🌳 Our attachment to Arbor Day

Most people have a simple relationship with Arbor Day. They plant a tree, maybe read a quote from J. Sterling Morton, and go about their business. Barbara and I, however, have a more complicated connection to the holiday Nebraska gave the world.

In fact, Arbor Day once stopped us from getting married.

Back in 2007, after Barbara and I had been dating for 10 months, she accepted my marriage proposal. Summer was coming up, and July looked like a good fit. July 7, in fact. 7-7-7 would be our lucky day minus the slot machine. But life had other plans. When Barbara was diagnosed with a medical condition that might affect her insurance coverage, we needed to move sooner rather than later. Love may be romantic, but sometimes it's also practical.

We wanted a quiet, simple civil ceremony. Nothing fancy. No aisle runners, no string quartets, no unity candles. Just the two of us, a judge, and a marriage license. So we drove to the Lancaster County Courthouse in Lincoln, fully expecting to walk in, sign the papers, say the words, and walk out married.

We stepped up to the courthouse doors — marriage license in hand, hearts full — and found them locked.

A sign informed us that the courthouse, along with all government offices, was closed for Arbor Day.

Arbor Day! Only in Nebraska could a holiday dedicated to trees derail a wedding. I remember standing there thinking, “Well, on to Plan B,” whatever that was.

On Tuesday, June 5, I found a judge who agreed to marry us at 5 p.m. that Thursday. And not just anywhere — he offered to perform the ceremony in the Capitol Rotunda of the Nebraska State Capitol.

Suddenly, our quiet little wedding had turned into something extraordinary.

In the next 48 hours, everything happened at once. Some of Barbara’s friends threw her a silly, joyful bridal shower. We notified family and friends. Two of my daughters drove down from South Dakota. Two of Barbara’s daughters joined us as well. Her third daughter couldn’t make it — she was in the hospital, about to give birth. (She delivered Barbara’s first grandchild the very next day, making June 2007 a month of celebrations stacked on celebrations.)

When Thursday arrived, we gathered in the Rotunda — that soaring, echoing space several stories above Lincoln — surrounded by the people who mattered most. Judge John R. Hoffert delivered one of the most uplifting, compassionate ceremonies I’ve ever heard. It was beautiful, heartfelt, and unforgettable.

Afterward, we celebrated at Grisanti’s in Lincoln, sharing a meal that felt like the perfect capstone to a whirlwind week.

To this day, whenever Barbara and I drive into Lincoln and the Capitol rises above the skyline, I point and say, “Hey, there’s our wedding chapel.” What great memories!

So yes — Arbor Day once shut down our wedding plans. But in doing so, it nudged us toward something far better: a ceremony filled with love, family, laughter, and the grandeur of Nebraska’s most iconic building.

Not a bad trade for a holiday about trees.