The search engine experts would tell me the first thing I should do here is tell about the city where the wedding was held, the dress and shoes the bride wore, and the champaign that flowed. But I’m also guessing that many of those executives at Google haven’t taken the time to see how things happen when you kick back into a more relaxed atmosphere. My wedding this week was in McConnell Illinois. A town big enough to have their 
own post office, but not big enough to have a stop light or to post their population on the city limits sign. It’s about 422 by the way depending on which web site you look at. It’s a place where friends show up and everyone feels like family. It’s a place where the kids feel more at home to lay in the grass and watch the vows exchanged then they do to sit in stuffy suites more appropriate for Easter Morning.
Walking through the old American Legion hall shows where time stood still. The trophies from years ago, the hand written roster of leaders from years past and the one dollar bill from 1846 pinned to the message board along with other notes of interest from over the years. It was in the middle of the lawn under the shade of a grand maple tree that Dave and Yorel were married. There was no need to run off in fanfare in a big limo. The had lunch right their on the picnic tables. Let me tell you this. Pulled pork never tasted as good as when they get it when the farmer down the road slaughters the sow that week just for the festivities.
And while my last wedding and next wedding will be a full affair, spending a little time in the country reminded me why there is a part of me that still wants a quiet little 5 acre farmette to call home.
