On Saturday afternoon, we went to the wedding of D's cousin's son in Groton, a bucolic little town about a 90-minute drive from Boston. They couldn't have picked a better day -- always chancey weatherwise in April, but this day was sunny and warm, sentiments that seemed to infect everyone, or maybe reflected from them. The church was a pretty little cobblestone chapel with beautiful arched windows that streamed the late sun and cooling breezes.
The reception was also in Groton, at the Barn at Gibbet Hill (apparently named for a hill in England, not for any local gruesomeness). Again, the mild weather allowed the guests to mingle on the large back porch while the bride and groom posed for photo ops with the farm's Angus cattle. (Bit of gruesomeness there as they did serve some Angus beef among the fare.) Then dinner was served, toasts made, and dancing commenced. I hardly knew anyone, save a couple of D's cousins, but it wasn't about us but rather the young couple and their friends and family. It was really quite lovely.
I posted a small set of photos here.