Weddings in a Small Town - 1884 On The Bluff, Iowa

I met Jessica when she worked at our vet’s office. She was kind, steady, and thoughtful—the kind of person you’re just grateful to know. A little while later, she became one of our October brides at 1884 On The Bluff.

Now, a few years down the road, Jessica’s at home with her toddler—making breads and jellies, raising chickens and quail, and keeping her hands (and heart) full in the most beautiful ways.

Just the other day, I saw her post a few small-batch jams for sale on Facebook. We have a couple staying overnight at the venue later this June to celebrate their anniversary, so I bought two jars—one for the welcome goodies, and one for us. Jessica dropped them off in the mailbox at the stone house at 1884… with a cold pack to keep them fresh. That same mailbox that stands just steps from where she married her best friend.

There was something about reaching into that box—a small gesture, a small jar—that reminded me how deeply our roots are growing here. How many threads have been woven since we first said yes to this wild dream.

Some days, Doug and I still look at each other like, "Did we really do this? Are we really doing this?" We moved to this little spot of Iowa like a couple of dreamers with mud on our boots and a vision in our bones. And it hasn’t been easy.

But on days like today? When I pick up jam from a former bride, or fresh eggs from Amy at City Hall—another of our 1884 brides—it doesn’t feel crazy at all.

It feels like community. It feels like time. It feels like love that lingers.

These are the gifts of small-town weddings. They don't end with the last dance. They grow.

And sometimes, they show up in your mailbox, tied with twine and tucked beside a cold pack, reminding you why you started.

Weddings in a small town aren’t just events. They’re connections. They’re stories. They’re jam jars and flower fields and a dozen little ways we stay in each other’s lives.

I’m grateful for every single one.