Under the Oak Tree

A Basecamp Dispatch about rural weddings, omens, and whitetail deer

Welcome to Basecamp Dispatch — my weekly check-in from the woods, the homestead, or somewhere else with spotty cell service.

Last week disappeared into all the last-minute details of my daughter’s wedding. We were swimming in silk flowers, wedding favors, dress fittings, hair appointments, and plastic cutlery. There were approximately 6,000 decisions that absolutely could not wait another five minutes.

Nobody warns you that hosting an outdoor wedding also turns you into an amateur meteorologist. I spent most of the week staring at my weather app and trying to strike a deal with a looming thunderstorm. The weather held, so I guess I was successful.

I staggered into Saturday already exhausted, but the second I saw Emma in her wedding dress, none of it seemed to matter much anymore.

Before the ceremony, our family gathered under an old oak beside the beanfield for her first look with her dad and brothers. One of those brothers joined us by video chat from somewhere in the Middle East.

Two whitetails were feeding about sixty yards out in the beans. Heads down and tails flicking. Paying us no attention at all.

Emma walked up behind her dad and brothers while the photographer got everybody in place. One son stood there in person. I held up my phone so the other could see his sister from halfway around the world.

Once everybody was in place, the photographer said, “You can go ahead and look.”

At that exact moment, one of those deer lifted its head and looked toward Emma.

My other daughter leaned over to me and whispered, “That’s PopPop.”

I don’t really believe in omens, and I rarely assign meaning to moments involving wild animals, but sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m too cynical.

Maybe it’s because so many of my memories of Daddy live outdoors.

I still associate him with beanfields and deer stands and oak trees. Some people inherit jewelry or silverware or a good chunk of money. But my family heirloom is a way of paying attention in the woods.

So when that deer raised its head toward the oak tree at the exact moment her dad and brother turned around to see her standing there in her wedding dress, I felt something drop heavy in my chest before my brain had time to argue with it.

It isn’t that I necessarily thought Daddy had magically returned as a whitetail so he could attend his granddaughter’s wedding. It’s just that grief gets tangled up with landscapes after enough years.

The deer dropped its head and went back to feeding after a few seconds. The photographer kept snapping pictures. Somehow, the call with my son got dropped. I adjusted my corsage and tried not to let the tears ruin my mascara.

Like all important family moments, the whole thing kept moving forward, whether I was ready or not.