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May 30th, 2002

On a warm, sunny day earlier this month, I unpacked the tent and sorted through last year's hiking gear. I was preparing to go camping, but not in the mountains like last year. In fact, this would be a very different kind of camping.

I was going to an event called May Crown, near Vancouver. Everyone would be wearing period garb, and be attempting to recreate the middle ages/renaissance. The purpose for this gathering was to determine, by the sword, a new heir to the throne of An Tir. For more details on the SCA, visit www.sca.org and www.antir.sca.org

As I walked through the living room, I noted sheepishly that my projects has overtaken the house. My sewing sprawled over, under and all around the sewing machine, taking up half the room. Across from that, at the foot of the couch and piled against the wall by the door were suitcases, blankets, rugs, baskets, clothes, shoes, pettycoats, assorted containers, a tarp and somewhere under it all, a blue and white cooler. There was a very narrow path that cut roughly down the center of the room between the sewing and the gear for my trip.

Beyond that, on the dining table, fresh baked bread and rolls were cooling on wire racks. Unfortunately, this morning's baking had been a dismal failure. The sourdough had been contaminated by the organic cottage cheese we had been keeping in the refrigerator with it. The result was heavy, extremely sour, flat-topped "brick" loafs. The chocolate chip cookies and peanut butter cookies stacked in metal tins nearby had been a success, however, and almost made up for the inedible bread.

The white board had been pushed into a corner, but glaring down at me in orange, red and black marker were the plans Dad and I had been making for an online shopping cart. It was a subtle reminder that more work was waiting for me on the computer.

Feeling a little pressured, I slipped outside and closed the door on it all. It was lovely in the shade of the old oak tree beside the porch, and red breasted robins were hopping up and down the lawn, pausing every now and then to listen to the ground before stabbing the earth and, more often then not, withdrawing a worm.

Rain was in the forecast, so I had decided to use that as an excuse to stay out-of-doors. I settled down on the step and watched the birds.

May Crown

May Crown weekend came swiftly, and the following weekend after that, an event called Egils Skallagrimson Memorial Tournament. Both were very interesting experiences, but too much to record in great detail here.

At May Crown I camped with an enjoyable group of new friends, and spent the daytime hours watching the tournaments on the eric, and browsing merchant row. I attended several classes, one of which was about renaissance theatre. We were each given a handful of papers that included lines for several plays, and had found ourselves doing some impromptu skits.

When evening came, Dara, my friend and mentor, lit candles all around our camp. It was peaceful to sit around in the candlelight and talk. When drums began to roll across the way, a small group of us would go out by lamplight and meander from camp to camp, visiting with the other campers and meeting a variety of different people.

Sunday morning it rained and we were all in a hurry to pack up and get home. I was tired and had accidentally slashed my thumb on a broken glass candle holder, which had me in a bad temper.

The moment I walked through the door upon arriving home, I was swarmed with more work that needed to be done. Without even taking a rest, I found myself on the computer again. Within a few hours I had managed to design and print new wine labels for the grape wine Dad had just bottled, and moved on to the designing of a new layout for another project we were working on. However, the stress was too much and I found myself fuming and fussing over little nothings. The graphics were poor quality, the dimensions were wrong, the colors clashed. Finally I burst into angry tears and slamming the keyboard panel back under the desk, stumbled off to the living room couch for a nap.

When I next awoke, the day was gone and night had darkened the windows. Mom was just putting dinner on the table and greeted me with an amused smile. Groggily, I stumbled around trying to appear coherent until I could escape to my room.

Trouble with Egils

In the days that followed, my family resumed stumbling over my luggage. I hadn't bothered unpacking since it would all be used again at Egils next weekend.

The first day of Egils dawned beautiful, despite repeated threats of rain. I was too stressed to enjoy it, however. My ride to Egils, Dara, would be unable to go. Even though she had sent in her registration on time, they had lost her name, along with many others, and she would be barred from attending. I was outraged when I heard what had happened to Dara, but unable to do anything about it. In the meantime, I had been accepted, and would have to find other transportation down to Eugene, where the event was to occur.

Several kind souls had offered, but nothing solid worked out until the night before the event when Francesca telephoned and explained that she had plenty of room for me and my gear, and would be able to take me down. It was a great relief to have a ride. But there was still a sinking feeling as I thought about Dara staying home that weekend, and I knew Egils wouldn't be the same without her lively company.

We reached the park in the early afternoon, and as soon as I found the rest of my friends, began pitching the tent. A few scattered clouds fluttered across the sky, a subtle reminder that the forecast for the weekend was rain.

It didn't take long to set up my little camp. The little green and white tent was easy to put up, and I already knew how to decorate it from my experience at May Crown. For a bed, I used a $2 air raft from Shopco instead of an expensive air mattress, and used a thick blanket for a fuzzy carpet on the floor. A small plastic card table hidden by a white linen doubled as a bed stand, and was also convenient for hiding extra luggage under and out of sight.

When it was all set up, it was really quite homey. The only drawback was the height. Being a tent intended for backpacking, weight takes precedence over size. The result is a very roomy, four-man tent, but very short. You have to bend in half to enter the door, and stay that way inside. This is not convenient for dressing in complicated renaissance gowns, but it can't be helped.

Sunburns

The good weather held, and soon the air went from warm and balmy to downright hot and muggy. I was thankful for the new dress I had finished the day before. It allowed me to wear a light, airy blouse instead of the heavy, confining sleeves I had been sewing into the gowns.

Before emerging from the shade of the Terra Pomaria encampment, I was careful to apply sunscreen, since my flat cap provided little or no protection, and I would probably go hatless after a bit. Not that it mattered much. It would take some intense sun exposure to burn me. It seems I don't have fair skin - I spent tons of hours laying out in the sun earlier this year, trying to get a tan.

Nevertheless, as the day progressed, many people noticed my flushed cheeks and warned me to buy a hat. A lady selling straw hats kept dropping not-so-subtle hints about the pain of sunburn. However, though the bright weather continued all weekend, and I persisted in going bareheaded, my skin remained unburned and only bronzed a shade darker.

There were many merchant stalls again, but little of the merchandise caught my eye. Perhaps my lack of interest was influenced by the fact that I had done some calculating earlier that week, and was feeling intensely stingy about spending any more money.

That evening I retired to camp early and our cozy little group gathered around Jean-Jacques' brazier where we all talked and socialized into the night. I retired early (for me). But the night was short. Light was creeping through the wall of my tent when I next awoke. A roar of frogs croaking in the nearby stream, mingled with hundreds of birds bidding the morning with song had awakened me. I remember marveling at how loud it was. I didn't think birds could sing that loud. A glance at my watch told me it was 4:30 a.m., way, way too early to get up!

Breakfast - and a bit of commentary on food

Sleep alluded me for the next several hours, and finally, around 7:30, I flung myself out of bed and decided to face the day. Already the air was balmy and growing warm. A few early risers were stirring beyond our encampment, and the aroma of coffee was wafting lightly on the breeze.

To my surprise, Juliana was already up and seated at one of the tables. She glanced up from the book she was reading and we exchanged good-mornings. She offered me tea from the pot she had heated on the camp stove. I thanked her, but decided to pass. I've never been one to drink hot beverages in the early morning. Actually, do I ever drink hot beverages? Oh, yeah, I guess I do. I love a steaming cup of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream... especially late at night.

Anyway, I directed my attention to digging a box of cereal and rice milk from the cooler. Nothing like a sweet, high fiber, cold cereal first thing in the morning! And I had the perfect thing. A box of Swiss Muesli, Safeway brand. Lots of raisins, date pieces, rolled oats, cornflakes, bran flakes and bits of almond.

I offered some to Juliana, but she declined in favor of her own special favorite, Shredded Wheat and real milk. Ok, it's not period to eat cold cereal, I know. In fact, cold cereal wasn't even a thought until the very end of the 19th century. But eating it out of a "silver" bowl in the middle of a park, after a long night of being serenaded by frogs and birds, and wearing a long, flowing gown, certainly makes for a memorable experience.

Soon the rest of the camp was rustling as the other campers stumbled about in their tents, each struggling to don various pieces of garb for the day, which is in many cases, more awkward and certainly more confusing than Levi's and a T-shirt.

 After breakfast, I took off across the camp toward merchant row and the eric. Not much was open, but I wanted to make a day of it.

Spot the Regalia

Late morning came with another heat wave. Many of the people ambling about where already glowing with sunburns from yesterday, and the hat lady had grown in popularity. Again I considered a hat, but decided against it. I knew that even if I purchased one, it would most likely stay back in the tent all weekend.

Growing bored, I went in search of the Newcomer's Game that had been announced earlier at court. I arrived at the location where it was supposed to meet 15 minutes early, and of course, no one was there yet. The clothing-rental tent was nearby, though, so I decided to look in. To my surprise, a loud mewing could be heard, emanating from the tent. A young woman was holding a tiny, and I mean tiny, kitten. Apparently, the mother had abandoned the poor little thing, and the owner had taken it upon herself to bottle feed it. The kitten was barely two weeks old, and had just opened it's deep-set, blue-gray eyes. After admiring the kitten, I looked over the clothes that were available to rent, and all too soon, the 15 minutes were up.

The group of newcomers formed in the shade of a nearby tree. The game was quite simple, but slightly intimidating. It was called "Spot the Regalia" and consisted of "spotting" various crowns, awards, metals and symbols on important people. Once you identified an important personage according to their regalia, you were to approach them and greet them with their appropriate title.

For example, a duke or duchess is a person who has been King or Queen in the SCA more than twice. They are to be addressed as "your grace," and the identifying regalia is a crown decorated with strawberry leaves.

After interviewing an assortment of important people, you were to give a presentation on what you learned. It was also a good idea to get the autograph of the people you talked to.

The little group of newcomers were dismissed, and I wandered off on the quest, feeling highly intimidated. The competitors were too good, I thought, as I saw them scattering into the crowd. They seemed to know where they were going. I didn't have a chance. But, I resolved at last, I would do it strictly for the fun. After all, that was the point of the game.

A young man named Alfonse fell in step with me. He was also part of the newcomer game, and I was relieved to have a companion. Suddenly he pointed out an older gentleman with a heavy chain around his neck standing near the eric. "Try talking to him," Alfonse suggested. "See the chain? He's a knight."

"You saw him first," I argued. "Go ahead." But Alfonse refused. He admitted that he wasn't going to really play. He felt he knew too much already, and didn't qualify for a newcomer game, but would be happy to help me.

So with my new friend at my side, I approached the knight, Sir Morgan the Truehearted. The interview went well, and I found the knight to be a delightful person, both chivalrous and warm hearted.

In the hours that followed, I filled my page with an assortment of autographs and my heart with interesting stories. Each person I talked to seemed eager to share, and enjoyed explaining who they were.

When I arrived back at the designated time, under the shady tree by the Gold Key garb rental, I was feeling more confident, though still shying away from the idea of giving a presentation. What would I say?

The Gray Cloak

A little group of judges gathered around Sofia, the young woman organizing the game. She was seated in a camp chair, hiding behind a pair of sunglasses. She tossed us welcoming smile, so Alfonse and I joined them on the grass.

When the time came, the judges gathered around and I told my story, relating all the wonderful tales I had just heard. It was amusing, for some had never heard the stories, and everyone learned something.

In the end, I won first prize. The prize was a fabulous, full-length gray cloak. It was made of a wool blend and fully lined with cotton. I was astonished at the quality and value of the prize. It was more than I had expected! And Alfonse was awarded second prize, having proven so helpful and served so unselfishly. A lovely blue goblet was his reward.

I think I must have fairly glowed as I flew back to camp. I couldn't contain my excitement, and felt like a child showing off a toy when I explained what had happened. My friends at camp shared my excitement, and were equally surprised at the high quality of the prize.

That evening Prince Duran conducted a "roving court." He and a band of "hats" went from camp to camp, giving out awards and making a general ruckus. Apparently (and don't quote me on this... I learned it second hand) Prince Duran is rumored to be going "mad," so he will be replaced by someone else. Anyway, he amused everyone by parading through the camp being completely unserious.

Jean-Jacques and I wanted to join the merriment, but by the time we organized ourselves enough to leave camp, they had already passed.

But there were other things to do. I threw on my cloak, and Jean-Jacques changed his garments again in favor of something warmer (he had been teased all day about being a clothes horse, for changing so often. He took it quite amiably, being French and "very proper" in his vanity) and together with Rafe, we went to see the sights.

A play was going on at one of the camps, but we couldn't hear it very well, besides, it seemed a bit dull, and there were dancers, belly dancing and fire dancing, and singers and little singing circles gathering around campfires, and drummers playing heartily on goatskin drums, and games of all sorts, and "free beer" was advertised in some camps. None of us indulged in drink, so we avoided the camps dedicated mostly to alcohol.

We walked until our feet ached, and returned to camp for a rest. The darker hours of the night came swiftly, and soon the day was over.

Merriment and Sore Feet

Sunday was full of more things to do. Besides browsing the booths, which I found myself doing a lot, there was an assortment of food to try, including stews and soups, pastas and breads, homemade pies, funnel cake, lemonade and a whole cappuccino shop dedicated to the ultra-modern world of coffee. The newcomer game was on again, and I volunteered as a guide (Alfonse's role had inspired a new facet of the game).

There were books to look at, and jewelry to gaze at. Lots of the vendors had brought clothes, some of cotton, some of wool, and some of leather. There were knives and swords sparkling from some tables, and bits of armor glistened from pegs on the walls of tents.

I spent a few moments sitting at the picnic tables in the food court, observing the many interesting and varied outfits the people were wearing.

Juliana and I stopped to watch a helm auction, which, admittedly, was a bit amusing. Viscount William Geoffrey the Rogue auctioned off the helms of the fighters who had battled on the field earlier, with the help of the court Jester.

Court was held later in the afternoon, out in a field away from the shade. Many awards were given out, and many more sunburns occurred, I'm sure.

Night came again, and I was ready for it. We went wandering until our feet were tired, and had to return to camp.

As the group collected around the fire, I asked around to see who had the most achy feet. Edrea de laMoure won, hands down, and I volunteered to give her a foot rub. It was a delightfully peaceful moment, everyone sitting around talking in low tones, music wafting on the breeze from neighboring camps, the fire crackling and spitting sparks, a dish of M&Ms passing from hand to hand. I sat at Edrea's feet, on one of my rich, tapestry-like burgundy rugs, massaging the aches out of her tender feet. It was one of those rare moments where no unhappy thought could survive, and the rushing, stressful, strangling world seemed a million miles away.

Soon I was ready to go see the sites again, but Rafe had been volunteered for constabulary duty that night, and Jean-Jacques was too tired, so I linked up with a new roaming partner. A robust, well dressed lady with a multitude of flowery, decorated hats shared a corner of our camp and had befriended me. She was delightfully enthusiastic, and very good at staying in persona. After giving her a foot massage, we struck out into the night.

Shortly, we fell in step with the Baron of Terra Pomaria and some of his friends. Our first stop was "the ship," an area marked off with white plastic in the shape of a ship. We listened to a story being told by a very animated gentleman called Captain Silverthorn, and though I had missed the beginning of the story, it was rather entertaining. Something about a man who had a chair, and a cloak, and a black smith's hammer that only he could use. The devil came for his soul, and was tricked into sitting into the chair, and was unable to get up from it. The blacksmith called his wife and they harassed the devil until morning. When the devil came back for him in seven years, he wouldn't sit in the chair, but he touched the man's cloak, and couldn't let go of it so that he became hopelessly entangled in it. The story continued with the devil never seeming to get ahead, and the black smith having an incredible streak of good luck.

From there we wandered off toward where the eric had been, and wandered down paths lit with eerie orange torchlight. The hours rolled by, and the last stop was the Viking camp. There we listened to a campfire sing that was happening. It was after two a.m., and no surprise that I was tired. The music seemed to be lulling me to sleep, and both of us were peaceful and drowsy when we dragged ourselves back to camp.

Monday morning, the magic seemed to end. Few bothered to don garb, and the main concern was getting the tents packed up, and getting everything ready to go home. The long predicted rain seemed close at hand, as ominous clouds rolled into the skies and the air became heavy and muggy.

By noon, we were packed and ready to leave. My luggage was packed onto the trailer and with a flurry of "goodbyes" and "see you laters" we headed North again.

...And you know what? I said I wasn't going to "record in detail" all this. But it seems I forgot.

Godspeed, until next month!

-Brooke

Many of the pictures on this page were taken from Rafe Neuton's web site