The beauty of a flowerfall is how it starts and ends; from the thrill of the first juicy blooms of earth to the delicacy of the tender dried petals fluttering around the yard in the setting sun.
I met the love of my life in fifth grade. It's ...been a long road since we were nine...a first dance, a first kiss, high school prom, off to the military for him, my moves across the world, and the most painful aspect aside from us living apart all those years was waiting for my divorce decree to arrive in the mail after 12 painful years of being married to the wrong man. Whoever said you can't get divorced and married in the same month is not telling the truth. You need a good man, a great outfit and some gorgeous flowers. And cheese and champagne of course, but that is for after. The beauty of love is always an occasion to celebrate. And true love deserves the perfect flowerfall, a life from beginning to end. A full circle.
I recently moved home to Connecticut and have been driving by an enchanting flower shop on the Post Road in Westport with a canopy entrance of twisting vines and bursting greens. I pulled in on a whim and met Cyrus, who owns the shop with his wife Julie. He was tying ribbons and smelling stems and checking petal counts. His hands never stopped moving. He smiled and asked, what brings you in? I'm getting married, I said. That's wonderful, he said. Congratulations! Just please tell me it's not this Saturday...I have a wedding of 150. He laughed and was back to the petal count and the ribbons and the admiration for his exquisite, thoughtfully-sourced flowers. There was a pause then as he realized I wasn't laughing back. His fingers stopped moving then and he looked me straight in the eyes. It's Saturday, I said. He turned pale. It's in my front yard, I said. I'm wearing a shawl and jeans and cowboy boots. It's a party of four. We met in fifth grade. His eyes lit up and some color came back to his cheeks.
I ran to my car and pulled the outfit out of my trunk to show him. I had purchased it a few minuted beforehand. He nodded in approval and said he knew just what to do. Can you be here by 9am? Yup, I said. You're much easier than my other bride, he said. We cracked up. No really, he said. How fabulous for you. It's a true love story. I just wish you were here to meet my wife Julie. He showed me her picture. As I was leaving he said I just have one more question...What's his name? I blushed and told him. He still remembers.
The sun came out just in time for the nuptials, and each stunning petal gleamed, wrapped and cut and created into utterly precious bouquets designed with my shawl and jeans and cowboy boots in mind. When I picked up the flowers unshowered and rushed at 9am with puffy eyes, Cyrus said I was glowing (more like sweating) and that he threw in a dash of dark rose to the arrangements because he knew I was wearing a chocolate brown silk shirt. I can't be certain but I think he had a halo.
What a gem of a couple and a top notch, full-service display of art and class and beyond all, the elegance of their kindness and service. The Flowerfall, aptly named and run, is the only destination for blushing young (and old) brides and beautiful gatherings, however big or small. I'll never get married again but I assure you there will be some parties. Cyrus and Julie will be invited. If they ask what they can bring I won't be suggesting the artichoke dip.