The Pig and Goat Wedding

My younger brother Jamin, a 10-year Senior at the University of North Carolina (at Chapel Hill) married his long-time girlfriend Emily on a farm outside of Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I flew out to support him and enjoy the celebration. My parents and most of my siblings also made the trip, so it served as a family reunion-lite. Obie (aka Jon) wasn't able to make it; Mistress Meg speculated that he was simply protesting Jamin choosing not to wed in a Mormon temple.

I was a bit nervous before I left, as I had never been east of Texas before (and I was only in Austin for a few days--otherwise I hadn't been east of the Rockies). The red-eye flight from PDX to Newark, New Jersey, was probably the most turbulent flight I've ever been on--trumping even a flight to Salt Lake City years ago that  Meg and I thought we were going to crash and burn and die together (what a way to go!). Further complicating my plans to catch a few hours of sleep, I was sandwiched between a fat man and a large woman, both of whom had their fat oozing over their designated seats and preventing my body from having any room to stretch or even move to a different position. All things must end, and I was eventually rewarded with a short walk and bus ride through the Newark air terminal, which felt like the most racially diverse place I'd ever been. It was still dark when we landed, but as my flight to Raleigh lifted off the ground, I witnessed the sun bathing the Statue of Liberty and Manhattan island with its early morning rays. Having been to Tokyo a few times, I thought New York looked so much smaller in comparison. The short flight south to Raleigh felt like first-class--my own row (the plane was only half-full, at most), a light breakfast, and a beautiful dawn with which to study the verdant landscape.

Google's weather service promised me that North Carolina, while hot, was much less humid than Oregon. But when I stepped out of the Raleigh airport my shirt instantly stuck to my skin--and remained glued there for the duration of my trip. I had been tricked, despite common sense telling me otherwise. After picking up my sexy-black Town and Country mini-van (it was the cheapest option available--go figure), I drove onto the freeway thinking to see what the Triangle had to offer (forget about sleep--how many times do I have to travel alone to a far-away land?). Realizing that I had left my cell phone charger at home, I stopped at a Kroger market to see if I could find a cheap replacement, as I would rely upon my phone to coordinate meeting up with my family. After walking around the store--in part to get out of the nearly unbearable hot and sticky air outside--I went back to the van to continue on with my sight-seeing tour, having failed to find a compatible charger. I pulled out the remote to open the van, unlocked it, sat down, and realized I didn't have a key for the ignition. My heart stopped beating for a split second before I hopped out and started looking for a key, which I assumed must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere nearby. I scoured the parking lot, queried the Kroger lost-and-found, re-traced all of my steps, but to no avail. My phone was dead, so I couldn't even call my brother--even if I did have a charger to use, I couldn't use it because I wouldn't be able to start the van. Fortunately, there was a T-mobile store just around the corner, so after waiting for it to open, I explained my situation to one of the employees, who agreed to let me re-energize my phone for a few minutes (using a demo-phone's charger) so I could call Jamin and have him take me back to the airport and get another key to the van. I was able to get a hold of Jamin and he said he would be over right away to offer a hand. After walking back to the van thinking how idiotic I was---maybe my brain really did need some sleep after all--I sat down and played around with the van's remote, randomly inserting one end of it into the ignition. Surprisingly, it fit. So I turned it a notch, and lights went on. I turned it again, and the engine started. I had never actually had to insert the "key" into the ignition, as the rental car employee had brought the van to me and kept it running, so I never had the chance to see exactly what was on the keyring. Jamin arrived a few minutes later and, though I was thoroughly embarrassed, I felt great relief telling him that he could go back about his business as I had realized the error of my way.

My parents and older brother, Matt, were arriving later that evening, so I spent the rest of the day exploring Durham (and unsuccessfully trying to find downtown Raleigh)--mostly inside retail stores and shopping malls (the weather was literally killing me). My last stop was at Umstead State Park, where I spent a couple of hours wandering along woody trails with deer and squirrels. I may have even dozed off for 30 minutes while resting on a log. Eventually I drove back to the airport to pick up my brother and we drove to Chapel Hill to Emily's mom's house, who had invited all of us for a small, friendly get-to-know-one-another dinner. Driving around proved relatively difficult--not because we had never been to North Carolina before--but because the roads (particularly the freeways/highways) are lined with tall, thick trees, it's hard to see any landmarks or tell where the heck you are. But we made it and were warmly received into their gloriously-chilled townhouse. Maybe people are friendlier in the South, as nobody asked for ID or questioned who I was (or what I smelled like--it must have been days since I last had an opportunity to shower), although many people told me later that they instantly knew I was Jamin's brother because apparently we look, talk, and carry ourselves in very similar fashion. But if they had spent a little longer conversing with me, they would have realized that my brain is puny in comparison and I just do a really good job of fakin' it. My parents arrived a few minutes later, and we had a fun and fairly intimate time with the Matchar clan (which I appreciated being able to do without all the other wedding guests). By this time I could really feel my body beginning to shut down completely, to the point where I felt quite loopy. After the get-together Matt and I drove a few miles to Jamin's house, where an air mattress in his spare room proved to be one of the most heavenly resting places I've ever known.

The next morning (Friday) Jamin spent a few hours showing us around Chapel Hill, where he has lived for the last six years (despite my earlier and clearly false statement above). Even though it was still 95 degrees and like 132% humidity, my body finally began to adjust to the new conditions. We walked around the UNC campus, ate donuts from Krispy Kreme, and shopped at Trader Joe's and the Performance bike shop. I had noticed that there seemed so very little places to ride a bike safely (i.e., bike lanes or shoulders on the roads) and talked with one of the bike shop employees about it. He acknowledged my musings as fact and suggested that I sign a petition at the front of the store to encourage local government to change that. When I mentioned that I live in Portland, he got weak in the knees and said that if he ever visited he would likely never return to North Carolina. We all parted ways later that afternoon, as I had to return to the Raleigh airport to pick up my two sisters (and Megan's husband, Jared, and their daughter, Adri). After finding them we drove to the Celebrity Dairy, site of the wedding and pre-/post-parties. Friday night was a "rehearsal dinner." There was certainly a fine dinner--complete with three different flavors of goat milk ice cream--but there was no rehearsal going on. We all had rooms at the dairy--mine was in the third-floor attic--so it was nice and convenient to retire that evening.

I arose early Saturday morning to milk the goats. I thought there would be a long line of guests waiting to take a turn, but I was the only one there. Machines do all the work anyway, so there wasn't much to see. So I ran four miles in the North Carolina countryside, returning home a sweaty and tired mess. After breakfast and helping set up for the wedding festivities, my parents, Matt, and Maren went on a hike through the wooded acres of the farm. We got lost and ended up in some farmer's field (thankfully, no errant shots were fired at us for trespassing) but made it back to the dairy after two hours of good exercise. It was so good that I took a nap in my room, waking up just thirty minutes before the wedding was to start. I quickly got dressed (I even ironed my shirt and pants) and made it downstairs without issue. I enjoyed the ceremony with its simplicity, honesty, sincerity. I even shed some tears of joy (no, it wasn't just sweat dripping down my forehead--and No, Meg, I don't have proof). The star of the wedding dinner was a 125-pound pig, but it was late in showing up and caused much angst (not that there wasn't anything else to eat--oh, let me tell you how much good food there was to eat), but it was truly a sight to see (and eat). The party continued till about midnight, with lots of dancing--so much dancing that even all of the Asays were on the floor at one point (who would a'thunk it?).

Sunday was another day of chauffeuring siblings to the airport--Matt before breakfast and Megan/Jared/Adri after breakfast. I then successfully found my way into downtown Raleigh, although brother Jamin hinted at what I found to be true: it was dead. There were lots of tall buildings, but nothing was happening. Granted, it was Sunday--which I am suspecting the South recognizes as a  Sabbath, unlike we heathens out west--but I was surprised at how different it was from Portland. I also toured the North Carolina state capitol building, which surprised me for how tiny it was (at least compared to Salem's capitol). Dark, threatening clouds had arrived, and I could sense that change was in the air. I drove back to the airport an hour earlier than I had planned, and right as I turned in my van to the rental agency, sheets of rain began falling from the sky, drenching the earth and its inhabitants. Even though I bore easily at airports, I much preferred being cool and dry than hot and wet. My flight went through Houston, Texas and only gave me a 45 minute lay-over, which proved more than enough time to move between gates and find my next plane. Anything is possible when you travel light and wear Vibram FiveFingers, which countless number of people asked me about. The best discussion of the FiveFingers was with a guy at the Houston airport, who took time out of his busy schedule picking up on the woman next to him to talk with me:

RandomGuy: Dude, what's it like wearing those toe shoes.
Me: It feels like being barefoot.
RandomGuy:No, what's it feel like.
Me: It feels like being barefoot.
RandomGuy: No, I mean what's it feel like.
Me: Well, since there's no support or cushioning [kind of like your brain, I'm discovering], it feels like you're barefoot.
RandomGuy: Oh, I see. Now quit bothering me so I can get this chick's phone number.

Even though I relished the time to see my extended family and explore somewhere new without worrying about what my feral kids were doing, I was ready to see Meg and the boys and enjoy the beautiful and temperate land that Oregon is.