Gay Couples in a State of Wedded Bliss: Vermont

The “Moose Crossing” signs dotting the hilly highway reminded Joyce and me that we had entered unfamiliar territory: Vermont--the state that promised to extend all the state-level benefits and protections of marriage to our 15-year relationship.

We wanted to be among the first gay couples to receive Vermont’s blessing. But since the history-making creation of “civil unions” for gay couples has divided Vermonters, we weren’t sure what sort of welcome to expect. What we received was a joyful, magical celebration of our love that was far more special than anything we could have dreamed up on our own.

Before heading to Vermont, Joyce and I discovered that the tiny state’s government operates at a wonderfully human level. The town clerk who promised us she would be open on Saturday, July 1--the day civil unions became legal--drew us a map so we could find her office.

Though pressured by civil-union foes to be closed July 1, the clerk--a woman of her word--was at her desk when we arrived that morning. Her office was in her cozy cat-and-orchid-filled home. We filled out our civil-union application on her kitchen counter. I panicked briefly, momentarily stumped by a question about my father’s birthplace. Then the clerk finished giving a neighbor his fishing license, took our $20 and handed us our certificate.

Giddy to have that very special piece of paper in hand, Joyce and I threw ourselves into getting acquainted with the courageous state that’s the first to treat gay couples with real respect.

We spent the day learning about maple syrup, apple cider and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. And we toured the gold-domed state capitol as an angry knot of anti-gay protesters shouted about wanting to turn back the clock.

Technically, all we still needed to make our new legal status official was the signature of a justice of the peace, judge or clergy member. Joyce and I originally envisioned a small, private ceremony. But Justice of the Peace Keith Goslant, who must be our fairy godfather, sensed our relationship needed a party.

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Keith, whom we had met only over the phone, proposed that he perform our civil-union service at a pre-Fourth of July backyard bash attended by dozens of his friends and relatives. Joyce and I were horrified. Practiced in the very gay art of being unobtrusive, we couldn’t imagine exchanging vows in front of a crowd of strangers. But Keith, who inspires blind faith, said, “Trust me. It will be wonderful.” So we took a chance.

On Sunday afternoon, we drove to the village of Plainfield, stepped out of our car and were immediately swept up into a loving embrace unlike anything we had ever experienced. We were surrounded by Vermonters of all ages--most of them straight--who were proud of their state and happy for us as a couple. A many-splendored wedding celebration materialized as if by magic.

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As Joyce and I stood with Keith before a flower-strewn altar, our married hostess, Diane Martin, sweetly crooned “This Thing Between Us Called Love.” Then Joyce and I renewed our commitment with vows we had written at Keith’s encouragement. Several of our newfound friends wiped away tears. At our request, Diane honored Vermont with its official state song, which she had authored. And Keith uttered the powerful words we’d longed to hear: “By the authority vested in me by the state of Vermont . . . .”

Finally, our relationship was legally recognized. We kissed as noisemakers honked with delight.

Sparkling lemonade toasts and wedding cake followed. The grandmotherly baker endearingly confessed, “I don’t know a thing about you, so I just decorated it with interlocking pink triangles and red clover, the Vermont state flower. My peonies aren’t in bloom yet.”

How generous, how kindhearted. Joyce and I drove home singing Vermont’s state song, “. . . They say home is where the heart is. These green mountains are my home.”

The Green Mountain State captured our well-defended hearts. We’ll show our gratitude by working to make other places feel just as inviting.

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Deb Price is a Washington, D.C.-based columnist for the Detroit News.