My nephew Tater Bug is getting married today. I wonder if he’ll tell his pretty bride that this will be his second honeymoon. Probably not.

The first honeymoon, he spent with his mama and two “anything goes” aunts.

The Hideaway Lodge brochure enticed us with the idea of a hideaway at the end of a winding, tree-lined country road in the hills of Holmes County, Ohio.

The drive to the lodge was breathtaking. The leaves were spectacular in their fall colors and the roadway was a vibrant patchwork of wildflowers. The sun, although fading, was still warming the earth and the song of birds was in the air.

The lodge was picture perfect with a glistening lake behind it. We would toss our bags in our room and picnic by the lake.

The young man who came to help with our luggage had a bewildered look on his face.

“We have reservations.” He nodded and led us down the flowered path to the lodge.

Inside, I glanced into one of the rooms. Fancy. White canopy bed. Fresh flowers. Nice.

The young man opened the door to our room. Bewilderment spread across my face –across Sis’ face and June Bug’s. Tater Bug was indifferent.

We, too, had a fancy room. One bed with a white, rose embossed coverlet, a side table set for two with fresh flowers and a pot of tea and what must have been crumpets.

The flickering of candles drew our eyes to the bathroom. Scented candles lined the jacuzzi. There were two champaign glasses and bottle of champaign chilling in a crystal bucket.

We three stood there not saying a word. At last, I thought of something appropriate to say, “I think we’ll need a cot.”

The young man nodded and left in haste.

“We’re at a honeymoon hotel!” we exclaimed in unison. Tater was sampling the crumpets.

Being courteous Southern belles, we decided against a picnic by the lake. We needed to give those folks at the honeymoon hotel time to make arrangements for different accommodations for us.

We went into Walnut Creek for supper, laughing all the way there … and back.

Upon our return, our honeymoon room had been rearranged. The table with the tea and crumpets was gone. The candles had been snuffed; the champaign had been replaced with sparkling grape juice and four clear plastic cups and the Everly Brothers were playing on the radio. A cot had been wedged in where the table once sat.

We took turns in the jacuzzi and sipped the sparkling grape juice while we very quietly played Pic Up Sticks with Tater who was wrapped in a His bathrobe.

Tater got the cot and Sis, June Bug and I, slept head to feet under the white rose embossed coverlet.

We slipped out of the honeymoon hotel just before sunup never to return.

No. Tater Bug probably won’t tell his bride about his first honeymoon but, if he happens to think about it, a smile will surely cross his face.