The 2024 solar eclipse is upon us, and across the path of its totality—which will cut a four-minute, 13-state swath of near-total darkness from deep in the heart of Texas, up through the wilderness of northern Maine—communities big and small are gearing up for a massive crush of tourists hoping to glimpse (ideally, with eye protection) a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event.
Or in the case of the many eclipse weddings that are planned for that exact moment in time (and darkness), a once-in-a-lifetime event on top of another once-in-a-lifetime event. In fact, for some particularly enterprising small towns, eclipse weddings offer a slam-dunk way to draw attention to themselves and ensure that they’re part of generational memories for years to come.
Some astrologers think of a total eclipse of the sun as a particularly bad omen for a relationship (solar eclipses apparently cursed Princess Diana and Jennifer Aniston). However, those who have already walked the eclipse aisle—and those soon to be pronounced husband and/or wife—say that the opportunity to profess their undying love underneath the cosmic fireworks is a way to ensure their union is truly seared into the memories (and hopefully not the retinas) of all who bear witness.
Tiffin, Ohio is a generally unassuming, quintessentially charming Midwestern town. The county seat of northwestern Seneca County, it boasts a population of around 18,000, two universities (Heidelberg and Tiffin) and a cute downtown that’s home to mom-and-pop restaurants like the Clover Club and Reino’s, bars including the upscale bourbon emporium The Renaissance, a park with a splash pad and a collection of boutiques and galleries.
But come April 8th, Tiffin will transform into a Vegas-esque wedding capital when it hosts a mass marriage and vow-renewal ceremony. The event is set to draw couples from as far as Texas and Vermont—many of whom only heard of the tiny town just south of Toledo a few months ago.
Held as part of the Solar Eclipse of the Heart festival, the Elope at the Eclipse event is the brainchild of Destination Seneca County/Seneca Regional Chamber of Commerce Executive Director Bryce Riggs and Director of Marketing Marisa Stephens. The pair—each of whom is currently planning their own separate non-eclipse wedding—conceived of the idea to shine a unique light on Tiffin. Riggs says he was hoping 25 couples would sign up, but at press time, a whopping 150 soon-to-be-newlyweds and couples planning to renew their vows had booked slots in the ceremony.
The very first to say “I do” to the idea was Jenny Harris, a resident of nearby Fostoria. After a two-year engagement to her fiance Bart Lombardy, Harris viewed the eclipse as a quirky way to relieve herself of wedding-planning duties and get in on something special. “Neither of us wanted a traditional wedding,” says Harris. “We had talked about Vegas and Elvis and all those things.”
As an older couple with children from previous marriages, Harris says Elope at the Eclipse offers up an opportunity to be part of something bigger than them as well as remain grounded in a community they love. “It’s a set date, a set time—all we need to do is show up. Any of our friends who can come can come, and if they can’t, they can watch it on TV,” she explains. “How many people can say they got married under the totality of a solar eclipse?”
A lot, it turns out.
Tiffin’s ever-growing number of eclipse elopements mirrors the interest in a similar event with a similar title—A Total Eclipse of the Heart, obviously—on the other end of the path of totality in Russellville, Arkansas. That Elope at the Eclipse event has already seen over 216 couples sign up to take the plunge en masse at a weekend event with full-blown state fair vibes thanks to its full-day Russvegas concert, escape rooms, ax-throwing, food vendors and cornhole tournament. (It’s a far cry from the 2017 eclipse, when six couples simultaneously marrying in Belton, South Carolina was enough to net national headlines.)
Both Russellville and Tiffin are making it as easy as possible, too. Tiffin is providing a judge to preside, protective glasses, a venue, a champagne toast, individual wedding cakes and a reception. Riggs and Stephens even created a 10-page guide to the ceremony and the city. All the couples need to do is nab a marriage license and show up on time—something that could be complicated when small rural roads become overwhelmed with visitors. (Harris has a contingency plan for if the roads are too clogged to get to Tiffin on time: Her son is ordained and ready to officiate at a moment’s notice regardless of location.)
It’s all for love, of course—of Russellville and Tiffin. “What better way to get people to love Seneca County than to have a monumental moment in their lives happen here,” says Stephens. “Hopefully, they come back to celebrate their anniversary or show their children where they got married. It’s a way to tie people to Seneca County.”
Craig Olson and Chris Warr-King didn’t necessarily intend to marry under a blocked-out sun, but once they realized that their chosen wedding day—August 21, 2017—would also host an eclipse, it only made the date that much more perfect. “I selected the date before I knew about the eclipse. I liked 8, the 2, the 1: It had the infinity symbol and the two becoming one,” explains Warr-King, adding that the eclipse itself ended up being deeply symbolic of their partnership. “Craig is a big Norwegian guy, and I’m a little brown-haired furry monkey. I’m kind of the moon that brings balance to his (sun).”
The couple—who had recently relocated from Portland, Oregon to a rural five-acre farm outside of tiny St. Helens, Oregon, a river town of about 14,000 people—was initially concerned that their chosen date would present too many hurdles.Luckily, they were slightly outside the path of totality—St. Helens hit about 97% coverage—which reduced traffic and left the town’s limited hotel space open. Surrounded by 300-plus guests at the odd hour of 10:16 am, the pair walked down the aisle at the home they had made together, professed their love and then dove into the darkness as a married couple. (They set another kind of history that day, too: The pair was the first same-sex couple to register for marriage in Columbia County, Oregon.)
“During the actual eclipse, it was very quiet,” says Olson, seven happy years later. “The ceremony lasted all of 10 minutes. And it looked like a 1950s X-ray kind of thing where everyone is looking out at the atomic bomb (with glasses on).”
That sci-fi quality definitely adds an indelible twist, but as Harris says, “The astrology part of it is just a bonus. For my children and nieces and nephews and Bart’s grandchildren, it will be a unique experience for us to have together. And if all these other people are going to be there, it just means we all can celebrate together.”
