The Farm, started a dozen years ago by Steve and Candice MacLean, sponsors all kinds of events…read moreinvolving farm-to-table cuisine, but I came for a wedding. I confess that I was uptight about driving around up here at night but finally figured out that if I stayed on Rt. 23 North to where it crosses with Glendale Rd. (listed as County Rd. 565), I'd be ok. Straight up, make a right, and follow that twisting road to the Farm. Going back later, take 565 West to Rt. 23 and then down to Rt. 287. Pretty straightforward.
I came early, thinking parking might be a problem, but it wasn't. At that point, the wedding party and family members were taking pictures in the back, so I loitered around the side.
I'm more socially adept than I used to be, but being social does require a lot of energy from me, especially when I'm around a large group of people that I don't know or haven't seen in several years, and I was somewhat depleted at that point, suffering the aftereffects of a bad migraine, an adverse reaction to the migraine medication, and lack of sleep. But this was my oldest friend's son getting married, and I was determined to soldier on.
The "cocktail bar" was opened, and, in the past, that would have been a problem for me. Temptation beckoned. Socially uncomfortable? Have a few drinks, and if you're not quite transformed into the life of the party, at least you'll loosen up. Thankfully, I resisted that Dionysian siren call. The thought of driving home on those twisting, darkened roads was daunting enough sober. Drunk? Suicidal. Also, the memory of trying to "loosen up" and succeeding was a rare one. Much more common were memories of becoming an insufferable a**hole.
So, I stuck with water. And Coke.
The wedding was held outside, with the idyllic backdrop of the surrounding hills and mountains, and cows feeding peacefully in the pasture beyond, serving to set the appropriate mood. The minister (I believe from the Universal Life Church?) asked everyone to shut off their cellphones and such so that we could all be fully engaged in the service. A few minutes later, a cow in the field moo-ed the longest, loudest moo I've ever heard from a cow (admittedly, I haven't heard too many, being a child of suburbia), and I quipped to my neighbor sotto voce, "Someone forgot to tell Bessie to quiet down." Ha ha.
The service was lovely. Thankfully, it was a beautiful day, moving towards a glorious dusk and sunset, as my friend and his ex-wife (who was and still is a wonderful lady) escorted their son to the altar. Then the bride-to-be was escorted to the altar by her parents.
Afterwards, we moved inside the converted, modernistic barn. I was seated at Table 13, and thought, "Is that an omen?" Turns out, it wasn't. I was seated with a friendly group. I only knew 1 person at the table, but most of us had a Wayne background (as in Wayne NJ). People were dancing towards the front, and the music was loud, so conversation was episodic and minimal, but we did agree, old-timers that we were, that the music we grew up on was far superior to what they were listening to nowadays. One gentleman at the table mentioned Billy Joel as being in that superior category, and I diplomatically refrained from commenting; things I've learned never to discuss at large gatherings with people I don't know well-- (a) politics (b) religion, and (c) my antipathy to the music of Billy Joel.
The food was very good, served buffet style. Fresh potatoes, vegetables, chicken, a delicious squash soup. And the appetizers that were served during cocktail hour-- a puff pastry I couldn't identify but was tasty; a substantive cheese ball; pork sliders that I could have made a meal of.
There were pleasant moments for me. My friend's older sister, whom I've known since I was 7, came to me and re-introduced me to various members of her immediate family, telling me I should take a seat at their table. I would have, but I didn't want my "Table 13" comrades to think I'd spurned their company. But it was a nice, warm moment. And as I got ready to leave, my friend hugged me and said, "This guy is my brother." For someone who always felt like an outsider standing beyond the circle, it was nice to be reminded that this was 1 circle that I was a part of.
The drive to Rt. 23 was a bit hairy, with my cataract-afflicted eyes, but thankfully that affliction wasn't compounded by alcohol. I made it home in 1 piece.
Any criticisms? The bathrooms leave something to be desired. Often, there was a line outside. The doors seemed flimsy, with outside light filtering in through the cracks. If you're only micturating, as I was, not a big deal.
And the price for the wedding is not cheap.
Still, this is a wonderful, gloriously rustic venue to have a wedding at, or some other event. Beautiful memories are created in this setting that will last a lifetime.
Peace, love and prosperity to the happy couple, and to all couples!
May you enjoy a long, healthful and happy life together!
