elcome to Knitter’s Review, home of the best knitting events calendar on the Internet. My name is Clara Parkes, and I’ve been sharing my adventure here since 2000. I invite you to browse my archive of in-depth reviews of knitting yarns and tools, as well as tutorials on everything from how to knit socks and lace to how to substitute yarns. Make yourself at home!
Nine years ago today I woke up and announced to Clare that we were getting married. The Supreme Court had made its decision just six days before, and this was the first legal day we could actually do it. After 20 years together, I couldn’t fathom waiting one more day to exercise a right that should’ve been ours all along.
The town clerk would issue the license but didn’t feel comfortable doing a ceremony. I was undeterred. We filled out the papers, handed her cash, and she issued the license and wished us luck.
I remembered a UU minister friend. “I know this is a little random,” I messaged her on Facebook. She replied right away. Yes! She had an hour free that afternoon. She’d love to marry us. That was that.
I baked a cake and pulled out a bottle of champagne. My niece was visiting and just old enough to be the official witness. We loaded up the car and headed down to the farmhouse where my brother and his two sons happened to be staying—a sacred place that’s the whole reason we moved to Maine. While my niece picked wildflowers and decorated the porch, my nephews made us rings out of old bailing wire they found in the barn.
At the appointed hour, our minister friend arrived with a bouquet of flowers from her own garden. One nephew retrieved the family of mice from the dollhouse and lined them up on the porch railing so they could watch. The other nephew stayed in the living room and watched the ceremony through night-vision goggles from behind the couch.
Later my brother grilled steak in the yard while dragonflies zoomed around eating all the mosquitoes. I served cake and popped open the champagne and we all wandered back out into a field that was now filled with thousands of fireflies.
The day was magic, even if it had none of the trappings I’d dreamed about as a kid. Twenty years in, it wasn’t about that anymore. It was about righting a wrong and securing rights that should’ve been ours for two decades. But to my surprise, the day ended up being one of the loveliest of my life.
To those miserable humans who plan to revoke this joy, I offer these words from Pablo Neruda: You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming....