Shooting assault rifles in the late mornings and sipping country whisky in the ducky afternoons. The boys are back in state. From coast to coast, brothers of bond rusticate and reunite to celebrate life’s milestone of matrimony.
Here, in Indiana, the clunky soul of our America, the grass grows greener. The fried chicken tastes crispier, the truck engines roar loader and blonde babes nag slower. In these open lands lives the elusive time for leisure. Acres upon acres of time for hobbies in Southern Indiana. Maybe collect pocket knives, tractor pullies, or animal bones. Build a motorcycle from scratch? Who likes lighting shit on fire?! YA’LL IN GUNS WE TRUST. And back in the mud again…. Andy Mathis.
The rolling hills sprawl across the land like a slow song with no hook. There is a reputation to live up to. Skulling away cans of beer that blare “#Merica” is only the preface to the plotless tale of friendship. Forever is a long time and we are in Southern Indiana to bare witness to our brother, vow his love, blessings and life, to one woman… forever.
The Fraternity brothers behaved like Fraternity brothers. The wedding was in an adorable chapel with a Catholic priest presiding over The Lord’s plan. The two young mid-west lovers carried through the program as prepared. They were officially married only a few years after finding each other in the helpless Fraternity halls of Lambda Chia Alpha at Purdue University. In that microcosm we learned to Talk That Talk.
We ate premier Southern-Indiana German food. The groom’s only wedding decision, other than the obvious, was for the Schnitzelbank to cater. We danced, we toasted and we clapped. Boy, did we CLAP.
This all-American hoe-down was in Santa Clause, Indiana. A town that swanks Christmas decorations across all, holly boughs in the halls, and 30ft Santa on the lawn. The holiday decorations are year round. I don’t yet know why.
The air was fresh, the roads were rural, the sun was bright. The guests were jolly and our bellies were always full. The lovers kissed, the bugs buzz, and the shotguns boom. So did AR-15s. The shells pop off sputtering through the air and the targets explode in a fiery blast of accurate aim. We calculated $350 in ammo fired before noon.
There was a point when I looked at Indiana and thought the world is spinning on a broken axis. Yet, the world is really at bay. If you only take a pull of the fresh April air and let it be.
You see, marriage is a compromise. The act, not the aftermath. Socrates suggests that if she is a good wife, he will be happy and if she is not, he will become a philosopher. I don’t know much about it but maybe life does become one massive banality for some. It seems to be the same attitude towards thy career.
But, people change.
Some call marriage a death, others refer to it as a re-birth. Everyman’s castle deserves a Queen, and, a happy castle. Her happines thwarts off lonely days, wasted away in a cunning and drafty castle.
Finding the perfect woman to marry is probably like trying to capture the fleeting brilliance of a comet. But, if you can team up, and have that partner in crime to share the lows, and balance out the highs with, why not?
Southern Indiana is the unsung champion of the success we don’t know we want.