A Morning of Meaning and Making

Amanda & Collin’s wedding at The Glasshouse Estate in Napa was a sun-drenched ode to freedom, creativity, and the kind of love that blooms slowly and wildly. Both writers and nature lovers, they imagined a celebration with no hard edges — a poetic afternoon that drifted into a glowing evening and left their guests feeling like they'd stumbled into something sacred and untamed.

The morning began with the scent of orange blossom and palo santo curling through the suites. Amanda dressed on the balcony with her best friend, surrounded by dried flowers, velvet ribbons, and quiet music from a vintage speaker. Her dress was as unstructured as she was — cotton silk gauze, off-white, with flutter sleeves and embroidery she had stitched herself over months: tiny ferns, wild poppies, and a hummingbird at the hem. No heels. No jewelry. Just a dried flower comb in her loose braid and her smile, wide and certain.

Collin, a former forest guide turned essayist, dressed outdoors beneath an olive tree. His suit was soft sage green linen, worn open-collared with brown boots and a leather notebook in his pocket — where his vows, half-written that morning, waited. He paused often, writing between sips of strong coffee and moments of quiet observation.

An Altar Born from the Earth

The ceremony took place in the meadow just below the estate, where Petal & Thorn had built a circular altar from driftwood, golden grasses, and clouds of wildflowers that looked as though they'd sprung up from the earth overnight. There was no aisle — guests wandered freely and settled on woven cushions, poufs, and low wooden benches. Everyone was barefoot or in sandals. Maison Étoile had styled the entire setting to feel like a nomadic poetry salon: layered rugs, linen parasols, handwritten paper fans, and baskets of fruit and herb bundles.

Amanda entered the meadow alone, to the soft instrumental hum of folk music and the scent of jasmine carried by the wind. Collin met her halfway. They laughed. They cried. And they spoke vows like they were reading letters they’d been writing since childhood — honest, off-script, and tear-stained. They sealed their ceremony with a thumbprint on a handmade canvas, rather than a kiss, as their guests gathered close to offer blessings.

Artful Celebration and a Communal Feast

Cocktail hour flowed with elderflower tonics, citrus sangria, and baskets of flatbread with whipped goat cheese and figs. A live painter sketched the landscape while Isla Rae Studio captured portraits in film, often unnoticed, letting moments happen instead of manufacturing them.

Dinner was long and informal, served under a canopy of wild muslin drapes and festoon lights. Tables were misshapen and beautiful, decorated with found objects — feathers, driftwood, amber bottles, hand-tied bundles of herbs. Place cards were torn parchment tucked into river stones. Menus from Paper Arcadia were printed on tea-stained linen, stitched at the corners like journal pages.

The meal was communal: grilled eggplant, honey-roasted carrots, flatbread with za’atar, roasted chicken with apricot glaze. Guests passed plates, toasted often, and paused to read poems aloud — some written by the couple, some by Rumi and Mary Oliver, some scrawled on napkins that very evening.

A Night That Drifted, Barefoot and Eternal

Amanda and Collin’s first dance was spontaneous — not on a stage, but in the grass, shoes long forgotten. Guests slowly joined, forming a circle of slow movement and connection. Children ran barefoot. Candles flickered. The moon rose high.

There was no bouquet toss. No sparkler exit. Just blankets, guitar strums, and conversations that bled into dawn. As guests fell asleep on cushions and hammocks, Amanda and Collin sat on the edge of the vineyard, drinking wine straight from the bottle and whispering the beginnings of new stories.

With the soulful hands of Petal & Thorn, Maison Étoile, Isla Rae Studio, and Paper Arcadia, their wedding became not just an event, but an atmosphere — free, grounded, and wildly alive.