Montesino ranch is a retreat from the
wedding industry

Tucked away in the Texas Hill Country, Montesino Ranch offers a local farm setting for weddings—an escape from the city’s demands. This series of photographs, spanning nine years, show scenes from weddings and rehearsal dinners on the ranch.

Text and photographs by Bill McCullough

In the spring of 2015, my wife, M, and I drove to Wimberley, Texas, to photograph the wedding of John and Diana at Montesino Ranch. It is a working organic farm 50 minutes (give or take) southwest of Austin, in the heart of the Texas hill country, and this was our first trip to the ranch. My initial memory is turning off the Interstate, out of the four-lane traffic, onto Flite Acres Road, which follows the twists and turns of the Blanco River. Billboards and truck stops were replaced by century-old live oaks, Bald Cyprus trees along the river, and fields of native wildflowers and grasses covering the hills and ranch. I've lived in Texas my whole life, and I never tire of driving through the Wimberley Valley. It is beautiful. Usually, I am wired before photographing a wedding, so having this time to slow down while negotiating the river road is a gift. Once we cross a low-water bridge on the Blanco River, the ranch is roughly half a mile up the road and sits secluded around an outline of mountains and hills.

Montesino Ranch is unassuming, with no gaudy, over-the-top Texas structure; they let the land speak for itself. Juniper, mesquite trees, prickly pear cactus, switch grass, and low stone walls lead the way to the main structure, a sizable open-air barn made of wood and metal, 30 feet tall. It is both unpretentious and impressive at the same time. We drive along the ranch roads to visit the locations where events will take place throughout the weekend, discovering the 1910 vernacular Texas guest houses, contemporary guest cabins, stables, Montesino Mountain Lookout, rows of organic vegetable beds, and an outdoor farm kitchen. We see folks unloading sound equipment; I meet the couple's friends and family as they help ice down drinks, and someone mentions dancing at dusk. I'm excited to start photographing because I see so many great scenes, but M and I need to unload our equipment and figure out the best place to park. This was when I met Pam.

Pam is the owner and ranch manager. Her enviable, self-sufficient farmer skills enable her to confidently troubleshoot any issue, from fixing pizza ovens to removing a stain from a bride's dress. She works in the background and never hovers. Her philosophy, as stated on her website, is clear: “We view your wedding as a family reunion that shouldn't be rushed.”

It's easy for me to warm up in the first minutes of taking photographs because everyone is engaged with activities—taking selfies with a small herd of goats, petting horses, walking the grounds after a day of travel, and organizing last-minute party details. My photography style is to roam and document moment-to-moment, to be flexible with the flow of the event, and not to manage or alter the natural rhythm of what is organically happening. It's good photography when everyone is involved in the festivities, not the camera.

As the evening passes sunset, the sky changes to a deep blue, like thick cobalt glassware. Guests tell stories at the bar. I can't hear what they are saying, but I see facial expressions change as arms and hands flutter back and forth in front of the viewfinder. At the same time, I see aunts and cousins roasting marshmallows in the background over the campfire. John, the groom, grabs a mic, gathers the party for a unifying welcome, and invites everyone to dance. The rehearsal dinner ends with a loose dance party in a wide-open cove on a dirt road. Unlike rented parquet dance floors, dancers can move around, coloring outside the lines with plenty of room under the stars.