. The next day's headlines read 'Thousands Flee after Governor Orders Evacuation.'
That morning started just like any other, except I was about as nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory. I dressed in a black tuxedo, marched through the liquid hot air to Mount Moriah Cemetery, and waited for the rest of the official ceremony to arrive. My family, including both of my kids dressed in their own formals, arrived and marched through the knee-high grass to meet me at the Deadwood overlook, near the graves of Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane. Fifteen minutes later, my soon-to-be wife arrived, Yvonne Navarro, looking just amazing in the wedding dress she'd purchases on our trip to Catalina Island. I read a poem, we said our vows, we kissed and lightning struck five miles away.
We went back down the hill, changed into our reception clothes, cut the cake, made sure that folks were happy and were about to have our first dance, only to be interrupted by a plane flying low overhead, dropping water on the fire that had crested the mountain behind my parents' home. Next thing we knew, the governor was calling for everyone's evacuation.
We ran around grabbing things, counting people, saying hurried goodbyes.
We merged into the one way traffic out of town, carrying a total of 30,000 people out of the Black Hills and onto the Great Plains. It wasn't until night that we were able to stop for a bite to eat. Later, we stayed in the basement of a friend of our parent's house.
This was the story of my wedding. It was hot. Not just the temperature, but my feelings for my wife. And they run as hot today as they did that day. A fire still burns inside me.
One day we'll have that reception that we never had. One day we'll do it right.
But for now, we have each other.
Which is the best gift life has ever given me.
Weston Ochse
Tarantual Grotto
Sonoran Desert
That morning started just like any other, except I was about as nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory. I dressed in a black tuxedo, marched through the liquid hot air to Mount Moriah Cemetery, and waited for the rest of the official ceremony to arrive. My family, including both of my kids dressed in their own formals, arrived and marched through the knee-high grass to meet me at the Deadwood overlook, near the graves of Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane. Fifteen minutes later, my soon-to-be wife arrived, Yvonne Navarro, looking just amazing in the wedding dress she'd purchases on our trip to Catalina Island. I read a poem, we said our vows, we kissed and lightning struck five miles away.
We went back down the hill, changed into our reception clothes, cut the cake, made sure that folks were happy and were about to have our first dance, only to be interrupted by a plane flying low overhead, dropping water on the fire that had crested the mountain behind my parents' home. Next thing we knew, the governor was calling for everyone's evacuation.
We ran around grabbing things, counting people, saying hurried goodbyes.
We merged into the one way traffic out of town, carrying a total of 30,000 people out of the Black Hills and onto the Great Plains. It wasn't until night that we were able to stop for a bite to eat. Later, we stayed in the basement of a friend of our parent's house.
This was the story of my wedding. It was hot. Not just the temperature, but my feelings for my wife. And they run as hot today as they did that day. A fire still burns inside me.
One day we'll have that reception that we never had. One day we'll do it right.
But for now, we have each other.
Which is the best gift life has ever given me.
Weston Ochse
Tarantual Grotto
Sonoran Desert
OH, you two are so damn cute!! Happy Anniversary!
ReplyDeleteSometimes a natural disaster can really spruce up a wedding ceremony!
ReplyDeleteThat was just God and nature making sure your wedding was extra memorable!
ReplyDelete