CAROLINE'S CORNER: CHILLING OUT ON BEAR ISLAND

I had two unforgettable experiences last weekend. I was a tourist in New Hampshire and a guest at an island wedding. The function was on Bear Island on Lake Winnipesaukee in Meredith, New Hampshire. The bride happened to be my Alabama cousin who now lives in Washington, D.C.

The wedding instructions read, "All festivities will be held on Bear Island, which is accessible only by boat. Please dress casually since you will be in and out of boats and walking through the woods. The island is covered with pine needles and there are only foot paths, no sidewalks. All of our guests will be ferried back and forth between the island and Cattle Landing, a public dock near the end of Meredith Neck Road. Hopefully, the weather will be beautiful. However, be prepared in case it rains or is chilly. Typically, early September at Bear Island can vary from 50 to 70 degrees during the day, and 35 to 50 at night."

With great anticipation I set out for Bear Island, by way of airports in Memphis and Boston. After a two-hour automobile ride from Boston, seven Alabama relatives and I arrived at the long-awaited Cattle Landing. We were greeted by our host and ferried by pontoon boat to the island.

I had not looked in Webster for the definition of "chilly." I thought it meant there would be a slight nip in the air, and I left hot and humid Missouri for "chilly" New Hampshire with my Missouri September hot and humid clothes and a sweatshirt and a denim shirt thrown in "just in case."

We awoke the next day to winds of veritable gale force and sheets of rain falling on the outside party with games and dancin' on the pine straw planned.

The young folks partied in the gale and the old folks from the South (I'm old) sat by the fire and imagined how cold it would be if it were really cold in New Hampshire.

Wedding day, we awoke to colossal waves with whitecaps on the lake. The wind was as piercing as mid-January in Missouri and Alabama, and 130 guests were to be ferried to the island on a pontoon boat.

Cousin Johnny and I were instructed to drive the boat three miles to Shep Brown's dock to pick up the caterers with the food, the baker with the cake and the pontoon captain for the day.

With food for 150, a 4-tier wedding cake with no cover and six passengers, we headed for Bear Island. Suddenly a huge wave came over the front of the boat where the food was, and we found ourselves screaming, scrambling and striving to save the food and the day.

The captain miraculously prevented the spill and we were not forced to swim to land while holding the cake above the whitecaps.

The bride never knew how close she came to serving potato chips and twinkies to her island guests.

This beautiful cake, which had survived the near-Titanic fate, could not survive the pieces of nature that were blowing in the wind on the island. The traditional white-icing cake soon turned crunchy with bits of pine straw and other tree parts that were blowing around. As I served guests from New York and D.C., I explained that it was a "nature cake," a regional delicacy, and I hoped they would enjoy the crunchiness of the munchy wedding delicacy.

As we left New Hampshire, Johnny and I began to unlayer with great joy. After the ride from the island to Cattle Landing, I unwrapped myself from the wool blanket I had borrowed. Just outside Meredith, I pulled off the down-lined jacket someone had loaned me.

On the interstate just outside Concord, I shed my sweatshirt. In the parking lot of the car rental agency in Boston, I slipped out of my denim shirt. On the plane, my wool socks came off my feet and went into my purse.

On the drive up Interstate 55 from Memphis, I kept touching the window to see if the air was "chilly."

I'll have lovely long-lasting memories of the island wedding, including the bagpiper dressed in kilts and his haunting rendition of "Amazing Grace." I'll remember the graciousness of the grandmother host, who had an uncanny resemblance to Katharine Hepburn. The memories of the sounds of the laughing loons will burn in my mind forever. I will also never forget what it feels like to be "chilly" in New Hampshire.