whoop up trail

Good morning from the Little House on the Dairy, where the men are the strong, the women are . . . well, the men are strong anyway. 

With the pastures greening up in the hope of spring, I've naturally been on a Wylie Gustafson kick for the past few days. (You know the guy who made millions for singing the Yahoo yodel? That guy.)

I went to a concert of his in Minnesota, and it was worth braving air so cold my lungs felt like they'd fall off. After all, the guy even signed my cowboy boot!

{You can keep your half-dressed Miley Cyruses. I'll take a happy cowboy singing about wind and ponies and cinches and life any old day.}

That's why, when Farmer Heins and I got married, we picked a band for our reception that had the same kind of flavor as Wylie. 

We're farm people, you know. We kick it old school.

But not just any old band. We had a history with this group. 

In 2012, some Lutheran blogger friends met my sisters and me in Fredericksburg, Texas, for a few days of shopping, talking theology, being girly, and eating more than our yoga pants could practically hold. 

You can read about it here and here and here. 

On our last night there, I dragged all the ladies out into the rain and herded them over to . . .

 

. . .  where we drank Lime-a-Ritas, watched southern couples move around the floor as smoothly as butter melting on hot biscuits, and wondered why the heck we don't have dance halls in towns of population 3 like Texas does. 

The Bordertown Bootleggers were playing that night, and it was true {music} love at first sight. The band plays 1940s music with a southern flair, combining my love of vintage and country in one delightfully lovely sound. 

Besides, where do you see ladies in red polka dot dresses and guitar players with cowboy hats that big anymore? Nowhere, that's where!

Ok, in Luckenbach. You got me. 

Back to wedding planning: 

When we finally picked Chandler Hill Vineyards as our reception spot, there was only one favor left to ask my dad: Could he possibly maybe in any way potentially get the Bordertown Bootleggers for the night?

A few weeks later, he sent me an email with the following subject line: Booked 'em. What's next?

I squealed and got all teary and called him and thanked him for the best gift EVER. 

Turns out the lead singer remembered our little band of Lutheran ladies in Luckenbach and was happy to come be a part of our reception!

And you know what? Everyone else was happy too! The music fit the feel we were going for to a T. 

{Or is tee? Whichever.} 

They were just what we wanted. 

They arrived a little early (or so I'm told. I was off getting married.) and went to the winery next door for supper. When the owner found out a band from Texas was playing at his rival's winery (Chandler Hill), he called the manager at CH and wanted to know how he could get in on this gig and then proclaimed, "Stop trying to show me up, man!" 

This is the effect Texas has on Missouri. 

While my husband and I waited to be introduced, the band members all came over to congratulate us and to thank us for letting them be a part of our reception. 

And as soon as supper was over (and yes, we did have Wylie playing while people ate), Naomi, the vocalist, struck up the band. 

They loved being there. And we loved having them. 

Little people danced. 

Bankers and cattlemen danced. 

Pastors and their wives danced.

Buffalo Bill Cody and his daughter danced. 

(I mean, my brother-in-law. Yeah. My brother-in-law.)

(Or IS he? Hmmmm.)

Long-lost friends danced. 

Heck, even Naomi and little Eden danced. 

And the people who didn't couldn't help but tap their toes. 

Music, especially good earthy music, is a powerful tool in creating joy. 

That's why we loved hearing that one of the Chandler Hill employees told my husband's family at the end of the night, "You had the happiest group of reception guests we've seen in a year. They didn't want to leave!"

Aw, heck. We can't blame 'em. 

So, happy Saturday, y'all. Here's hoping you whoop it up on the trail today too!