The Hill Was Rockin'

          Katie was aglow, Josh was smiling shyly on the outside, beaming inside.

          They and the wedding party were riding  in a converted hay wagon pulled by our 63-year-old Farmall tractor.  Her white gown and the brilliant red tractor were a sharp contrast to the green grass and the grass-green gowns of the bridesmaids.

          We sat on muslin-covered straw bales under huge tan umbrellas, watching them ride to the top of Indiantree Hill, where the minister, Uncle Jason awaited along with about 120 members of family and friends.

          Parents and some grandmas and grandpas were misty-eyed as the kids promised love, devotion and perpetual continuation of their free-spirit courtship spontaneity.

          After nearly two weeks of storms and showers the skies had turned Kodachrome and a gentle breeze drifted up from the Goosebottom.  An hour earlier I found a four-leaf clover while checking the power line for the pianist's audio equipment.  I stashed the good omen in one of the huge pots erupting with lilies.

          An hour after the late afternoon ceremony, the crowd had retreated to the bright red barn built by Katie's great, great, great grandfather Christian J., for the tossing of a bouquet, a garter, and many, many well-wishes.

          The music throbbed into the wee hours as six generations of Millers and their friends celebrated another milestone.

          Christian J., John C. and Paul H. were with us in spirit.

          And they were rockin'.