Twenty years ago today, I was sitting on the balcony of the Morrison-Clark Historic Inn with my brand-new wife, watching Washington D.C.’s L-Street commuters hurtle to work. It was a splendid fall morning. We’d just polished off some delicious smoked salmon and a pot of strong coffee. A late-season bee circled overhead in the cool October air. The world was on the move — everyone but us. The wedding had wiped us out. After breakfast, we sat and sunned for a while, as motionless as the bronze sculpture of Samuel Gompers in the neglected memorial park across the street.

Our wedding had been unconventional. We were married on Mexican soil in the heart of the nation’s capital. Ethereal pan-flute music from the Andes vied with expertly sung Renaissance polyphony. Elements from both the Christian and Jewish traditions were carefully harmonized.

But one eccentricity in particular stood out in my mind as Shana and I sat on that balcony contemplating our future together: the reading of Edward Lear’s nonsense poem, “The Owl and the Pussy-cat.” You may remember the poem, either from your own childhood or from reading it to a child yourself, but perhaps a little reminder is in order…

I
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

II
Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

III
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

As fantasies of romantic self-sufficiency go, it’s hard to beat “The Owl and the Pussy-cat.” The lovers start the poem with all of the ingredients necessary for a happy elopement: a boat; food; money; a guitar.

But they haven’t fled with the idea of marrying; that comes later, after the owl’s serenade. They’ve fled for love, pure and simple: to be alone together under the stars in their beautiful pea-green boat.

Only after the owl sings his heavenly – and somewhat direct – love-song does the pussy-cat realize that they ought to be married. “Too long we have tarried!” she cries.

But perhaps she protests too much. There isn’t much urgency to the marriage. Instantly a practical problem is invented to postpone it: “But what shall we do for a ring?”

The problem of the ring is serious. So serious that the two lovers continue sailing together in their tiny boat for an entire year before coming ashore in the land where the Bong-Tree grows.

You may be wondering where that is, or, more generally, what a Bong-Tree is. The thing to keep in mind is that this is a so-called “nonsense” poem. The Bong-Tree is pure invention, as is the “runcible spoon” that makes an appearance in the third stanza. Edward Lear liked to pepper his poems with made-up words. The word “runcible,” for instance, appears in several of them, all in different contexts, making a firm definition all but impossible, no matter how much clever linguistic energy you throw at the problem. It’s possible that “runcible” is an English interpretation of the French “Roncevaux;” then again, maybe not.

The point is that the lovers’ magical voyage continues on land as at sea, in a place where imaginary trees flourish and the keys to marriage await. A ring is procured from an obliging pig; a willing celebrant is found in a hill-dwelling turkey. The obstacles to a wedding are finally overcome, but casually – accidentally, as it were, with no great effort from the principles, who seem just as happy in their life with, or without, marriage.

Quick sidebar: why does the pig have a ring in its nose? Because rings keep pigs from rooting, which can damage pastures, forests, and fences. Ringing a pig’s nose is a common farm practice to this day. Of course, you wouldn’t use a gold ring for such a lowly purpose. Unless you happened to live in the land of the Bong-Tree…

But the lowliness of the ring is the point, as is the idea of a turkey presiding over a wedding. The ring, the celebrant – these are unimportant details. The wedding is a pale echo of something that has already happened between the owl and the pussy-cat. It happened before the poem began, with the decision to strike out together, to challenge the open water with little more than a pot of honey and small nest egg.

The owl and the pussy-cat are two very different animals seized with a common idea: to sail into an uncertain future together, and by so doing, to share a grand adventure.

I’m happy to report that twenty years into our own grand adventure, Shana and I are still walking hand in hand on the edge of the sand.

And occasionally, when the mood strikes, dancing by the light of the moon.