A FAIRYTALE WEDDING IN WITLESS BAY
When you elope, you never know what will happen, writes Christina Spencer
Once upon a time, after 25 years of living together, we decided to elope. And it was the most marvellous thing ever.
Here’s my Valentine’s Day story.
At the time, we weren’t quite sure how to tell our friends and family we intended to get married. Being journalists, we eventually issued a “press release” on Facebook:
NEWS FLASH: URGENT, FOR IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION
Butler, Spencer wed in secret ceremony in Newfoundland
WITLESS BAY, NL. — Two Ottawa-based writers who vowed they’d never wed have tied the knot in this oddly named community in Newfoundland, Nuptial News Agency has learned.
Donald Butler and Christina Spencer exchanged rings on July 12 at approximately 11 a.m. in an oceanfront ceremony that took about 10 minutes. Under sunny skies at the edge of the sea, they reportedly spoke a few words to each other as a marriage commissioner officiated and a dog named Annie looked on. Then, they went whale-watching.
Admittedly, it wasn’t the most creative solution. But, after all, how, exactly do you do the marriage thing more than two decades on?
You can’t say we weren’t ready. We had worked together for much of our careers — when I wasn’t based out of the country or we weren’t both located in different cities. You treasure your moments together when you’re frequently apart. But marriage? Bleh.
At least, to me. Marriage meant finding a dress I’d never wear again, negotiating with a religious official in a church we didn’t attend; wedding showers, gift registries and maybe even changing my family name. Not happening.
Still, over the years we evolved, as couples do. We had and we held, for better and worse, richer and poorer, sickness and health. Then suddenly, the time was right.
But how to keep people from fussing ? One day, while putting the finishing touches on a planned Newfoundland vacation, we decided to elope.
We needed a licence, and because of our flight timing, we had to get that licence on a Sunday. Then we would need a marriage commissioner to actually perform the ceremony. And though we knew not a soul in Newfoundland, we’d need witnesses.
It took my now-fiancé some effort, but we contacted a licence issuer and, soon after landing in St. John’s, drove off in our rental car to find her. The groom-to-be was perhaps a bit nervous, since he got the street address wrong — obvious as we picked our way past various motorcycles parked on the unkempt lawn of the house we had arrived at.
A casually dressed woman opened the door to greet us, even though she no idea who we were. Welcome to friendly Newfoundland! She cheerfully helped us figure out where we actually needed to be.
At the proper address, we filled out our paperwork as a pungent Jiggs dinner simmered on a nearby stove, and a yappy dog tried to scratch its way into the licence-issuer’s house from the backyard.
The next day, we drove to our actual “wedding ” site, a seaside home near (aptly named?) Witless Bay. The young woman who presided looked about 21; thanks to us, she was conducting her thirdever wedding. Our witnesses were her mother and boyfriend. Our little party gathered outside, in a light breeze and sunshine, and there, a few metres from the ocean, we two exchanged vows. Some chickens and Annie the dog provided a background chorus of encouragement.
As I remember it now (I was surprisingly excited), this modest ceremony took about 10 minutes. And it was lovely. Our marriage commissioner’s mom shot great photographs.
We had a splendid afternoon whale-watching. At a St. John’s restaurant that evening, the staff gave us free drinks. At another dining spot later, we accidentally crossed paths with two journalists I knew, and they sent champagne to our table.
Now, I know what you’re wondering: Does a simple exchange of vows, after 25 years of cohabiting, really mean much? Do we honestly feel different for finally getting married?
I’m smiling — well, grinning, actually — as I write this. Let’s just say we lived happily ever after.