The Storybook Wedding
THE STORYBOOK WEDDING
October 30, 2021
What are fairytales made of? Magic? Dreams? Princes and princesses? Evil queens and goblins? True love? The ingredients may not be so fantastical.
I believe fairytales don’t only exist in gold-leafed books. In fact, they are quite common, if only you stop to ask or pay attention. You may have one of your own or maybe know someone who does. I’m sure you do.
Some summer afternoon in the 1930’s my great grandmother, Philomena, was pushed into a south Philadelphia public pool by a bold boy who thought she was pretty. He was right about that, but wrong about something else: she couldn’t swim. Fifteen year old Philomena splashed into the deep end of translucent blue water and flailed her arms in panic. Young Edmund watched in shock. This was not how he’d planned their first interaction to go. Naturally, he jumped in to save her. And when he pulled her from the water and she looked up at his soft hazel eyes, a love was born; a story. Some years later, they got married and lived more happily ever after than anyone I’d ever known.
And that story led to my little life, my own little story.
And if you think about it, that’s all we really are: a culmination of stories, descendants of stories, makers of stories. We all of have one of our own.
Our fairytale is just a story about a boy named John, and a girl named Kelley. Neither of them named with grand titles, wielding swords, or born with a curse destined for resolution. Two people, who on their own, are of quite ordinary consequence. We are just two people who fell in love. But that doesn’t make it any less magical. And so, on our wedding day, we decided to celebrate our story and the ones we’ve came from; the ones we’ve read, the ones that have been recited to us, passed down through generations, forming the very pages of our own lives — bringing us to this very moment, right now.
And that’s where the theme of our wedding was born.
When we arrived at Parque Ridley Creek in Newtown Square, PA for our tour, both of us were in awe; its charming old stone mansion felt like a secret English castle nestled in the country side of an ancient world, the grounds filled with hidden gardens and secret spots bordered by old stone walls built in the early 1700s, the elegant ballroom felt like a library from Beauty and the Beast. It was unique and ethereal.
Passed the stone mansion, stood two towering trees between two steps. John walked toward them and said “These trees are calling to me,” which is one of the most random (and cutest) things I’ve heard a grown man say. It was true, the trees were enchanting. It all felt like we were inside the pages of a fairytale.
It was mid-spring and the hydrangeas were bursting with pale purples and sapphire blues, the leaves lush with bright, just born green; but I could picture it in fall — in its warm golden hues of reds, yellows and oranges. And don’t you know, they just happened to have one date available in October, less than six months away.
There was one not-so-perfect thing, though. Floating idly beneath one of the trees where our ceremony would be held was a limp balloon, tangled in its branch. It danced in the breeze, winking the sunlight from its metallic jacket. Not very fairytale-like. We looked at each other and said “That balloon has to come down.” And every time we revisited the venue and cursed the balloon, we’d repeat, “that balloon will be gone before the wedding.”
We snagged the last available date and started planning. I chose the colors of fall for my bridesmaids dresses, accenting the warm tones of the scenery with champagne, turmeric, sage greens, paprika; the flavors of fall. They chose their own style, which came together perfectly the day of; a fun mix-matched balance of colors and personalities as unique as my friends themselves. I ordered custom stamps for thank you cards, got scouting on books for centerpieces and gifts. My head swirled with the possibilities for decor, flowers and style of the day like a fever dream. It was all so exciting.
Our autumn fairytale wedding was straight from the pages of an old, magical, leather-bound storybook. Held in what felt like a romantic castle, dreamy string lights twinkled above handmade, whimsical details in the enchanting ballroom. Books sat beneath beautiful, bold and moody floral arrangements as centerpieces.
What made our day special?
All of the little handmade details.
Our wedding day was truly a labor of love; a culmination of nights spent at my mother’s dining room table, making table numbers from pages of old fairy tales, set in ornate, vintage photo frames found in thrift stores. We made library card bookmarks of our significant dates and selected a small library of books for our guests to choose from as favors. Bookpage butterflies were ready to take flight from guest tables. A projector played Hitchcock’s Rear Window on the stone wall by the antique staircase, popcorn and old-time movie tickets scattered among the hallway’s tables. My mom and I dreamt up all the storybook details, and made them come true. She even made my veil. And we planned it all in under six months!
I remember looking out my kitchen window and seeing beautiful blue skies, on the morning of our wedding day, even though the forecast had called for rain and I knew in that moment I had nothing to worry about. Our wedding was completely filled with love, magic, the joy of family and life long friendships. The ceremony in the park. The music. The mansion. All of the little details coming together, along with all of the people we love. If I’d dreamed it, it couldn’t have been better.
Our Photographer, Hayden Trace, snapped a photo of the balloon after it fell.
Just about an hour before the ceremony, John stood outside by the stone steps where we would be married. He hummed “If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out,” by Cat Stevens, the song we would walk out to as husband and wife. As he hummed, with his hands in his pocket, he looked up at the trees and admired the colors of the fall leaves. And as he looked towards the branches, he watched the balloon fall from sky, drifting down in stages, until it rested on the ground. That damn balloon disappeared before the wedding, just as we said it would. Everything had fallen into place.
As we reached the end of our perfect day, I took John by the hand and led him outside to the stone patio beneath the glistening string lights and hugged him. Together, we secretly watched everyone dance away the last 7 minutes of our fairytale through the old pane glass window . I wrapped my arms around my husband and laid my head against his warm chest. He held me as we swayed together in the moonlight’s cool, comforting October air. It is one of my most treasured memories from the whole day; my whole life. I felt the kiss of soft mist on my skin as I held him; the rain that never came. I gazed through the window and watched everyone I loved smile and sing away the nigh as we slowly danced beneath the starlight. It was an idyllic end to the most wonderful day. I smiled so big.