We took a trip to the head of Lake Mills in the spring of 2007, shortly after he moved in. Sitting on the sandbar created by the mother tree, the river birch leaflets tickling our hair, we sealed a pact and the relationship suddenly lost its "playing house" qualities. We later used the newly-opened river birch leaves as the inspiration for our wedding ring tattoos.
Since then, there have been numerous little restatements of this agreement, as well as a handfasting in which the circle was widened to include friends. This August, family members will witness us putting paperwork to the promises. It's being conducted in the usual meandering us-fashion... which may not seem to be in keeping with the formality of the situation, but it's just another of many rituals where we restate our decision to share our lives. I expect the rituals - most of them informal - will continue as life does, and many spontaneous and mutually-made offerings, labyrinths, and bare footprints will accompany them. Why should this one lack the usual character?
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