Tennessee Love Story

It was as romantic as the lake scene in the The Notebook. At a picnic in rural Tennessee, where the local Church people - including Pastor Jerry and his wife - welcomed us “Denver folks” warmly, as only a charming Southern twang can do, John and I were happy for this idyllic getaway to a place where swaying trees hover over the country back roads and fields reach up high with dancing gold wheat, rich green corn stalks and thick blankets of soy bean shrubs.

Children, singing trills and squeals of excitement, playing enthusiastically in the creek, many covered in mud (best way to happy in a creek), others swinging off the raised shore line on a make-shift handle bar, like Tarzan charging through the jungle, jumping into the water splashing all the other children whose laughter and joy of innocent play was amplified by the thrill of being soaked once again on cue. The expected splash was just as deliriously amusing as if their little friend had jumped in by surprise.

A saint with children, “Uncle John” was eager to be down at the creek with all the munchkins, lifting them up in the air and on his back one handed (easy to do when his muscles are as big as melons), playing games of adventure. A true romantic through and through he proposed he take me in a canoe down the creek. Well, how can a girl resist such a sweet proposition, especially when that means I would be swept up in his arms, carried down the hill and placed ever so carefully into the canoe onto a towel so not to dirty the pretty white and green dress I had chosen for this unique occasion, a modern scene that might have easily been one in Gone With The Wind decades past. So, like Scarlett O’Hara, with flirty eyes and swooning heart (only missing a parasol, which I did say I should have had with me) I sat lady-like, prim and proper while John paddled us down the creek, passing the cheers of children teasing a crush in the playground at school.

Oh how beautiful it was, the calm quiet water glistening where the sun snuck through the overhanging trees that arched out from both sides of the shore. As only my beloved John does, he told me how beautiful I looked in my pretty dress and how grateful he was for our love. Cheeks flushed and sighs heavy, I took it all in. And then, just like in The Notebook, it started to rain. John removed his white shirt, bearing his muscular arms that look even more manly in a tank top, handing it to me so I could cover my hair and stay warm. Paddling now more mightily to rescue his damsel to safety, we snuck underneath a thick canopy of leaves where we would snuggle for a while, enjoying the love story scene of the rain drops dancing, lost far away from the rest of the world, blissfuly happy in our romantic adventure.

On the drive back, drenched but unbothered, in the middle of nowhere in rural Tennessee, a cute wooden arrow, pointing in the direction we had to turn, caught John’s eye and read “Wedding.” He softly said, “It’s an omen.” And so we drove on, madly in love, happily ever after.