A Shotgun, One Dog Wedding

Chapter #6 of Cabin Confidential

I will be shameless in my asking today.

I ask for your felicitations, well-wishes, congratulations, and faraway bear hugs.

I also welcome singing.

This morning, October the 20th, 2024, I married Robert Ordell Ozenbaugh.

I keep re-reading that sentence. And I find that saying the word husband is my new favorite entertainment. You have been warned.

Witnessed by a dozen souls from the immediate family, we tied the knot and placed the rings. We said the vows. Til death, through sickness. Under God. We are ready for whatever comes.

One might say that it took us too long to find each other. But I would rather say, thank the good Lord that we did at all. I have spent much of my life not being sure about things. Men, jobs, decisions, faith. It feels completely unique to know, without doubt that I am meant to spend my remaining days with this one good man. As long as we both shall live. Halleluiah.

My husband and I putting down our signatures to make it legal.

Robert and I are big-phobic. This includes big weddings, big concerts, big parties, big cities, even big houses. I love watching old movies when the bride and groom walk out of a tiny country church with just a dozen people. Pomp, perfection, and a dee jay is just not who we are. Some details that we did have:

• A kitchen wedding. All in under ten minutes, in front of my parents 1803 fireplace.

• Remembering the ones who are gone. My father and Robert’s mother, father, and brother, spoken by name through the laptop by my sister down in Florida.

• Four Bible verses, chosen specially. Officiated by our uncle. You did a beautiful job, Mr. Blair.

• Lots of candlelight, heirloom china, and a strong feeling of about damn time from everyone.

• An herb tussie made by my mother with flowers picked from the garden.

• Creamed chicken over buttermilk biscuits, freshly squeezed limeade and two tiny cakes.

• One Mountain Cur quietly weaving between chairs, watching every move.

  

A surprise wedding gift of my grandfather’s rifle, passed down to my father, and then my brother, and now to Robert.

Our PaPaw built it off of a German Mauser Action surplus and a special piece of walnut, most likely from his own farm. I have to use the correct terminology, knowing most who read this won’t know the difference. But Robert talks guns the way I talk about the differences between Italian and Mexican smalti. Details matter.

Not technically a shotgun wedding. My husband and brother with the heirloom rifle.

Our sincere love and loyalty to any and all of you who have encouraged us through the years. You helped us get to this day of officialdom.

Thank you for being here with us as we dig for optimism.

Some days with a shovel, some days with a shotgun. And some days with a pen.

In lieu of The Hammer Portal, today I give you our first bespoke wedding song by the brave, beloved and inventive Ruins artist, Dianne Bigelow.

I told you I welcomed singing!