The Search Begins...

Two months and three states. That is what it took to finally find the barn for our reception. Because Ian and I come from opposite sides of the country, we had to come up with a solution for who would travel. Would my family go from Los Angeles to New York? Would his go from New York to California? Would they meet somewhere in the middle? Neither of us has a family that is particularly larger than the other. But, for monetary reasons, my family could travel from California to the East Coast more feasibly. Thus, my Google search from New Mexico was kicked off to find the perfect barn on the East Coast.

I combed through New York's resources and abused the terms "New York," "Barn," and "Wedding" in search engines. But nothing I came across felt right. We were a month out from our engagement party, which was to be held in New York, so we knew we'd be able to visit venues, but only a few since we had limited time.

The first place I got stuck on was Riverside Farms in Vermont, about a five hour drive from Ian's hometown. This is a venue that flies somewhat under the radar, unlike Round Barn Farm, which is beautiful but a bit of a wedding factory. Three-hundred acre Riverside Farms not only has one wedding barn, they have four and a meadow protected by a small mountain. It's secluded and full of antiques and completely not manufactured. I loved it. The price, well, I didn't love that as much. That said, the owners told me about a property they owned down the road called The Amee Farm (pictured above) which wasn't on as much land but included a 16-bedroom farmhouse and a newly restored barn with organic garden. I loved the idea of all of our wedding party and family staying in the house while cute bed-and-breakfasts nearby would suffice for the other guests. But there were two things I couldn't quite latch on to: 1) There wasn't anywhere to have a private, secluded ceremony. The farmhouse sits just above the busiest road in town (Okay, not that busy. It's Vermont, but still.) and the ceremony would have to be on the hill overlooking the road and town. Or, the road and town would be looking up at you. 2) The three-story barn was still under construction. The reception venue was planned for the second floor which had a flat ceiling because of the third floor above it, thus ruining any novelty of celebrating in a barn structure. I want high ceilings, people. And, visiting the farm was my first time in Vermont and I was starting to feel like I wanted some connection to my locale of choice.

A few days later, in New York, we decided to check out a few venues that didn't have barns at all. The first was Ian's family friend's new lake home--also under construction--about twenty minutes from Ian's hometown. There was a beautiful field on the lake with a couple of trees I could totally see saying "I Do" under, but the lawn in front of the house didn't seem big enough. Plus the idea of bringing in every table, chair, fork, knife, speaker, and light was enough to make me say no. As generous as the offer to use the house was.

The second venue was actually recommended by a bridesmaid who had driven up for the engagement party from New York City. She stayed in a sweet little bed-and-breakfast called Berry Hill Gardens bed-and-breakfast. The five-bedroom house was a little outdated, but the gardens in front were stunning with a trellis to use as an aisle and flowers everywhere. Talk about not needing to decorate. But, alas, this didn't feel right either.

The third place we went in New York has a bit of family history--Ian's great-grandmother had been a caretaker on this amazing property: Hyde Hall near Cooperstown, NY. Hyde Hall is a historic mansion on a grassy hill overlooking Otsego Lake in the Finger Lakes region. After rushing around the grounds, on our way to the airport, I was ready to say yes. The views were fabulous for the ceremony, the mossy, marble building had the perfect amount of history creeping up its walls, and I loved the family-tie. Plus, this was the first place we'd seen that didn't have any construction going on. But, Ian didn't like the idea of paying a site fee that came with absolutely nothing but the grounds. Hmph. This was proving to be difficult.

It wasn't until we were back in New Mexico, feeling more unsure than ever about where we wanted to get married, that we found it. I was reading my Real Simple Weddings book late one night when I came across a wedding in a barn in southern Colorado. Light. Bulb. We were only two hours from Southern Colorado. The weight of planning a wedding from afar lifted from my shoulders. I Googled, and Googled, and Googled. Blue Lake Ranch in Durango looked nice, but Durango is really too remote for our traveling guests. Dunton Hot Springs near Telluride is even more remote but almost seemed worth it: You can rent the entire town (yes, it's an old ghost town) including the multiple hot-spring pools. But the price proved it too remote in more ways than one.

Third time's a charm. I stumbled upon Devil's Thumb Ranch. Five-thousand raw acres of mountainous Colorado with a renovated barn on a completely, sustainable ranch. Whew. That's a mouthful, but that's because it has a lot to offer.

People ask me why Colorado? One, it's in between both of our families. But it's also a place Ian and I steal away to for long weekends in the mountains, so we associate it with fun, adventure, and relaxation.

In the end, we decided on what felt right. We knew that traveling would be involved for at least half the guests so we decided to make it a destination wedding for everyone. The ranch feels unique, is filled with one-of-a-kind antiques, has gourmet food, and, most importantly, has an inclusive-package that fit our budget. Well, sort of.

How many venues did you look at before you found the one? Did you always know what you were looking for or did you stumble upon it, unexpectedly?

Photo 1 by AndrewTCurry

Last photo by Laura Dombrowski

The Women Who Came Before Me

Unlike the title would imply, this post is not about my mother, my grandmother, or even my great-grandmother. Not that I didn't like my mom's wedding--she got married in a chapel on a grassy knoll over the ocean in Malibu. Not too shabby. I even looked into a venue nearby, a venue I'd dreamed about since I was a child playing in the sand on the beach that it borders: The Adamson House, a historic spanish-style casa that edges right up to the most popular surfing beach in Los Angeles. Turns out, The Adamson House was ridiculously out of our budget and, in the moment I found that out, it dispelled any dreams of getting married in my hometown of Los Angeles. Okay, true, I didn't look very hard, but when I get my heart set on something, I have trouble seeing anything else.

Until I started sifting through design blogs and magazines and falling hopelessly in love with all things barefoot, earthy, rustic, wide open and natural. I feel warmth when I think about these ideas, especially within an industry that mass produces all things uptight, too-poised, well-coiffed, and picture perfect. Thus, Ian and I decided all we need is a field for our ceremony and a barn for all of our friends and family to gather and dance.

My fiance is the main reason for our choice. He's a country boy who grew up amidst maple- and apple-trees, who had dirt under his fingernails every afternoon as a child, and has taught me how to plant trees, build fires, and walk barefoot in the grass. His love for barns was born because he grew up in one. His father renovated a barn into their home with his own two hands so we felt like this structure was very meaningful to celebrate in.

The second seed of inspiration comes from a couple brides I came across who pulled off warm, unique, and country-inspired celebrations of their own. The first was Maie and Jim, a couple who got married in upstate New York, where Ian is from, on a private estate. That launched my search for an estate, a farm, a lodge, a summer camp, anywhere we could rent out for all of our guests to gather for the entire weekend. They pulled off details I'd never seen before: hay as benches during the ceremony and antique doors as an alter of sorts. Not to mention her Monique Lhuillier gown had me drooling at my computer.

The second bride I saw was featured on Once Wed, a favorite blog of mine, under the name "Oh My Deer." That also happens to be the eponymous name of her shop on etsy.com, an "ebay" for people selling crafts and homemade goods. The thing I love about Chelsea and Tec's wedding was the way all of their friends and family members became a part of the wedding by contributing things (a great budgeting tool). The trinkets on the tables were donated by friends, the trees on the tables--thought to have died--came to life about a month before the wedding after debuting in her sisters wedding, and the property was also a friends. Chelsea's designs inspired me to be unique, collect vintage bottles and tins as vases, and mainly, she taught me not to worry about it looking so "pulled together." If each thing has a reason for being there, it will all fall into place.

My mom still tells me stories about her wedding--how she doesn't remember ever feeling the pressure that brides do now, to pull off some overly-designed event. She hardly remembers where she got her flowers, she mentions the chapel being donated to my father and her, and that her dress, a long-sleeved, Victorian-style gown (that still sits yellowing in her closet) cost $300 from a store ironically named Country Bride. Maybe the lesson here is one from her: It's been over thirty years since my parents had their humble celebration and they're still married. Regardless of cost or showiness, their wedding was a symbol of their love, and that's what stands strong in her memory.

Which brides have inspired your wedding? Are they friends or did you find them via internet? Which of your details were inspired by that bride?

Photos 1 and 2 by Vallentyne Photography
Photos 3 and 4 by Jose Villa

A Year in Santa Fe

One year. It's been nearly an entire year since I've returned to this blank field where words and letters can and will fill this empty space (when I want them to). I read an article this morning in which Gawker's Emily Gould explains her demise by blogging in The New York Times Magazine's Exposed, and whether it meant to or not, it made my brain and fingers stir again.

One year ago, when Ian and I trucked across country to find new shelter (physical and emotional) in Santa Fe, my aunt said to me, "I hope Santa Fe is good for your love." She is a spiritual one, mind you. I giggled it off, embarrassed by the sentiment (which she nearly always carries) but now I can only say it has been no less than "good for our love."

The sandy, rust-stained earth of Santa Fe has sprouted an entirely new era, mindset, definition in and of our lives. We no longer hole up inside a Brooklyn apartment on bleak, snowy days; We swoosh through the woods that tumble towards Santa Fe from behind the ski basin, thrilled at the powder that rushes at our faces and tingles our skin with cold. Summer is no longer for sweating in scummy subway stations; Instead we're charging through woodsy trails to waterfalls flowing strong after the snow's melt or jumping of brown, barren cliffs into lakes while our dogs bark from the water's edge.

We've turned a rental into a home, it's weed-strewn grounds now tilled into patches of tomatoes, basil, eggplants, and peppers. The steel wind mill across the streets whines in the wind and reminds us that we might not hear a siren or a cab's honk for weeks, maybe months. Instead, we hear mountain bikes whizzing by after a romp on the nearby trails or an occassional car kicking up dust and rocks (yes, we live on a dirt road!) on its way to the Audobon Center.

About three weeks ago, we returned from a two-week jaunt in Europe (something we'd been itching to do, but could never afford while in New York). I, in the French Alps, to write a story for Outside's GO, and Ian, to meet me in Italy after I finished. We ate risotto and zuppa, zipped around on a motorino, hiked through vineyards, and treasured the art.

But most importantly, while on Capri, we got engaged. It's hard for me to not smile about this--maybe because saying those words sounds so cliche and cheesy, but mostly because I am so excited. I find myself sifting through wedding venues, dresses, message boards, and blogs non-stop, dreaming up our humble celebration. I say humble because we've decided we want nothing more than a field on a lake or river, some grass, trees, and a huge barn for everyone to gather. If that doesn't convince you that Santa Fe has changed us, than I don't know what would.

My ring, a 60-year-old family heirloom, comes this week. And funny enough, it's originally from Brooklyn.

Image 1, 2, and 3 thanks to Ian Troxell.
Image 4 thanks to flickr-rickr according to this license.