The first time he married his wife to be would have none of it. No dragging people miles up logging roads to some god forsaken place to say their vows. No. For her it would be a church wedding in a convenient location with catering facilities for the reception close by. He went along. Anything for a quiet life.
But now he was seventy and Tabitha sixty five. Tabitha had learned the hard way that you just smile and go along with men and their silly whims.
``That will be nice,'' she said when he suggested they should marry among the wild flowers up on Dog Mountain.
No one else knew where Mule Meadow was. A Forest Service map from 1941 was the last to show it.
He knew where it was. It was the place where his uncle Joe had rested his pack train when he took supplies up to the look-outs. No one remembered Uncle Joe any more. No one remembered the look-outs except some off roaders. Uncle Joe in the barn with his head on his knees and a whisky bottle held by the neck in his veiny old hand. Dinner time Uncle Joe. But he's too drunk to hear.
The wedding day was fine. It was early July and wild flowers bloomed on Dog Mountain. The wedding party had gathered at the Fir Tree Tavern and started up the River Road. He led the way in his old pick up and his brother Harry took the rear to make sure no one got lost. Tabitha rode with her sister Bernice in her Cressida. Twelve vehicles in all counting the guitar players.
It wasn't that he didn't know the way. He knew it perfectly well. But the lumber company had closed off the old South Fork road because they weren't logging up there. They'd put a berm right across the access and they'd made good and sure you couldn't drive around. ``There's another way in there,'' he said. ``Harry you remember the old Boy Scout camp? Wasn't it off the road that went along the ridge that took you into the Dead Whore?''
``They don't call it that no more,'' Harry said.
He got back in his truck and started driving. Tabitha had joined him. The wedding party trustfully followed. First they had to turn around. A little risky with the drop off on one side. Harry's grandson had to help Aunt Rose, ``This isn't what I expected,'' Aunt Rose said.
Harry's grandson was proud to demonstrate his automotive dexterity.
Twice more the entire party had to turn around. The third time they had to back up half a mile.
``But first a potty break,'' cried Aunt Rose, ``boys this side of the road, girls this side,'' and she disappeared in the rhododendrons.
One of the cousins got in the poison oak, but she didn't realize it right away. A kid named Moe kept saying his friend Graham was lost in the woods and everyone was panicking until Moe's mom insisted Graham lived only in Moe's imagination. In bowls of potato salad on back seats bacteria began to stir and awaken. The wedding cake had fallen sideways on a curve, its fall broken by a folding chair. Its collapse was only partial.
Tabitha took a moment to quietly berate him. ``You should have checked it out before you took us on this chase!'' she said, and whacked him gently with her drooping bouquet.
They stopped at a clear cut where he could get his bearings. Mount Jefferson gleamed at them across the valley. Pink rhododendrons bloomed among the stumps. Bear grass built from tiny flowerets a structure that managed to be both phallic and mammary.
``Let's do it here,'' said Tabitha. ``People are getting tired. We don't want to be lost up here in the dark and Donny and Kat are low on gas.''
``I'm not lost,'' he said.
The wedding went off just as planned. Short and sweet. Tail gates were loaded down with food and drink and the cake looked like rubble but didn't taste too bad. The guitar people played all the good old songs and there was dancing in the roadway. A man and his son who had been target practicing tried to get by them. Rather than cause chaos they decided to join the party and introduced some beer which they had agreed not to have.
By the time the last paper plate had been picked up the sun was going down. The target shooters and their beer were gone. The wedding party started back to town.
The boy Moe looked wistfully out the rear window of his father's VW.
``Graham, Graham,'' he whispered, ``I'll come back and find you.''