A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to join the search for a suitable wedding venue for my son and his fiancé. We met near her hometown south of Jackson, and swapped cars; I rode with her mom and sister, and the bride rode with the groom.
Our first stop was at a working barrel-racing horse farm in Petal, Mississippi. For a barn, it was immaculate, but we were forewarned that we were the guests at the barn and that the horses would be, of course, in attendance at the wedding.
It was a lovely place, and the hostess was chock full of genuine Southern hospitality, but the open-air situation, the undeniable scent of large animals, and even the tickling of my nose by the fresh hay made me hope that the couple would pass on this one. They did.
We drove slowly away from the barn past an old, rusted farm truck loaded with flowers. A waterfall spilled from its driver’s side window into a shallow pond beneath it.
We had time before the next stop to visit The Yard Ice Creamery for a snack.
The next venue looked like it shared an overflow parking lot with a funeral home. Enough said.
We were way too early for the next appointment, but the bride’s mother called to ask if we could come early just in case. The owner said, “Sure! Since there’s rain in the forecast this evening, an earlier time will work out fine!”
We headed that way. I was completely lost and thankful that Mrs. W was in control of the vehicle.
We meandered down country roads until we passed up the venue’s discreet little sign by the road. The owner and his wife greeted us warmly and welcomed us into the most beautiful space, which still sported flower arrangements from the previous week’s wedding.
They graciously answered questions and offered in-depth explanations, along with pictures on the cell phone and IG account. I quickly discovered that the owners are retirees who live on family land in his grandfather’s (almost) 100-year-old house. When their granddaughter wanted to get married in the barn, a metal structure with a dirt floor, her granddad reimagined the space and sunk a ton of money into making it perfect!
I told my husband later, if there were no flowers and no other décor, the wedding pictures would still be lovely. It oozes charm.
We were there for several hours, talking about the wedding, family, college, careers, gardening, pets—you name it; we talked about it! We really didn’t want to leave, camped out in the bridal suite on a big comfy sofa with so much to talk about with people we’d only known for a few hours.
We finally tore ourselves away, only to stop and talk again outside the front doors about the shade garden, the lights in the magnificent oak, and the dozens of butterflies flitting around.
It was dinner talk that did the job. The owners recommended their favorite hole-in-the-wall joint about 3 miles away, and we departed. They weren’t kidding about the food joint nor the quality of the food. We will go again!
Everyone was in agreement at the restaurant: the last venue was the keeper. I love the way we do these things in the Deep South!
