The night before our eldest son’s wedding, I was in our cottage trying not to hyperventilate. The wind was howling, torrential rain was falling, and the bride-to-be was sobbing in the bedroom directly below ours.
It was – to say the least – an inauspicious start to what was supposed to be a joyful, beautiful celebration last August in Lake of Bays, a popular summer spot about two hours north of Toronto. We had thought we had all our bases covered – venue, caterer, booze, transportation, accommodation for the 54 guests – until Hurricane Debby touched down in Florida and started making her way up the East Coast, causing misery and mayhem every step of the way.
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The bride-to-be, Jill Cimorelli, the day before her wedding.Gayle MacDonald/Supplied
Our situation was further complicated by the fact that the wedding was on an island, in the middle of a lake, which meant guests had to be ferried over by boat. I pictured women in lovely summer dresses and men in linen suits, drenched to the skin, and seasick from being tossed about in the choppy water.
A hurricane is something you just don’t plan for, and we were all momentarily paralyzed. All of us, except for a girl from Derbyshire, England (our youngest son’s girlfriend) who said she knew exactly what we needed to do: Plant a sausage.
“We have a tradition at home of burying a sausage the day before a special event to bring good luck and great weather,” she told us cheerfully. I looked at my husband, he looked at me with an eyebrow raised, and I ran to the freezer, pulled out a hot Italian sausage from Costco, and put it in a Ziploc bag.
Then the wedding party – who were spending that night on the island – headed out. I later saw photographs of the ceremonial sausage planting, with eight bedraggled young people, cocktails in hand, digging a hole. The bride reverently placed the sausage into the dirt. The hole was refilled. A prayer was said. And everyone went to bed hoping for a miracle.
The wedding day dawned. Sadly, it didn’t look good. Rain was still falling. The sky was an ugly grey. Resigned, my husband and I packed up our wedding outfits and took our boat to the island to start getting ready. It was time to put our game face on and make the best of it.
Then, about noon, the hot Italian began to work its magic. Blue patches appeared in the sky. The cold north wind was replaced with a warm, gentle breeze. We all looked at each other in disbelief. Not a word was said. No one wanted to jinx whatever weirdness was happening.
Two hours later, as the first guests stepped off the boat, the sun was beaming down, the sky was clear, and spirits were high. All everyone could talk about was the bizarre turn of the weather.
That night as the speeches were happening, and the sun sank into the water leaving the sky a glorious display of red, pink and yellow, I gave thanks to the humble sausage and to the Brits, or the Scots (it’s unclear who invented this wacky tradition) for saving our kids’ special day.
Conor O’Reilly and Jill Cimorelli on their wedding day.danielle meredith/Supplied
My advice to anyone with a wedding, or other special event on the horizon? Hope for the best, but prepare for the “wurst.”
And if you’re still skeptical, don’t just take my word for it. TikTok is full of testimonials – and hilarious videos – from grateful brides who have buried bratwurst, knackwurst, weisswurst, chorizo, breakfast sausages and even salami – and seen their rainy wedding days turn sunny, too.
