It’s wedding season! Tents are up on lawns, caterers are hustling to plan the perfect farm-to-table feasts, and brides and their maids are configuring outfits down to the smallest detail.
Back in Roman times, bridesmaids not only dressed like each other, but also like the bride. Romans knew there were mystery malcontents, evil spirits or even jilted suitors who would tramp on the fun given an opportunity. So friends rallied, dressed alike and gathered on the altar to foil disruptive spirits.
There’s no magic show without misdirection. It’s the sugar that helps you forget about the medicine. It’s a cultural mainstay, and although how it’s used changes with the times, it’s so common we don’t even think about it.
In weddings, the point has been downgraded from protection to tradition. Brides stand out and their attendants match each other, from hair to dresses to shoes. This year, shades of sage green and peachy orange are in vogue for wedding parties.
No matter how much things change, the tradition holds. The decoys do their job. They ensure the bride and groom have an extraordinary celebration and the perfect launch into married life.
I wonder if the Romans got the idea of malevolent spirts and protective decoys from nature.
I planted amazing red lilies whose striking beauty must make spirits jealous, because something comes in the night and beheads them without leaving a trace. Leafy, headless stems remain without a sign of the flowers — not a petal, stamin or sprinkle of bright, tangerine pollen is anywhere to be found. The lilies are fenced off now and stand in the center of the vegetable garden, budding and being eaten, the mesh wire fence no match for whatever notice the lilies attract.
I can’t figure it out. I expect to find beautiful, ripe vegetables marred by a single bite, perfect toothmarks just begging for crime scene analysis and a mold of the perpetrator’s mouth. I know that criminal is an opportunistic omnivore with a discerning palate and a body sized to fit through the fencing.
It’s the stuff I can’t figure out, the unseen forces, that really mess with me.
The lilies are too tall for chipmunks, and from what I’ve seen of their handiwork, they’re not neat eaters and they don’t clean up after themselves.
I know these flowers are a delicacy for deer, but I think they’ve decided the garden’s fenced square footage doesn’t offer much opportunity for landing and taking off. They’ve decided the squeeze isn’t worth the juice. And why bother when they’ve got an all-you-can-eat-buffet of hosta on our front lawn?
What force of nature is cutting down my lilies in their prime, and why can’t I protect them?
Could it be part of a grander plan?
Zucchini has been giving me the middle finger of the vegetable world for the past three years. Seeds have refused to sprout. Vines have thrived long enough to get my hopes up and then shriveled, immune to my loving intervention. Yellow flowers have peeked out only to disappear. Instead of mass-producing 20 variations on zucchini bread, I make one or two with gifts from neighbors or (gasp) Hannaford produce.
But this year looks different. In the shadow of the lilies, my zucchini vines are strong and green. Blossoms abound.
When I checked today, two of the lilies had lost their heads. Lonely stems with no signs of animal-on-plant violence. And the zucchini flowers are untouched.
Could the lilies be a decoy?
Are they the bridesmaid of the garden, standing up for the other plants, perfect posture and deep-red faces turned up to the sun, drawing attention to protect everything growing around them?
Will my notice change the dynamic? A magician’s trick is blown if you can see the cards up their sleeve. A wedding can be high drama if everyone doesn’t follow the traditions and play the parts the bride and groom assign.
For a decoy to work, everyone must participate, from the trickster to the watchers to the tricked.
Could the key to protecting everything in my garden be that I’m on to the dynamic, so my notice will make a difference? I remain hopeful, even though my vigilance didn’t make a difference these past few years. But maybe this year I can have lilies and zucchini, because the key to a thriving garden can’t be the fleeting majesty and noble sacrifice of some.
This year and every year, maybe we can all have gardens bursting with brides.
