NOTE:
Chesterfield Observer requires a subscription to view their publication(s), so a simple link to their story doesn't work.
I've copy/pasted the article here so that it looks like the original pages they wrote back in November 2020 from here down.
Nothing has been added or removed, all the content below was in the original article.
Christian Gonzalez and Jessica Carrillo had planned a larger wedding earlier this year, but the pandemic interfered. Instead, they got married two Saturdays ago at A Little Wedding Garden in Chesterfield, where small, inexpensive weddings are scheduled on the hour. Photo by Jenny McQueen
NOVEMBER 11, 2020
In a difficult year for weddings, a little garden in Chesterfield is having a moment.
BY JACKIE KRUSZEWSKI CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Photo by Jenny McQueen
Christian Gonzalez and Jessica Carrillo had planned a larger wedding earlier this year, but the pandemic interfered. Instead, they got married two Saturdays ago at A Little Wedding Garden in Chesterfield, where small, inexpensive weddings are scheduled on the hour.
The families of Christian Gonzalez and Jessica Carrillo were enjoying the backyard garden, showing each other the photos and videos they’d just taken, when the warning came.
“The next wedding starts in 15,” said Cecelia LePage, offering a gentle prod. It’s a reminder she could find herself repeating half a dozen times on a busy Saturday like this one, two weeks ago, when six different couples were scheduled to exchange vows at her Chesterfield home.
Since 2016, LePage and her husband, Lee Louderback, have offered small, inexpensive weddings from their split-level house on a quiet cul-de-sac, just a five-minute drive from the county courthouse. LePage officiates while Louderback fills out the paperwork. A friend who lives with them keeps the garden tidy and works the Bluetooth speaker that plays processional and recessional music. Weddings are scheduled on the hour. The whole thing costs $99 on weekdays and $135 on weekends.
It’s a niche that’s having a moment. The economic uncertainty brought on by the pandemic has put grand weddings out of reach for many, and the coronavirus makes large gatherings dangerous and discouraged. LePage’s business, A Little Wedding Garden, suffered in the early months of lockdowns. But with another surge of virus cases sweeping the country and no end in sight, it’s never been more popular.
Gonzalez and Carrillo had planned a bigger wedding for earlier this year, but COVID-19 interfered. “I just felt like, with everything going on in the world, I wanted to be his wife already,” Carrillo said. “And I preferred it being more intimate.”
The act is distilled to the basics: a commitment between two people, surrounded by their closest – the very closest – friends and family. A maximum of 10 adults can attend, and the ceremony lasts less than 10 minutes.
“I want to serve an underserved part of the population,” LePage says. “People will marry you for 50 and 70 bucks, but that’s [all] you get. We’re going to have a wedding here.”
LePage has married 215 couples this year so far, not far off from last year’s high of 280, and that’s despite business dropping off during the early weeks of the pandemic. Three weekends ago, she married eight couples in a day, starting at 8 a.m.
“I was so energized after eight weddings, I could’ve done two or three more,” she said.
In a difficult year for weddings, a little garden in Chesterfield is having a moment.
BY JACKIE KRUSZEWSKI CONTRIBUTING WRITER
Photo by Jenny McQueen
Christian Gonzalez and Jessica Carrillo had planned a larger wedding earlier this year, but the pandemic interfered. Instead, they got married two Saturdays ago at A Little Wedding Garden in Chesterfield, where small, inexpensive weddings are scheduled on the hour.
The families of Christian Gonzalez and Jessica Carrillo were enjoying the backyard garden, showing each other the photos and videos they’d just taken, when the warning came.
“The next wedding starts in 15,” said Cecelia LePage, offering a gentle prod. It’s a reminder she could find herself repeating half a dozen times on a busy Saturday like this one, two weeks ago, when six different couples were scheduled to exchange vows at her Chesterfield home.
Since 2016, LePage and her husband, Lee Louderback, have offered small, inexpensive weddings from their split-level house on a quiet cul-de-sac, just a five-minute drive from the county courthouse. LePage officiates while Louderback fills out the paperwork. A friend who lives with them keeps the garden tidy and works the Bluetooth speaker that plays processional and recessional music. Weddings are scheduled on the hour. The whole thing costs $99 on weekdays and $135 on weekends.
It’s a niche that’s having a moment. The economic uncertainty brought on by the pandemic has put grand weddings out of reach for many, and the coronavirus makes large gatherings dangerous and discouraged. LePage’s business, A Little Wedding Garden, suffered in the early months of lockdowns. But with another surge of virus cases sweeping the country and no end in sight, it’s never been more popular.
Gonzalez and Carrillo had planned a bigger wedding for earlier this year, but COVID-19 interfered. “I just felt like, with everything going on in the world, I wanted to be his wife already,” Carrillo said. “And I preferred it being more intimate.”
The act is distilled to the basics: a commitment between two people, surrounded by their closest – the very closest – friends and family. A maximum of 10 adults can attend, and the ceremony lasts less than 10 minutes.
“I want to serve an underserved part of the population,” LePage says. “People will marry you for 50 and 70 bucks, but that’s [all] you get. We’re going to have a wedding here.”
LePage has married 215 couples this year so far, not far off from last year’s high of 280, and that’s despite business dropping off during the early weeks of the pandemic. Three weekends ago, she married eight couples in a day, starting at 8 a.m.
“I was so energized after eight weddings, I could’ve done two or three more,” she said.
Ashlee and Britni Shackelford always wanted a small wedding on Ashlee’s favorite holiday, Halloween. JENNY McQUEEN
“God in or God out?” That’s what LePage asks the couples regarding her remarks during the ceremony.
There are other choices, too. Which of the faux flower or pearl bouquets would you like to hold? Which color would you like the light-up cross in the gazebo to shine for your photos? Who wants to walk down the aisle?
The details are hammered out in LePage’s driveway once everyone arrives.
Britni and Ashlee Shackelford both wanted to walk the aisle with their parents. The pandemic didn’t change much for them: They’d always wanted a small wedding on Ashlee’s favorite holiday, Halloween.
“I just thought it’d be more personal and tight knit and special,” said Britni.
Ashlee, whose black and purple bouquet was decorated with faux cobwebs, wanted something short. “It helps with the jitters,” she said.
LePage’s ceremony follows a time-honed script about love and marriage. “We are here to listen, to love, to celebrate, and to send them into the future with our outrageous love and support,” she recited on Saturday multiple times.
Distantly, the incessant sound of the season, a leaf blower, could be heard during the ceremonies. (“Every now and then toward the evening, I have to worry about the ice cream man,” LePage said later.) A new addition to the garden, a pond and water wall, helps drown out ambient noise.
Vows are exchanged and “I do’s” are said. At one point during their noon ceremony, Carrillo leaned over to LePage to mention that she goes by Jessica, rather than her legal name on the license that LePage was using.
With a marriage pronounced complete, LePage leads the newlyweds in a circle around the azalea-filled garden, then begins a series of staged photos at various points. She proudly explains details of the garden – the cross acquired after her visit to Israel, the bricks she cut herself, the Venus statue – while guests snap pictures.
“Hold it, hold it, hold it,” said LePage as Carrillo and Gonzalez kissed for the camera.
There are other choices, too. Which of the faux flower or pearl bouquets would you like to hold? Which color would you like the light-up cross in the gazebo to shine for your photos? Who wants to walk down the aisle?
The details are hammered out in LePage’s driveway once everyone arrives.
Britni and Ashlee Shackelford both wanted to walk the aisle with their parents. The pandemic didn’t change much for them: They’d always wanted a small wedding on Ashlee’s favorite holiday, Halloween.
“I just thought it’d be more personal and tight knit and special,” said Britni.
Ashlee, whose black and purple bouquet was decorated with faux cobwebs, wanted something short. “It helps with the jitters,” she said.
LePage’s ceremony follows a time-honed script about love and marriage. “We are here to listen, to love, to celebrate, and to send them into the future with our outrageous love and support,” she recited on Saturday multiple times.
Distantly, the incessant sound of the season, a leaf blower, could be heard during the ceremonies. (“Every now and then toward the evening, I have to worry about the ice cream man,” LePage said later.) A new addition to the garden, a pond and water wall, helps drown out ambient noise.
Vows are exchanged and “I do’s” are said. At one point during their noon ceremony, Carrillo leaned over to LePage to mention that she goes by Jessica, rather than her legal name on the license that LePage was using.
With a marriage pronounced complete, LePage leads the newlyweds in a circle around the azalea-filled garden, then begins a series of staged photos at various points. She proudly explains details of the garden – the cross acquired after her visit to Israel, the bricks she cut herself, the Venus statue – while guests snap pictures.
“Hold it, hold it, hold it,” said LePage as Carrillo and Gonzalez kissed for the camera.
Cecelia LePage has been officiating tiny weddings from her home since 2016. JENNY McQUEEN
LePage, a 79-year-old great-grandmother with a degree in business management from John Tyler Community College, has always worked from the home she moved into in 1980. She started the Stop Smoking Clinic of America from it in 1983, featuring a 24/7 hotline for smokers to call if they’re thinking of having a cigarette. LePage, briefly a smoker herself, watched her mother struggle with the health effects of a two-pack-a-day habit.
In the mid-1990s, the West Virginia native built the gazebo that serves as the focal point of the backyard garden. Her second marriage was the first ceremony performed on its steps. Since then, her home and garden have served as the site for the weddings of LePage’s mother and her daughter, as well as her own, third marriage to Louderback. “It was a wedding place before I turned it into a wedding place,” she said.
Five years ago, LePage officiated the wedding of her best friend in Ohio. She says she came home to her garden and sat on the swing in the gazebo.
“It was almost as if the Lord said to me, ‘Look what I’ve given you,’ as I looked around my gardens,” said LePage. “And I said to my girlfriend, ‘Do you think somebody would pay money to get married back here? I bet they would.’”
Louderback says many couples find them via Google, after they get their marriage license at the courthouse a mile away. If there’s availability, LePage or Louderback, both authorized as civil celebrants by the county, can marry them within the hour.
In the colder months, garden weddings become sunroom weddings, held in an oversized, porch-like room that LePage added to the back of the house, with a fireplace and sunshine-yellow decor.
In the mid-1990s, the West Virginia native built the gazebo that serves as the focal point of the backyard garden. Her second marriage was the first ceremony performed on its steps. Since then, her home and garden have served as the site for the weddings of LePage’s mother and her daughter, as well as her own, third marriage to Louderback. “It was a wedding place before I turned it into a wedding place,” she said.
Five years ago, LePage officiated the wedding of her best friend in Ohio. She says she came home to her garden and sat on the swing in the gazebo.
“It was almost as if the Lord said to me, ‘Look what I’ve given you,’ as I looked around my gardens,” said LePage. “And I said to my girlfriend, ‘Do you think somebody would pay money to get married back here? I bet they would.’”
Louderback says many couples find them via Google, after they get their marriage license at the courthouse a mile away. If there’s availability, LePage or Louderback, both authorized as civil celebrants by the county, can marry them within the hour.
In the colder months, garden weddings become sunroom weddings, held in an oversized, porch-like room that LePage added to the back of the house, with a fireplace and sunshine-yellow decor.
When weather permits, ceremonies are held in the garden, where a gazebo is surrounded by azaleas and sculptures. JENNY McQUEEN
At some point, the county got wind of her weddings, and they had to get a business license. Neighbors rallied in their defense, LePage said. “It is nice to see her bring happiness to so many people,” read one supportive letter.
This is a business, to be sure. Any additions to the ceremony cost an extra $20, even when it’s a guest taking a minute to burn some sage around the newly married couple. LePage hands out business cards toward the end of the hour and asks the couple for a nice Yelp review as Louderback or the friend who lives with them collects payment.
Once in four years, LePage resisted marrying a couple after a talk with the bride made her concerned about family pressure on the decision: “I ended up praying with her, and she called the wedding off.”
But LePage clearly relishes the joy of the ceremony, loving her role in people’s commitment to one another. She is proud of the diversity of the couples she’s married, representing many ages, religions, races, ethnicities, nationalities and sexual orientations. She has a soft spot for the occasional vow renewal ceremony they perform, finding them particularly touching.
“I’m with people on the happiest day of their lives,” she said. “And it keeps me young.”
This is a business, to be sure. Any additions to the ceremony cost an extra $20, even when it’s a guest taking a minute to burn some sage around the newly married couple. LePage hands out business cards toward the end of the hour and asks the couple for a nice Yelp review as Louderback or the friend who lives with them collects payment.
Once in four years, LePage resisted marrying a couple after a talk with the bride made her concerned about family pressure on the decision: “I ended up praying with her, and she called the wedding off.”
But LePage clearly relishes the joy of the ceremony, loving her role in people’s commitment to one another. She is proud of the diversity of the couples she’s married, representing many ages, religions, races, ethnicities, nationalities and sexual orientations. She has a soft spot for the occasional vow renewal ceremony they perform, finding them particularly touching.
“I’m with people on the happiest day of their lives,” she said. “And it keeps me young.”