No Engagement Chicken Necessary

So there is this old wives' tale that if you make this particular chicken recipe called Engagement Chicken, it will woo your suitor into proposing to you. Cute... but that's certainly not our story.

Let me say this: Tim and I got engaged last weekend.

And despite hearing the response "finally!" from some (like our parents), the last seven years together definitely flew by.

This was the first long, work-free weekend in a while, so I had packed the agenda full, never realizing a proposal would be the finale of it all.

On Friday morning, Tim and I headed out to Cornerstone Ranch in Princeton where we cashed in a horseback riding groupon. I had never been before; my excitement and anxiety subsided when the guide gave me the horse her 7-year old was training on saying, "it will be perfect for you." The trail ride was relaxing and scenic, yet muddy and windy. But I didn't get bucked off or stuck in a tree. A success, the way I see it.

On Saturday morning, we headed to Westport Rivers Winery. Our friends had arranged a winery tour and tasting; who am I to turn an offer like that down? As we arrived, the entrance was blocked. An old pickup truck had stopped short in the driveway and a subsequent deluge of pumpkins tumbled off the back truck bed. Pumpkin guts littered the front entrance of the pristine vineyard grounds, so instead of waiting in our car and watching the poor farmers pick up the hundred or so smashed gourds, we offered a hand. In exchange, we were graciously given a pumpkin.  As the winery tour started, we realized the guy who dumped the pumpkins was our tour guide. We were glad we didn't just sit in our warm car watching him hopelessly scrape together his squashed pumpkin crop!

The tour guide oriented us to the fields of vines, identifying the names of the grapes they grew that would eventually be crushed to create their signature sparkling wines. We toured the processing facility and viewed the honeycombs of fermenting Brut and Blanc de Blanc. The tour circled back to the tasting room, where we swirled and sipped all sorts of sparkling wines, whites, and even a Pinot Noir made from grapes that enjoyed an unusually long growing season in 2010.

After the tour, we lunched at The Bayside Restaurant. From the outside, it appears to be your typical New England clam shack serving non-descript variations of fried seafood. But the menu and the quality of their entrees outweighed any notion of mediocrity. And they're green! And if you're looking for the best lobster roll in New England, well, check out The Bayside Restaurant. Yes, I said it. Best Lobster Roll. Capital B, L, R. You'll get a hot dog roll filled with chunks of lobster meat, undressed. They serve melted butter and mayo on the side; that's next to the side of awesome.

We headed down to the Cape for the evening, staying at a family friend's place in Hyannis. Dinner was fairly plain, but the drinks at the British Beer Company were great! I partook in a spiced rum hot apple cider, perfect for a cool autumn Hyannis evening.

Sunday morning was unusually warm for the likes of mid-November. There was not frost, but a dewy haze on the front lawn and the air in the house was slightly cooler than it was outside. So we packed up our gear and boarded a ferry to Martha's Vineyard. Little did I know my visions of brunching at Art Cliff Diner and biking all over the island on a sunny day would quickly turn into Destination Proposalville.

We ate brunch at Art Cliff last year, but unfortunately it was closed when we arrived. Instead, we opted for Eggwiches at Beetlebung Coffeehouse, an inferior yet filling meal that I thought would be fueling a 20+ mile bike ride.

Instead, Tim suggested we should just go for a walk. You know, let the eggwich settle.

"Let's walk up to the West Chop lighthouse, maybe see if there's a beach to hang out at up there."

I should have known something was suspect when he said he wanted to go for a walk. Tim hates to walk. The only time he believes walking serves a purpose is if it's down the fairway on a golf course.

But we walked anyway, me taking photos along the way, he trying hard to conceal the brown and teal box hidden in his pocket.

(This is Tim concealing the box in his pocket.)

(This is the Martha's Vineyard Black Dog laughing at him.)

Two and a half miles later, we arrived at the West Chop lighthouse. A disappointment, really. It was the smallest lighthouse I'd seen. A house with a second floor silo that doubles as a lighthouse. So we continued on to the beach. The beach that we couldn't find. I was ready to turn around and head back, determined to ride bikes, but Tim said we should walk just a little further, down a private road even. Well, of course I saw an unusual bird craning its neck on a rickety old dock that I just had to have a photo of. Private property? Maybe. Trespassing? Perhaps. Next thing I know, Tim is stopping me from returning to the main road, me muttering something about someone calling the cops, he fumbling for something in his pocket.

Now it made sense why he did not want to rent bikes. He was carrying around an engagement ring!

And then he got down on one knee.

Yes, I cried. A lot. But I cry a lot of happy tears, so it was totally normal. I even hysterically laughed at one point, envisioning myself trying to explain to a cop why we were standing in someone's backyard oceanfront property half-crying and half-laughing hysterically.

I set my camera on a rock and took photos the moment after he slipped the ring on my finger.

I believe it was perfect.