I married Joe six years ago at the Grand Lake Lodge, and I loved every second of our wedding day. Even when we had to put a sock over the microphone outdoors. Even when I forgot my bloomers for our first dance, a swing dance with aerials, and I knew Joe would be swinging me into the air. A different story for a different day. (Spoiler: no guests were flashed.) Someone-- I wish I could remember who-- offered me the advice to take mental, sensory snapshots during the day, so I could remember a handful of moments clearly and crisply. Otherwise, the entire day would blur. So, I did. And as much as I love our wedding photographs (I'm convinced Carly Bish is a creative genius), I love the photographs I took with my eyes and ears and nose and fingers just as much.I took the first mental picture after we returned from our morning out on the girls-only pontoon boat where we spent a few hours drinking mimosas and toasting one another. I stepped out of the shower onto the charcoal tile, wrapped myself in a towel, and looked out the window from the cabin. The mountains spread themselves before me; the clouds cast patches of dark navy over the water and the forest; the sun tore through the sky and filled my frame with its delight. I can remember the view of the mountains on the morning of my wedding. What a gift. I shake another polaroid, and I see a group of women huddled around me, praying, before we walked down the aisle. Halfway through the prayer, I remember feeling a soft, tiny hand press the top of my leg-- one of my flower girls, Ellie, reached out and touched me as she prayed for me. She was four. I took another picture during the song Joe sang for our wedding -- my sister walked up next to me and put her arm around me; we cried together. I took another as my grandfather gave us our first communion under an arch decorated with teal picture frames of of loved ones who had passed.  Another, as we played in the aspen leaves, in the forest, married for less than an hour, taking portraits. One more, as my dad turned me around and around, faster than I anticipated he would, Stevie Nicks's raspy "Landslide" in the background, my eyes wide, both of us trying not to cry. He wore sunglasses. Cheater. I have a picture of Joe lifting me into the air during while my family's band sang "Don't Stop Believing," and another of a crowd of my people screaming "Sweet Caroline" before sending us off into the wondrous, dark mountain night, as a permanent unit.Over labor day weekend, every year, Joe and I make it a priority to book a cabin at the lodge and relive our wedding. We walk down to the nuptial knoll which overlooks Grand Lake and Shadow Mountain lake, and we make new promises, new vows to one another.This year, we brought Sophie to our favorite place.Someday, I'll tell Sophie all about the photographs I keep in my mind of the day I married her dad. And, I'll show her all the actual photographs I make her dad take with me every year in the same forest outside of our cabin. Here are the first six years: