Our New Daughter in Law

Our new daughter in law is godly, beautiful, smart, creative and fun and sometimes crazy fun.  For proof of her ‘crazy fun’ character quality, I share this story.  Somewhere along the line while planning the wedding and reception with her cheerful mother, Terri, the idea crossed Ashley’s mind:  “Wouldn’t it be fun to shoot my bridal bouquet out of a potato cannon?!” 
A few years back, Jeremy and Tiffany Sellers, youth leaders at our church, had something to do with the origin of this PVC ballistic device. Not attending youth activities myself, I do not know if it really shot potatoes.  I do know it can shoot washcloths. I learned this when my mother in law stayed overnight at our house.  She needed bath linens and I asked the children to find a nice towel and washcloth for Grandma, which they did.  As they handed it to her, they told her,” This is our best washcloth and it was shot out of a potato canon,” making an interesting hostess moment for me.  Somehow my son got custody of this spud shooting contraption and, last I knew, it was in the dusty corner of our basement with other odds and ends. 
At the country rustic reception, there was a lull after everyone had their fill of Smith’s Orchard pies.  Someone announced Ashley was going to toss her bouquet.  The happy picnickers made their way to the open lawn. The bride’s artillery brigade was her father, Mark, the mad scientist, and our son, Ray, her new husband. They rigged up the homemade cannon to an orange mechanical gadget on the grass which was connected by wires to the bride’s green 1997 Camaro.  Ray was in the driver’s seat with the door open, revving the engine, yelling mission updates to his new father in law.  All the flower arrangements, including this unsuspecting bouquet, were made by Aunt Sue who came all the way from the Upper Peninsula, Michigan.  The fated flowers were stuffed down the white plastic barrel. 
It was not the eligible young ladies that lined up on the green that day to meet the floral volley.  They were standing on the sideline cautiously watching and talking behind their hands.  It was the kindergarten to third grade battalion of girls that lined up directly across from the cannon to face the fire.  The bouquet popped out and they all ran furiously into the fray.  It was grabbed by the fastest and then grabbed again by a contender. The scuffle of young maidens was a humorously poetic symbol of the struggles of life and the nature of man.  Eight year old Katie Beth was victorious. Her blue eyes sparkled as she held the bouquet, angelically, under her chin.  I heard a voice from somewhere in the line of spectating fathers yell, “Give it back. Give it back.” More funny comments and laughter came from the dispersing crowd. 
Did we all witness the start of a new tradition that Saturday afternoon?  I do not know.  What I do know is that although Ashley walked down the aisle on her father’s arm to the beautiful Pachelbel Cannon in D that probably will not be the cannon everyone remembers from that day.


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