Kendell and Brock were married on an August Friday at Ashery Lane Farm in Mayer, Minnesota, in the kind of open country where the weather decides the light and the property gives you the rest — a white farmhouse, red barn doors flanked by hydrangeas, a wildflower meadow behind an arched wooden bridge, an orchard that opens into a clearing, and a timber-framed reception barn with a stone fireplace running three stories tall. They picked it because it holds a whole wedding inside a walkable footprint, and because the palette of the farm — blush, cream, sage, red barn, warm grass — was the palette of the day before anyone thought about florals.
MorningGetting Ready at Ashery Lane Farm
The morning started in the entry hall with the dress hung centered between rows of sage bridesmaid dresses, the whole row backlit by a tall window and framed by a vaulted wood-paneled ceiling. It's the kind of frame Ashery Lane Farm does without trying — a room that was built to hold people and photographs, with enough architectural quiet to let the clothing speak.
Kendell's morning moved between rooms. The brick-walled parlor beside a tall window caught her mid-laugh in her strapless gown and long veil — a real laugh, the kind that shows up when no one's asking for one. On the porch, soft wrapping light found her smiling down at something in front of her while a bridesmaid hovered a few steps back. Part of my job on a farm wedding is helping a couple who isn't used to being photographed feel settled — a few quiet directions, a few steps to stand in, and the rest of the day opens up on its own. By the time she stepped outside with her bouquet, she looked like she'd been ready for hours.
First LookPrivate Vows on the Garden Bridge
Before the ceremony, Kendell and Brock read private vows to each other on the arched wooden bridge that crosses a wildflower meadow on the far side of the farm — yellow and white blooms on both sides, arborvitae rising behind them. She walked across to meet him while he stood facing away, and when he turned around they took the next several minutes slowly. The frames from that bridge — just the two of them, paper in hand, the meadow doing the work of a cathedral — are some of the quietest of the day.
Some farms give you one good setting. Ashery Lane Farm gave us six, and Kendell and Brock used every one of them without hurrying through a single minute.
AfternoonPortraits Before the Ceremony
Seeing each other on the bridge first opened up the time before the ceremony for portraits. The bridal party came out onto the lawn in front of the white chapel, arm-in-arm and laughing, everyone in sage and dark suits against green grass. We took the full wedding party in front of the red barn doors — Kendell centered, seven bridesmaids holding their bouquets, the doors acting as a color block behind them. There's a frame of Kendell and her mother cheek-to-cheek in front of one of those red doors that doesn't need a caption. The family group — twelve people framed by hydrangeas at the farmhouse entrance — went the way big family photos should: fast, warm, over before anyone could ask if they were blinking.
Brock's side carried its own rhythm. Near a wall of white hydrangeas his groomsmen set him off into a full doubled-over laugh, eyes squeezed shut, whatever had been said already lost to everyone but them. That's the kind of groom photograph you can't stage — you catch it by being close enough when it happens.
Between beats, we used a few of Ashery Lane Farm's quieter interiors. A wood-paneled lounge with mounted rake handles on the wall gave us a forehead-to-forehead frame on a bench. A barn interior with a long concrete floor let Kendell's dress cascade while she leaned into Brock and laughed softly. A round mirror on an antler-decorated wall caught their reflection mid-sit. Farm properties hand you these rooms the way resort properties hand you docks.
Then the bridesmaids crossed the gravel drive toward the red barn doors, between walls of blooming hydrangeas, and it was time.
CeremonyThe Pergola Ceremony
The ceremony happened under a wooden pergola dressed in blush and ivory florals, the stone patio underfoot, a timber-frame pavilion rising overhead, white chair rows running out into open grass. Kendell walked down the aisle flanked by both parents, holding a white bouquet, while guests watched from both sides in front of the white farmhouse. Under the arch she looked up at Brock and held his hands a beat longer than most couples do before the officiant starts. The first kiss landed beneath the florals with the veil sweeping across the stone. The recessional came back up the aisle with both of their arms raised, a cheer meeting them halfway.
Then everyone moved into the reception barn — long bar, chandeliers, tall windows, tables dressed and waiting. One elevated frame of guests mingling across that wood-paneled space tells you what kind of day it was: a big room, a crowd that clearly likes each other, and a palette that matches the building.
Golden HourAn Orchard Clearing at Sunset
We pulled ten minutes out of dinner for an orchard walk. Ashery Lane Farm has a clearing past the reception barn where the grass runs open and the tree line drops just low enough to let the last light through. The sun set between them — a real burst, the kind you don't fake — and the veil trailed to the grass. Brock dipped her on the orchard lawn while a stormy evening sky pressed down above them and the veil swept across the frame. If you're planning a farm wedding, this is the argument for protecting a ten-minute sunset window on the timeline. You cannot manufacture that light. You can only be standing in it when it arrives.
EveningAs Night Fell in the Barn
First dance happened beneath two tiered wrought-iron chandeliers, the three-story stone fireplace rising behind them, guests watching from both sides of the timber-framed reception barn. Kendell's father pulled her in for a dance a song later, and she pressed her face into his shoulder and held the tears back as long as she could. Speeches ran from the microphone near the memory table — a bridesmaid in sage laughing into the mic, a groomsman in a dark suit gesturing mid-sentence. By the time the room opened up for dancing, there was a flower girl and a young boy on a couch in the lounge, tablets glowing, beneath a large painting of sheep and an oversized wall clock. Two weddings happening in parallel, both earning their own photographs.
This wasn't my first wedding with this family. Three summers earlier I photographed Brock's sister, Madelyn, marrying Mason in the train shed at Northern Pacific Center in Brainerd — brick, steel trusses, and powerhouse smokestacks, about as far from a farm as a Minnesota wedding gets. In October 2026 I got the whole family together, Bennie included, for an extended family session at Milford Mine Memorial Park.
Planning a Minnesota Farm Wedding?
If you're considering a Minnesota farm wedding, the short version is this: a good farm property gives you a whole day inside a walkable footprint — getting-ready rooms, a ceremony lawn or pavilion, portrait settings across barn doors and garden bridges, and a reception space already built for a room full of people. Ashery Lane Farm did that for Kendell and Brock. The transitions were short. The light shifted naturally across the day. The palette of the property — red barn, white farmhouse, sage, cream, warm grass, orchard — stayed consistent from morning to last dance, which is part of what makes farm weddings photograph so well.
I've photographed across Minnesota — farms, private cabins, lake properties. If you're drawn to the unhurried, land-driven feel of a farm day, you may also be drawn to a private cabin or lake wedding for similar reasons: one property, one footprint, one set of people, a day that moves at its own pace.
If your date is still open, reach out. I book a limited number of weddings each year, and late-summer farm dates fill early.
Frequently Asked Questions
Venue rental at Ashery Lane Farm is set by the venue and varies with season, day of the week, and your guest count, so the venue team is the right place to get a current quote. What I can speak to from Kendell and Brock's day is the value of how the property is laid out: it holds an entire wedding inside one walkable footprint — getting-ready rooms, a garden-bridge spot for private vows, a pergola ceremony, an orchard clearing for portraits, and a timber-frame reception barn — which keeps the timeline efficient and means you aren't paying to shuttle between locations. For photography, my own pricing lives in the pricing guide; collections start in the low thousands and climb from there depending on coverage, and I send the full guide when you reach out.
An open farm property gives you light from every direction, which is both the opportunity and the challenge. Mid-afternoon overcast flatters skin without anyone squinting, and the last 45 minutes before sunset rakes a warm, low glow across the orchard rows and open grass. My specific takeaway from Kendell and Brock's day: protect a short sunset pull from dinner — even ten minutes — for the orchard clearing past the reception barn. That window gave us the sunset portraits, with the sun bursting between them and the veil trailing to the grass. The garden bridge over the wildflower meadow and the red barn doors hold up at almost any hour, but the orchard clearing is the one to plan around the light.
It was a strong fit for Kendell and Brock's early-August day. The hydrangeas were blooming at the red barn doors, the wildflower meadow at the garden bridge was full, and the orchard clearing opened up for warm evening portraits. The palette of the property in late summer — red barn, white farmhouse, sage and cream florals, orchard green, warm grass — was essentially the palette of the day before anyone planned a thing. And because the timber-frame reception barn with its three-story stone fireplace is right there, you have a built-in indoor option if a summer storm rolls through; a stormy evening sky actually pressed in during their sunset portraits and only made the frames better.
One property, several distinct settings, short walks between them. We started getting-ready and bride portraits in the vaulted, wood-paneled entry hall and a brick-walled parlor beside a tall window. The red barn doors, flanked by hydrangeas, became the backdrop for the wedding party and family groups — the doors act like a color block behind everyone. The arched wooden garden bridge over the wildflower meadow held the private vows. The ceremony happened under the pergola and timber-frame pavilion on a stone patio, and the orchard clearing past the reception barn gave us the sunset portraits. First dance was inside the timber-frame barn beneath wrought-iron chandeliers with the stone fireplace rising behind them. A few quieter interiors — a lounge with mounted rake handles, a round mirror on an antler wall — filled the gaps between beats.
Mostly documentary, with an editorial edge — roughly 60% documentary and 40% editorial. The documentary half means I stay close and let the day unfold: Brock doubled over laughing with his groomsmen near a wall of hydrangeas, Kendell pressing her face into her father's shoulder mid-dance to hold the tears back — moments you catch by being in the right spot, not by staging them. The editorial half is where I'll step in for a small number of intentional portraits, like the orchard-clearing dip at sunset. Part of my job, especially with a couple who isn't used to being photographed, is a few quiet directions early on so the rest of the day opens up on its own. I read every inquiry myself and reply within 24 hours, and I book a limited number of weddings a year, usually eight to sixteen months out.
