Spring Vows
Laura A. Wildman-Hanlon

This is a true story of spring and love.

We stood in an open field in the heart of New England on a day soon after
the winter’s thaw.  The snows had retreated and spring was making
her appearance throughout the countryside. The breeze, while still crisp,
brought with it the promise of warmth. The wild grasses around us, once
flattened from carrying the weight of winter, were now reaching
upwards towards the sky. The first flowers of the season dotted the
ground among new green shoots. Fresh leaves recently pushed out
from bare branches of the surrounding trees, embraced the field in a
decorative web of light green finery.

The young bride stood to my left looking radiant in a white lace mini-dress.
Her black hair, piled on her head in meticulously crafted tresses, was held
high by an elegant clip. The spring breeze played with the edge of
the gauzy material of her veil, lifting it gently to float behind her.
 Clutching a small bouquet in her hands, her attention was completely
focused on the man to my right, oblivious to the mud oozing around
her delicate white shoes. 

The groom shifted nervously in his place. Each move of his feet emitted
a slight gurgling noise from the earth below. While he looked dashing in
his white suit, he appeared uncomfortable in the formal attire.  He
absentmindedly fiddled with the lower seam of his jacket.

They wore white for purity, white for new beginnings, white to represent
the opening of their spirits, their hearts, to each other. His eyes focused
intently on his bride, a shy smile on his lips.  She blushed under
his gaze, but returned his loving look.  They reminded me of young
children caught in an innocent but perhaps questionable act; unsure
of what was to happen to them but not sorry for whatever they had done.
They stood firm on the ground of potential, surrounded by the new growth
of spring and ready for adventure.

Thirty friends and family members, loved ones who had gathered to
watch this couple exchange marriage vows, sat nearby in rows of white
plastic chairs rented from a local store. Each looked uncomfortable
as they attempted to balance on seats which were slowly sinking from
their weight into the moist earth.  You could see annoyance on the
faces of the older women who had worn attire more suitable to an
indoor ceremony. They eyed the black soil with disgust, lifting one foot
then another in a feeble attempt at saving their shoes.  It was a lost
cause as they were already soiled from the walk into the field to the
ritual site. Children, constrained by tradition, struggled with their
instincts to run wild and dance in the glorious mud. Not resigned to
boredom, they reached down to the ground to grab and pull at the
green shoots surrounding their chairs, rolling the leaves into balls
which they hurled at each other with glee.   

With all the participants in place, I cleared my voice and began the
ritual.  First was the invocation acknowledging the circle of life, then a
call to the Elements of Air, Fire, Water and Earth. Lastly I sang to the
God and the Goddess of Love and Creation who were embodied in the
couple before me.  The spring sun warmed the air and quiet embraced us.
We waited. A bird overhead called out. Its mate responded with soft
chirps. The scents of spring, sweet grass and damp potential permeated
the air around us.  The earth hummed with life. All called were present
and the circle was complete.

The energy of spring is of possibilities, promises and potentials. Like
the fresh breeze, it is also wild, free, and unpredictable. Once the
winter recedes, the ground swells to release the mysteries she held
safe within her throughout the cold season. Life is rebirthed in a
gush of water and earth.  For those who live half the year with the
dark of winter, it is an act that is always beautiful and amazing.  We plant
seeds and watch with wonder and hope the future will bring growth
and harvest.

This couple stood before me and their guests, ready to plant their own
seeds, ones made of words. Unlike many who take traditional lines
from wedding or prayer books, they had chosen to use the free flow
energy of Spring and uniquely craft their own vows.  The words they
would speak to each other would be a surprise, creative,
unhampered by organized form.  Their promises were ones secretly
fashioned within their individual hearts and would only be revealed,
spoken aloud, at this magical time, with moment and emotions selecting
the words.
           
I turned to the groom, smiled sweetly and said, “I invite you now to
share your vows with the bride.”
           
The man suddenly turned as pale as his suit. His eyes grew wide,
his hands trembled, and his body wavered as if drunk. Fearful that he
would pour to the ground, I reach a hand toward him, ready to make
a catch.  The groom took in a few deep gasps of air as if it would help
push out the words stuck in his throat. Slowly, he steadied himself and
looked into the eyes of his bride.
           
“I don’t remember what I was going to say,” he said in a shaking voice.
“But,” he added as tears filled his eyes, “I promise I will love you
forever.”
           
I breathed a sigh of relief and regained my composure.  It might not have
been the most poetic of vows but they would do.   I turned now to
the bride.  She looked as terrified as he. Her eyes filled with tears
which rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks.  She was visibly
shaking, the wildflowers in her hands quivering. She looked to
her groom for support and found it in his love.  Taking a breath,
she began.
           
“I don’t remember what I was going to say either,” she whispered, “but,
I promise I’ll love you forever …. and that I will give you at least two weeks
notice if I ever decide to leave.”
           
There was stunned silence. The couple looked at each other with shocked expressions, and then large smiles broke across their faces. They
began to laugh with deep, ecstatic delight. The crowd joined in filling the
air with loud joyful sounds.
           
The couple grasped hands and together they leaped over the wedding
broom into their new life.  As their feet hit the earth, a spray of wet
erupted from below splashing their white clothes with dark rich life.
The new husband reached down to the ground. Covering the tip of his
finger with mud, he dotted some of the earth on the end of his wife’s
nose.  Getting her hands muddy in the process, she followed his
example covering his nose with wetness. Then, standing in a mud puddle,
radiating waves of love, they sealed their vows with a deep, passionate
kiss.
           
With the pronouncement of marriage complete, hand in hand the couple
ran off laughing through the meadow. The children, who could no
longer be restrained, sprang from their seats to follow in chase.  Their
youthful sounds echoed throughout the field as they danced and played
in the mud of spring’s promise.