I said perhaps Patagonia, and pictured
a peninsula, wide enough
for a couple of ladderback chairs
to wobble on at high tide. I thought

of us in breathless cold, facing
a horizon round as a coin, looped
in a cat’s cradle strung by gulls
from sea to sun. I planned to wait

till the waves had bored themselves
to sleep, till the last clinging barnacles,
growing worried in the hush, had
paddled off in tiny coracles, till

those restless birds, your actor’s hands,
had dropped slack into your lap,
until you’d turned, at last, to me.
When I spoke of Patagonia, I meant

skies all empty aching blue. I meant
years. I meant all of them with you.

[Kate Clanchy]

Oh summer.

I keeping sitting down to write a post on what being married feels like a year later, on how everything has changed and nothing has changed all at once, on how it feels like flying with my feet planted firmly on the ground, like bursting through the door of a home I never knew I always wanted, but I just can’t seem to pin it down – it’s always rolling right through my fingers.

So instead, here’s a toast of sorts:

Here’s to a year of the deliciously imperfect: leaving unmade beds and unswept floors behind to drive somewhere with the windows down and the music up, your hand on my thigh and mine on the back of your neck; to snorting with laughter and dancing to records in the living room and that look you give me when you’ve finally had enough of my shenanigans; to having no paper towels for a month because we keep spending our weekends consuming the beach and wine country and burritos; to traveling even though it’s never in our budget; to one million eye rolls over one million forgotten tasks; to Sunday mornings spent with pancakes and coffee on the patio; to the taste of your salty-post-surfing skin; to trying to out-stubborn each other in every fight; to cramped dinner parties and new friends; to the smile that explodes on your face when you look up from your guitar and see me walking through the gate; but mostly to feeling young and free, but never rootless.

Steve, you are my best thing. I’d say I couldn’t love you more, but then every sunrise would make a liar of me. I know our marriage probably won’t always look like this, but hot damn, what a way to kick it off. Cheers, darling!

If you’re having a rough day week month, might I recommend sleeping in late on a Saturday, pouring coffee into a thermos, grabbing your darling husband and spending the day winding through small towns on backcountry roads, tasting red zinfindels & syrahs straight out of the barrel and chatting with winemakers at tiny wineries before climbing up a hill to a round red barn, sitting on the edge and watching the sun set over the hills?

It worked for me.

When we’re old and wrinkly and gray, he’ll still look like this to me.

After our lovely car ride and many miles of dirt road, we arrived in the tiny, sleepy beach town of Playa Guiones and pulled up to the Harmony Hotel, an eco-resort. The man at the check-in desk gave us cold, handpressed ginger-lemon juice and hot handtowels to wipe our hands and faces when we arrived. I almost kissed him on the mouth.

The property is a series of bungalows, nestled into the jungle, a short path leading out to the beach.

There was a fresh juice bar, hammocks strung everywhere, and tiny pockets of relaxation just waiting to be discovered.

And then there was the beach. Gorgeous, deserted, dotted with thatched structures to sit under to keep out of the sun. I sat and watched the surfers (and Steve!) out in the distance before hopping in and doing some boogie-boarding myself.

It was the perfect place to start our honeymoon. Steve surfed every morning. We spent time lazing by the pool and napping in the hammocks when it stormed in the afternoons. We ventured to the tiny town for dark-chocolate-banana-macademia-nut ice cream.

We had an outdoor shower and one afternoon I felt a sharp pain in my foot. I leapt up screaming. Steve looked down at the totally bare wood and said honey, there’s nothing there, nothing bit you. I peered down between the slats and saw a GIANT crab staring me down, pinchers at the ready. Evidently I was drowning his hidey-hole and he wanted me to know he wasn’t too pleased.

Steve wore sandals every other time he was showering outside.

The day after our wedding I was so tired. I would try to formulate thoughts and instead my brain would squint and just spit out TIIIIIRED. I don’t think I have ever been so worn out. So naturally, after a last brunch with our friends and family, we had to pack and get on a plane to Costa Rica.

The red-eye plane ride was like some kind of nightmare come to life. So tired I think I might fall over! and yet! stuck in an aisle seat where I cannot! actually! sleep! I was uncomfortable and increasingly cranky. Steve, in between his long bouts of restful sleep (have I ever been so jealous of his ability to sleep anywhere? no, no I have not), kept assuring me that we would be there soon and I could just sleep on the way to the hotel and then take as long a nap as I wanted. See, we decided very early on that we would be renting a car for this trip, seeing as we’d be traveling during rainy season and had read that Costa Rica’s roads become something of a water park ride during rainy season. Renting a manual was so very much cheaper than an automatic, and as a manual aficionado, I knew it would be much more fun to drive.

Our conversation about it went something like this:

Steve: So it looks like we should get a manual, it’s so much cheaper.

Sierra: Sounds good to me! Wait, can you drive a stick?

Steve: Pretty much, I should probably practice before we go though, but I’ll be just fine.

Sierra: Okay!

Cue: Very tired newlyweds climbing into the car at the San Jose Thrifty rental.  I melt into the passenger seat and buckle my seat belt, delirious at the thought of reclining. And WHAM! A jerk and a stall. I give Steve a look. He grins sheepishly and restarts. WHAM! STALL! Still grinning. My eyebrow arches higher. WHAM!

Very slowly I say, You. Told. Me. You. Could. Drive. Stick.

Steve: Well I thought that I could, I mean, I’d practiced a few times before and then Morgan and I went out in her car last week and I figured that it’s not THAT HARD so I would pick it up really easily.

Me: Pick it up! Driving a stick is not something that you pick up in a foreign country! The highway is right there! You cannot get out of the parking lot!

Steve: Maybe I could practice here and get it.

Me: You want me to teach you how to drive stick in the Thrifty parking lot in Costa Rica? So you can get on the biggest highway in the country and then drive for 5 hours?

Steve: Worth a shot.

And so we practice. And he stalls. And I explain and show him and he stalls. Because it’s really difficult to learn in the best of circumstances and this is pretty much the worst. I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that even though my head is stuffed with cotton, I am about to drive for 5 hours in a country that doesn’t believe in turn signals. I want to cry. Instead I turn to him and say, We’re only two days in and I already want to take your head off! Apparently this is the funniest thing I could have ever said and Steve, in his slap-happy state bursts out laughing. We’re sitting in a Denny’s parking lot and he’s hugging the steering wheel, laughing so hard he can barely breathe and I say It’s not funny! I am really tired! and this makes him laugh even harder and before I know it I’m laughing too and then neither of us can stop and when one of us tries the other starts up again and everyone is staring at us like we have absolutely lost our minds.

I get in the driver’s seat and thread my way on to the highway and it juts off in three directions and we don’t know where we’re going and can’t find anything on the map.  And we go the wrong way and I make a killer three point turn on a gravel hill without hitting anyone and we stop to get gas and the Cheetos taste funny and I am so tired I can’t see straight so I pull off the road and we recline the seats to nap in the hot sun. I curl around my travel pillow and say You make me crazy, you know and he says, I know, but you love me.

And I do.

1. Steve, the night before the wedding – very, very nervous. Talking through why and he blurts out I just want everything to be perfect for you. I’m so scared I will forget something and ruin it! Assuring him that I won’t even notice as long as he’s waiting at the end of that aisle and we end up married. Midnight, sitting down at our kitchen table with big glasses of red wine – making lists so he’ll feel confident in remembering everything the next day. Watching his shoulders inch down. Curling into him as he slept and touching his face – smiling to myself that tomorrow he would finally be what he’s felt like for such a long time.

2. Seeing my bouquet for the first time on the morning of the wedding – vague ideas come to perfect fruition. Squeeing with delight – my mom beaming because she knows she did her job very, very well.

3. At the salon – Barb running in from getting her makeup done and saying Look! She gave me eyebrows! Pretty much the cutest thing ever. How lucky I am to be getting her as a mother-in-law.

4. Getting ready with the girls, butterscotch sun streaming through the windows and Sarah saying that she was loving the tradition of it all – that women have spent generations sequestering themselves before a wedding and preparing the bride. Breathless to have been born into/found such a community of women – how I couldn’t imagine anyone else with me in those moments.

5. The few quiet minutes tucked into a window seat, Morgan doing my eyes – my mind wandering, the sure rightness of her hands on my face, opening my eyes on command to see her face, hair haloed in light.

6. Adam, from down the stairs: I need a girl!
Sage: For what?
Adam: Not Sierra
Sage, heading down the stairs: It’s Sage, what do you need?
Adam: I don’t want Sierra to know I lost something!
Sage: Ummm…Sierra is right up there.
Me: Hi Adam!
Adam: Oh crap…everything’s fine! I’ve got it covered!
Me: No doubt!

7. The note Steve sent over to my room while we were getting ready, which included this line: “Now that we’re about to be legit, I thought you should have some legit jewelry.” Opening the box to see a gorgeous pearl necklace. It matches my earrings perfectly.

8. Remembering to brush my teeth right before putting on the dress, standing in the bathroom by myself, looking at myself in the mirror, toothpaste foam everywhere – feeling butterflies for the first time all week.

9. Sage, ready early of course – running in and out of the room, disappearing and reappearing with exactly what I didn’t even know I needed. Being so happy that she was thinking so that I didn’t have to.

10. Morgan’s head under my dress – the silent concentration as she attached all 13? 15? 17? points of my bustle. It feels like a meditation. Her palpable relief when it is done.

11. Hearing that everyone was almost down to the beach. Realizing that the frantic readying was dying down. A last look in the mirror. Short-lived butterflies disappearing completely. Everything feels right.

12. Open mouthed excitement, ready to charge down that long walk and do. this. thing. already. Walking like women on a mission. Hearing people say Congratulations! and Happy Wedding Day! as we reach the beach, but through a fog. Grinning at them. Just wanting to see Steve’s face.

13. Coming over the hill. They made an aisle of stones for me. Seeing Steve’s face.

14. Stopping at the end of the aisle, completely stunned to see so many people that I love, from so many areas of my life, ALL STARING AT ME. Feeling an overwhelming urge to acknowledge them. Waving and blurting out Hi Everyone!