A Collected Summer Table at Dusk

With my brain just give me two seconds to end up in another rabbit hole. Or knee deep and three hours into a tangent. So here it is: I've been thinking about weddings.

Not for me. Hell, no.

For my hayfield.

If you read my version of "romance" in my novels, trust me, this makes sense.

More specifically, what a wedding in my hay meadow might look like. I've got exactly 22, 354 pins and 6 mood boards to prove this can work. We've cleaned out and painted the shed in the field, which can supply electricity and some storage.

The china, silver, pewter, brass, rugs and furniture I've collected over the years have been packed away in one form or another. Pieces from the Crow's Nest estate I'd acquired had barely seen daylight since we lugged them 14 round trips from Waldoboro to Montville.

I call this my remote office—the whitewashed upstairs studio I've set up for myself.

It's more accurately a semi-silent takeover of my honey's garage. He's been patient with this “temporary arrangement,” but I detect the rumblings barely beneath the surface. Upstairs is mine. Downstairs? Mine. Technically his. I'll spare you what it really looks like.

Before I got too far in front of myself with the wedding idea, though, I wanted to see some of it together. Could I pull off my version of a collected summer table at dusk? Like for a reception... on short notice?

With no wedding planner or florist... or voice of reason on hand?

Challenge accepted.

So after finding and assembling the parts—including the hardware hidden in a random drawer—we hauled a half-ton Spanish table out of his garage and somehow got it upright, on a giant rug, beneath an apple tree.

Check.

Then I started unpacking boxes.

Of course, things escalated from there.

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Four hours later, dusk started settling in.

And the candles took over.

That's when the whole experiment changed.

Cue the dramatic music.

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At exactly 9:50 p.m. a search and rescue was almost called.

But it was only the mosquitoes ready to haul me off.

The apple tree looked forlorn and forgotten, party over—except for the insects and one hefty Spanish table under a tarp.

As for my experiment? Successful overall.

The flowers stayed surprisingly fresh for hours despite having no water. I'll just wear gloves next time to avoid the poison ivy that took over my right hand two days later.

The Spanish table will never come apart again—and may have found a new home under a certain apple tree.

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