In a region where spring lasts about three days, summer can be brutal and winter is generally a snowless bust, it's no surprise that fall is the most beloved time of year here in the nation's capital. Lots of couples dream about an outdoor wedding amidst the fall foliage, though last week's Halloween wedding of Whitney Dangefield and Mark Sparrough proves that the romance of a great marriage comes not from intense color, goofy masks and wigs or even the occasional raindrop, but from the couple themselves.

You see, an odd thing happened late in the afternoon two Saturdays ago, something that might drive fear and loathing into the heart of a different bride. It rained. It rained, beginning with a light drizzle five minutes before ceremony time and slowly morphing into a steady downpour. The kind of weather that ties your brain into a knot. Do we continue outside? Move things inside? Are we tough? Are we wimps? And before I tell you what happened in the end, let me back up just a bit.

I liked Whitney and Mark for two silly reasons when they came in to book me. Mark is a steadicam operator in the New York television industry, and anyone who knows how heavy those things are can appreciate how tough his job is. And that's before he even begins shooting! Mark does work for shows like America's Most Wanted, a place I hope to never find myself. Whitney works for the New York Times, but it gets even better than that. Her boss is actually my old college newspaper buddy, Gerry Mullany. Gerry and I spent countless overnights together at Pipe Dream, our little newspaper with the ridiculous name, me processing film in the darkroom and Mullany hovering over the paste-up boards, X-Acto knife in hand. (Yes, back in the ancient days of 1984, there were no computers in dorm rooms, no iPhones or iPods, and no internet. Copy was pasted up with hot wax, some of which is still stuck under my fingernails.)

After school, I ended up at USA Today, Gerry went to the New York Times, photo editor Ken Brown went to The Wall Street Journal, sports editor Ron Klempner went to the NBA Player's Association, and someone, whose name I will spare, ended up at Hustler. We were all living our dreams, especially, it would seem, that last individual. To think that one of my brides now works for Gerry makes me feel less nostalgic and more, well, old.

But I digress. Back to Leesburg, Virginia on a vibrant Halloween day. Whitney was having her hair done by her sister and Mark was secluded in his room, practicing the hip-hop dance moves he and his mom would surprise guests with later that night. Whitney's dad, who would perform the ceremony, was lying on his hotel room bed, thinking about all the things one must think about when their daughter gets married. And all of us would occasionally glance outside at the weather.

It was threatening, that's for sure. But by the time the ceremony rolled around, the rain had still held off. I considered it a  minor miracle. As we arrived at Raspberry Plain, there was plenty of gorgeous light to take some family pictures. But as the ceremony began in the garden a light drizzle began falling. The groomsmen made their way to the front. The bridesmaids walked down the aisle, followed by the flower girls. The rain began falling a bit heavier with each individual, and just a tad colder to boot.

And then came a voice: "Whitney would like to move things indoors because of the rain." Since I was locked in my position, I could only wonder what was going through her mind. I knew she was probably unsure of what the right call was and whether she did the right thing.

The answer is absolutely yes.

Not a person complained. Not a person cared. Within three minutes everyone was safely indoors and the wedding resumed. End of story. The right decision was whatever decision Whitney would have made that afternoon, because she alone needed to know that her guests were comfortable and happy. And they were, in spades.

By the end of a beautiful ceremony--the "beautiful" part is never reliant on indoors or out anyway-- the drizzle had ended and everyone got to enjoy the beautiful Virginia countryside anyway. And I was able to walk out to the fence line with Whitney and Mark, laughing as the three of us dodged goat poop the whole way, and take some beautiful portraits. After that, Halloween fun, as guests donned silly wigs, ugly masks and posed for pictures in a photo booth. I even got to have hair back after a two-decade absence.

So here's to Fall, here's to drizzle, here's to costumes, and here's to photo booths at weddings. 'Cause if I could get moments like this one every week, I'd be a happy man.

To see a mini gallery of pictures from Mark and Whitney's wedding, click HERE.

Take care,

Matt

p.s. I titled this post Falling Slowly, after the name of a song from the low-budget film Once and because I was looking for a play on the word "fall." The two incredibly talented musicians from that film, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, have a new album out this week and they're playing in Washington tonight at the 9:30 Club. And speaking of falling slowly, for extra credit, take a sec to read how I remember the fall of the Berlin Wall these twenty years later. It's called "Door Number One," below.