“And you will believe in love,
And all that it’s supposed to be.
But just until the fish start to smell.
And you’re struck down by a hammer.”“April Fools” by Rufus Wainwright
Fall has always been my favourite time of year—a season that feels both grounding and invigorating, even as the days grow shorter and winter looms on the horizon. The crisp air offers my husband a welcome reprieve from the summer heat, while I bask in the cozy vibes of reading socks, pumpkin spice lattes and the inviting scents of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
It’s a time for long(er) walks through colourful landscapes painted in vibrant reds and golds, and zigzagging through corn mazes with the family. It’s another excuse to decorate, keep traditions alive— and our hearts pounding—with our annual month-long scary movie marathon and our much-anticipated pilgrimage to the ByronScaryHouse at Fanshawe Pioneer Village. Not just any haunted house—the multi-building haunted house. The one that sets the bar, exceeds it, and keeps you coming back for more.
Add in hearty roast beef dinners, savoury beef stews, gooey homemade mac and cheese, and all the festivities of a Thanksgiving feast, and fall is a season that never fails to delight—even if it includes the return to school for my husband!
It’s also a celebration of change, making it the perfect time for us to get married in this transformative season.
Lost and found.
Our story began with buffalo chicken wraps and a “lost” ring. A casual, and perhaps slightly orchestrated, lunch with friends at The Wave (the birthplace of my buffalo chicken wrap obsession) led to dinner at Joe Kool’s followed by live music at Old Chicago’s. Somewhere between the beer and the banter, I lost my mother’s ring (or so I thought), and, naturally, enlisted the help of my new acquaintance to retrace my steps. By email, of course. Yes, we’re that generation.
The search led us to the Plantation Coffee & Tea Bistro—a cozy café nestled in the heart of downtown. Over the years, it changed into the Symposium Café, then Katsuya Japanese Fusion Restaurant, and, like so many downtown businesses, now seems destined to become either a parking lot or another abandoned Farhi building 😏. After hours spent effortlessly bouncing between the mundane and the meaningful, it became clear we had found something more valuable than a piece of jewellery.
Plot twist: The ring was safely tucked away in my purse the entire time, but I couldn’t resist teasing him that it was never really lost. Or was it?
Second chances.
When planning our wedding and choosing a date, there was no question it would be in October. With the stunning backdrop of the Ben Miller Inn in Goderich, Ontario, we couldn’t resist hosting it outdoors. In the cold. With a chance of a blizzard. And no indoor back-up plan. Said no one ever. Yet sometimes, it’s those leaps of faith that lead to the most unforgettable moments—and the most perfect day.
For better or worse.
The altar stood at the heart of where everyone gathered, framed by a shimmering canopy of autumn leaves that created an intimate, almost sacred space. Twinkle lights, softly flickering candles, and clusters of elusive white pumpkins—hastily yet lovingly sourced by family—added the perfect touch of fall elegance that only I noticed. Yes, they’re everywhere now, but back in 2000, as someone notoriously cursed for being ahead of the trends, they were practically unicorns!
Bathed in the golden light of early evening, my son and I walked down the aisle hand-in-hand—an inseparable team of two. The melody of If by Bread quietly filled the air, the same song that had once played as a tribute to my father’s love for my mother, now marking the beginning of a new chapter in mine.
Standing at the altar, my husband-to-be waited, wearing a broad smile—and a full-blown case of chicken pox. His face and body, freckled with bright red spots from head to toe, gleamed like an unintended and unforgettable accessory to his wedding attire.
Of all the wedding “what-ifs” I’d imagined (like accidentally calling him Frank), this scenario had never crossed my mind. Yet, there he stood, confidently embracing the moment, his spirit unshaken despite the glaring evidence of his predicament. We were already living out the vow “in sickness and in health” long before the words had even passed our lips.
Reverend Tolmay officiated the ceremony, his calm and comforting presence a familiar anchor for my family. He had guided us through the heartbreak of my mother’s passing and spent countless hours counselling Trev and me before our wedding, helping us lay the groundwork for something lasting and true. His presence wasn’t just a reassurance that I would get it right this time—it was a connection, a subtle and special reminder that my mom was with us in spirit on this special day.
A little laughter.
He delivered a heartfelt message about the meaning of marriage, but before we exchanged rings, he paused to explain the significance behind my unconventional wedding ring that had been thoughtfully designed by my husband: The two sapphires on either side of the wedding band symbolized me and my son, while the “little” diamond at the center of my engagement ring represented my husband. When combined during the ceremony, the ring became a poignant symbol of his commitment to us and the unity of our new family.
The moment was briefly interrupted by my husband’s mock indignation at the reference to “little”—a term he felt compelled to contest, given its decidedly not-so-little price tag. The unscripted, playful exchange sparked (a lot of) laughter, adding his signature charm to the day’s many cherished moments.
In a touching gesture that underscored his importance in our union, Reverend Tolmay also presented our son with a pin mirroring the design of my ring, giving him his own tangible reminder of our promise to him.
Afterward, friends and family stepped forward for communion—a moment Reverend Tolmay later described as one of the most moving experiences he had ever witnessed. Sharing communion with all the people who mattered most filled me with an unexpected profound sense of peace. It wasn’t just a ritual; it was a deeply reassuring declaration—a powerful affirmation that we were truly building something meaningful, something strong. The reverence was palpable.
Pumpkins and punchlines.
The reception teetered somewhere between awkward and more awkward as fewer than a hundred guests squeezed elbow-to-elbow into a dining room that would leave modern brides lamenting its total lack of Instagram-worthy appeal. Many guests had the dubious honour of sitting at the proverbial kids’ table—sans crayons—with a riveting view of a wall instead of the toasts and festivities unfolding just out of sight. I can only imagine their delight as they tried to survive strained to hear my husband’s marathon speech, an entertaining blend of love letter and stand-up comedy routine.
Yet the true showstoppers weren’t his punchlines, but rather the enormous orange pumpkin—cleverly marked to collect envelopes and doubling as a festive centerpiece (for which my husband would later claim full creative credit)—and our son’s mysteriously blackened feet, evidence of his covert Kinder Surprise Egg heist. The chocolate eggs, thoughtfully chosen as wedding favours to represent his contribution, would prove to be far more enticing than indulging me in my doomed attempt at a tender first dance. In hindsight, how could I possibly compete with the irresistible combination of hidden toys and chocolate?
Long after the formalities ended, guests drifted between the lively dance floor and the cozy outdoor patio, basking in the unseasonable warmth of what felt like a midsummer night. As evening gave way to the quiet hours, overnight guests spilled into the hallways, where we sat together for hours reminiscing about days long past and reliving highlights of the day just gone by. All the while, I kept a watchful eye on my son, who slept soundly nearby—a surreal and satisfying realization that a foundation of security had already taken root.
A season of gratitude.
Our wedding day wasn’t just a celebration of love; it was a reflection of the season itself—its fleeting beauty, its warmth, and the enduring gifts it leaves behind. Though fall is brief, its embrace lingers, leaving an impression as lasting as the day we “got Trev.”
I’m not crying. You’re crying.