Loading...
Loading...

A mountain wedding at Twenty Mile House meant Alexis and Jas got the whole place to themselves — a wooded estate deep in the Sierra Nevada, in Cromberg, thirty-seven guests, on a mid-week day in July 2023. Two hundred acres of pines and creek, with the middle fork of the Feather River running through it, and no one else on the grounds.
They came up the night before and slept in the cabins along the water, so the wedding didn't begin with a drive in. It began with everyone already there, waking up in the trees, the day starting before anyone had to go anywhere.
The morning ran through the estate's old cabins — warm wood-panelled rooms, exposed beams, mismatched lamps, the kind of settled interiors a property this old collects. Jas got ready with his groomsmen and his father, knotting a light patterned tie at a mirror, cufflinks at the wrists, his dad in a navy suit and striped tie watching it come together. A young boy in the party spiked his own hair in the same mirror.
Alexis got ready out on a cabin deck in the pines, in a white robe and lace ankle socks, a delicate crystal hair vine set into her updo. Her dress hung waiting against a pine trunk — an ivory lace gown with cap sleeves and a keyhole button back — and her shoes were white Converse high-tops overlaid with lace and threaded with satin ribbon. The family beagle came through in a collar of greenery and flowers. Gray's Flower Garden brought the florals, a maker who knows what a mountain setting asks for. Two of the boys ran up and folded her into a hug on the deck before the day tipped into the ceremony.
Book a free 30-minute call and tell us the day you’re imagining. We’ve probably planned one like it, and we’d love to help plan yours.
The ceremony was outdoors on the grounds, under an arch of raw timber posts and a beam draped with white fabric, clusters of white and cream flowers and baby's breath tied at the corners. Tall Sierra pines stood close on every side. The thirty-seven guests took padded white chairs on the forest floor, and Alexis came in with flowers in her hands while Jas watched her the whole way down.
They said their vows with the pines behind them and the people who'd made the long drive up right there in the chairs, close in, no one far from the front. Twenty Mile House has been bringing people together on this ground for a long time — it opened in 1854 as a stagecoach stop on the run between Quincy and Beckwourth, and the estate still sits along the middle fork of the Feather River. The whole gathering fit on a small clearing inside two hundred acres of it.
“Thirty-seven people in the chairs, the forest behind them, and no one far from the front.”
Afterward came the portraits, and the property gave them room to roam. Twenty Mile House still runs along the middle fork of the Feather River, with a creek, a small bridge, and a stretch of old railroad tracks cutting through the two hundred acres.
Alexis and Jas walked the grounds with the wedding party, then pulled everyone in for family photos before the light changed. With thirty-seven guests and that much land, the portraits covered ground — the bridge over the creek, the railroad tracks, the open meadow between the trees. The Plumas County light in July comes down through the pines at a long, warm angle late in the afternoon, and the property handed them all of it.
Dinner was served under the trees, the tables set out on the estate lawn as the evening came down over the mountains. The food came from the estate's preferred catering partners, and the cake came from Grandma Jane's Place, a local bakery on the property's recommended list. Toasts went around, and the couple cut the cake with everyone pulled in close.
Then the first dance, and the floor opened from there. The music ran on and thirty-seven guests danced it out in the middle of the Sierra Nevada — a mountain wedding at Twenty Mile House held start to finish on one estate, from the ceremony chairs to the last song. With everyone sleeping in the cabins along the creek, no one watched the clock, and the night ran as late as the mountains allowed.