Cody& Sam

A coastal Peninsula wedding that traded scale for intimacy. Twenty-two seats, one long table, a ceremony held to the sound of the bay.

Cody and Sam had been engaged for two years before the day, and most of that time was spent not planning. They had been very specific about the kind of wedding they didn't want — and almost charmingly vague about the kind they did. What they kept returning to was a phrase: a day that feels like a long lunch with the people we love most.

“

We weren't trying to throw a wedding. We were trying to make a day that felt like a holiday with the people we love.

— Sam

The ceremony was held on the seaward terrace, with the bay framed through a single low-slung window of native gum. Cody walked alone — which she had asked for — and Sam didn't look down at the floor once. There was no music during the walk, which is rare and which we always appreciate.

The light came down slow that afternoon, the way it does in autumn on the Peninsula — gold for an hour, then a long, even rose, then dark. The band played without a setlist. Cody's grandmother put her hand on her cheek before the dancing started and said, "good." It made the film.