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Redwoods park ceremony, then a Graduate Berkeley reception, with a bus in between: Rosalinda and Chris married eighteen guests under the trees in the Oakland hills one December, then loaded everyone onto a shuttle for the ride down to Berkeley for dinner and cake.
The ceremony came first, in a grove of redwoods with a short row of chairs and a basket of hand warmers by the seats. When the vows were done, a Bauer's bus carried the whole group the fifteen minutes down the hill to The Graduate, where the Durant Room was set and waiting.
Rosalinda got ready in a hotel room with a deep navy tufted-leather headboard and a beaded pendant light, hair and makeup by The Powder Room finishing through the morning — a short pinned style with blunt bangs, a small clip set in. Her dress hung in the doorway first: ivory floral lace, cap sleeves, a V-neck, a long scalloped hem, the pale blue walls behind it. She stepped into it and sat at the edge of the bed, block-heel sandals with a beaded strap and a delicate ankle chain, laughing off to the side.
There was no first look planned — she and Chris would see each other for the first time under the redwoods. A car came to carry her up into the hills, where the chairs were already set among the trees and the day was cold enough that she'd need a fur shrug over the lace before long.
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The ceremony was in the Madrone grove at Roberts Regional Recreation Area, wooden folding chairs in a short row on the forest floor and a white runner laid down the middle, redwoods rising straight and dark on every side with the low December sun cutting between them. It was cold enough that a basket of hand warmers sat by the chairs and half the guests kept their coats on — a woman in camel, a little flower girl in a white fur shrug and a floral hair vine, a ring bearer in a brown suit with an orange bow tie.
Lili Freitas officiated. Rosalinda's young son, Levi, came down the aisle among the family. Then Rosalinda walked in on her father's arm to "Here Comes the Sun," carrying a full bouquet of cream roses, eucalyptus, and dried accents. Chris waited in a sage-green suit with a pink floral tie and a pocket square. Eighteen people stood a few feet away on either side, everyone within reach of the couple. When it was done, the two of them recessed back up the runner, married under the trees.
“A short row of chairs on the forest floor, a basket of hand warmers by the seats, and her son walking in among the family.”
Family portraits happened right there in the grove, both sides gathered under the redwoods before the couple slipped off for their own portraits — backlit deep in the trees, the white runner glowing at their feet. Then came a quiet spread on a white-clothed table: champagne, cheese, charcuterie, grapes, crackers, everyone loose among the trunks with a flute in hand. The flower girl perched on a cut log to sip sparkling cider, the little ring bearer stood with the grown-ups, and Rosalinda pulled a white fur shrug over her gown against the cold.
There was a first dance right there on a rug among the chairs before the light went. Then the Bauer's bus pulled up to carry the whole group down the hill — the piece that turns this from one ceremony into a two-venue Berkeley wedding, the grove behind them and a warm room ahead.