Founded December 30, 1992

Everyone is from somewhere. Profound, I know, but it’s true. It’s possible you live in the exact same city and state and country where your parents and grandparents and great-great-great grandparents lived. Chances are though that you don’t. Our family is an amalgam of people from different places. My side of the family comes (historically) from England. Of course, that was back in the day. More recently — say, within the last hundred or so years — my mom’s side of the family came from West Virginia. I have a ton of aunts and uncles and cousins on that side who were all hillbillies and bluegrass musicians. Kind of fun in a Deliverance sort of way, and very far removed from their more aristocratic and British forebears.

My dad and his family started out in Las Vegas, then grew up and headed east to Ohio. That side of the family is all cowboys and pioneers and outlaws, or so our family history tells us (according to grandma’s recollection at least). Also, not very British.

My wife’s father is BIG into family history and genealogy. Her side of the family comes (historically) from Scotland. Although they’ve lived all up and down the US west coast (Washington, Oregon, and California), they’ve managed to stay somewhat connected to their Scottish roots. They even have a family tartan, connecting them to the MacLaren clan. So this Ohio boy (that’s me) meets this California girl (that’s Wendy) — we met in Idaho, by the way, but that’s a story for another day — naturally it was a mashup of all kinds of family histories.

Her family is quite proud of their Scottish heritage. To be fair, I’m quite proud of my hillbilly outlaw heritage too. But while her side of the family can actually trace their bloodline back to the MacLarens, my side’s connection to, say, Belle Starr for instance, is kinda fuzzy at best.

Several years ago, our family drove down to southern Ohio and spent a day wandering around the Renaissance Festival. Is southern Ohio somehow reminiscent of the European countryside of the 1500’s? Why no, no it is not, not at all. But the capital city of Ohio is also named after the man credited with discovering America. The fact that Christopher Columbus likely came nowhere near this area is completely irrelevant. Also, the Columbus, Ohio airport is named the John Glenn International Airport, even though there are absolutely zero international flights connecting directly into or out of Columbus. What can I say? Ohio has delusions of grandeur and, possibly, an inferiority complex.

But I digress. We were discussing the Renaissance Festival. It was here that we happened upon Ye Olde Tartan Shoppe, or something of the sort, and found the MacLaren tartan. Naturally, we all had to buy kilts. So now every member of my immediate family has a genuinely authentic MacLaren tartan kilt. At least, that’s what the tag on the waistline says.

All that is a really long-winded way of explaining what happened on December 30, 2022. On that date, Wendy and I celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary. Thirty years is a long time to be with a person. I was twenty-two when we got married, which means we’ve now lived with each other longer than the time either of us spent living without each other. We’ve officially reached that point where I look back on the events of my life and think to myself, Wait, did I know you back then? Did that happen before or after we met?

We both figured thirty years was long, but also kind of special, and we wanted to mark the occasion with something special. So we decided to renew our vows. Where our wedding was a pretty big deal — we had receptions in California AND Ohio so friends and family on both sides could attend — we wanted this ceremony to be small and intimate. Neither Wendy nor I are much for huge crowds and expensive parties, so the guests included our kids, both sets of parents, and my grandma. We also wanted to do something special to celebrate all the history and heritage from our families, so we decided on a Celtic handfasting ceremony, a ritual to both celebrate our ancestry and bind our family closer together.

We kept it small and simple. Wendy and I both wrote and exchanged vows. Our spiritual leader led us through the ceremony and offered words of advice and encouragement. We rented out the enclosed patio at The Blueberry Patch in Mansfield, Ohio. It was quaint and intimate and lovely and the perfect size for us. They even catered our dinner. One of Wendy’s friends made our cake. Another friend, Lynn Caudell, is a professional photographer and took pictures (see below). We even got new rings! Meteorite and tungsten and gold. It was quaint and quiet and simple, just like us.

While we look back on thirty years together and think about everything we’ve built — a family, a home, a life — we also look forward to the next thirty years and seeing what kinds of exciting adventures await us. Who knows? One day our children’s children’s children might all be hunkered down inside their colony cubicle, waiting for another Martian dust storm to blow over, and someone will want to hear that story about that one time when their crazy ancestors did that thing. I hope they’re talking about us.