In the heart of California's Central Valley, where farmers build empires, the owner of Peels asked for a wedding worthy of what they had built. We took a refrigerated industrial space and filled it with an inverted golden forest. Thousands of gilded leaves suspended overhead, cascading toward mirror-topped tables dressed in cream and gold. The floor gleamed white. The candles rose like columns. A tiered wedding cake emerged from the canopy like something discovered, not placed. No one who walked in remembered what the room used to be.