I was extremely fortunate to be able to squease the fiftieth Pennsic War into my summer schedule. This is the biggest annual convention of the biggest medieval recreation group in the US. Long story short: the midwest fights the upper east coast over ownership of Western Pennsylvania. Or as we in Cleveland say, “Loser gets Pittsburgh!”
My Pennsic started on the middle Sunday (it’s a two-week event) as a day-trip with my twin sister Grace, known in the SCA as Mistress Milesent. Milesent was going to the Baronial Champions Archery Competition scheduled that day, as the current archery champion of Cleveland and environs (the Barony of the Cleftlands). I picked her up bright and early so we could get to site before noon. (It’s about a two hour drive, near Newcastle and Slippery Rock.)
Milesent had been feeling burned out on Pennsic, and I think the opportunity to turn this into a girl trip helped. We had great, deep, meaningful sister-talk on the road as we ate hand pies and drank excellent coffee brewed by my brother-in-law.
The drive went by pleasantly and we got a decent parking spot without even looking hard and the troll tent (convention registration) was empty so we had no wait to get our site tokens! These were lovely – a sturdy round bottle opener with a relief of pomegranates. Wearing these would identify us as having paid the site fee – same as a name badge at a convention.
We had time to stop by our respective camps (groups of people camp together to share the land allotments to make room for communal fire pits, kitchen tents, showers, etc. This is “home” for the event.) We socialized on our way to the archery field, but only briefly – the archery field is a long walk away from the rest of Pennsic, far out on a far corner. It used to be rather close to my camp, on the top of the big hill north of the battlefield, but now that is camping area due to the ever-expanding scope of the event.
OMG was that a hike! And did I mention it was HOT? And Muggy? Even my lizard self was dripping in sweat and uncomfortable. But Milesent and I continued our good conversation and met up with a young archer also going to the shoot and had a good time talking with her, too.
At first I thought the archery field was closed to all but champions, so I sat in the shade and knit and updated my journal, which was very pleasant. When another archer from my barony stopped by and went off to shoot, I realized my error! I had already gotten my bow inspected so I walked past the Baronial Champions and started shooting my Pennsic Populace War Points! First was the castle window – this is a target, I believe at 20 yards, that resembles a narrow rectangular window. It had a cobra head peaking out the bottom. You got one point for shooting within the window, and two for hitting the “monster.” I got two arrows in the window and one that got the monster right between the eyes and spent the rest of war bragging, “I killed a snake!”
When Milesent finished her shooting for the champions, she joined me to do the rest of the targets. There was “The advancing warrior” – person-shaped targets at various distances. They were mostly drawn to look like menacing figures: orcs, vikings, evil looking armor. I got a zombie right in the, um… well, there won’t be any baby zombies. (Another lady shooting the same target got the same general area and we fist-bumped.)
Then we did the castle window again, because you CAN, and I got two arrows in the window but alas did not kill another snake. Then we did the Clout, which is a 100-yard shoot, but they had a 50-yard “moat monster” for fewer points and I went for that. (My 35 pound recurve isn’t awesome at distance.) I did not kill the cardboard moat monster, but I got 5 points for landing my arrows in the “moat”. Milesent got lots of points because she got all her arrows in the 100-yard target – which was a little square castle.
We returned to my camp – The Camp of the Three Bears – for it was Cocktail Hour! (Another advantage of camping with a group!) And had delicious cold Pimms Cup to relieve the oppressive heat while we bragged of our great point totals achieved for the glory of the Midrealm. Milesent offered to drive home so I imbibed mightily, but perhaps I sweated most of it out, for I did not get tipsy. (I know tipsy people say this all the time, but really. I was TRYING and nothin’.)
Then we went to the Pennsic Food Court for dinner. YES, there’s a food court! Imagine it, the smell of fair food all around you, fried meat and french fries and salt and spice, all done up in tents and medievalishness. We got wings and fries and ran into more friends to chat with as we ate, then it was back to Three Bears to pick up the bows, which we had left while we ate, and off for a round of visiting various camps, until it was getting late and we headed home. A glorious day-trip.
Milesent would go back again the next day, but I was staying home Monday and Tuesday because I wanted to be sure to vote in the Tuesday Special Election in Ohio. (Milesent had wisely done early voting, but I am superstitious about not seeing my ballot go into the little machine.)
Tuesday night, I laid out my armor on the living room floor one last time to make sure it was all good and … it wasn’t. My brother-in-law came down the stairs in confusion as sharp metal pings sounded through the house. I was hammering a rivet. Yeah, on the living room floor. Look, I have a tiny jeweler’s anvil and no respect.
Once I’d repaired all that was needful, I winnowed my kit down to the minimum- no pauldrons, I could make do with my padded coat shoulders. Oh! I was going to take the coat of plates instead of the cuirass and I’d never tried it on over the new arming coat. So I did that. Quickly cut some string to use as tie-points for my arm harness, and then lovingly packed everything up. I picked out four outfits for the four days I’d be there, and went to bed sure I’d packed everything I would need.
Ha ha. Lols. That there is what we in the biz call “Foreshadowing.”
My goal for Wednesday morning was to get to site, throw my stuff in the tent I was sharing with my friend Sunny (sca-aka Constanza) and arm up to get armor inspection out of the way. I got an even better parking spot than before! I texted Milesent that I was on site and she immediately texted back, “We’re shopping! Heading toward Three Bears, you want to head toward the merchants and meet us on Battle Road?”
Well, heck. I’d driven down in sweatpants and an under-armor shirt – clothes to wear under armor (HA! I wonder if under-armor knows?) and I was not presentable for walking around Pennsic, where a “reasonable attempt at pre-16th century dress” is expected. So I quickly put my leg harness on over my sweats and threw on my arming coat, lacing it up as I walked.
Ah, nothing like wearing a padded wool coat and metal on a hot August day! Shh, I was loving it.
Milesent was at the last of the merchant tents, picking out hand-sewn catnip toys shaped like vegetables, when we met, and I explained why I was in armor clothes, and she suggested that I go ahead and get my inspection done, and she would hang out and socialize at Three Bears. She also helped tie off the lacing at my neck. Love!
I deposited Milsent in the common tent at Three Bears and armored up, wearing most of my gear but carrying my helmet, sword, and shield.
Remember how I repaired my armor JUST THE NIGHT BEFORE? Well, the wear and tear of being packed and unpacked is sometimes enough to damage armor. My right arm harness had a critical rivet torn out through the leather. “I’ll just duct tape it,” I said, “to get through inspection.”
I said this right in front of one of my camp mates who is a Marshall (Safety officer.) OOp. 😀 Another camp-mate, Robert, an armorer and leather crafting genius, promised to fix me up after my inspection.
I had been afraid that I wasn’t in good enough shape to fight, and my walk to the field didn’t help that anxiety. The weight of my sword and shield dragged on my left arm, and my helmet on my right. I stopped a few times to switch hands, hoping it would help. It didn’t. Heavy step after heavy step, I ran the same words over in my mind, “If I can’t walk to the field, will I be able to fight?”
I found the Cleftlands (Cleveland’s SCA group) Baronial Battlefield Tent and paused there to rest in the shade and drank some water in a clay cup I’d brought with me from camp. Then I put on my helmet and went looking for Inspection Point.
I held my right arm close to my body, to keep the duct-tape holding my elbow on out of sight. I needn’t have worried, though, the inspection was very perfunctory – the only thing they worried about was the thickness of my rattan sword, which I had shaved down to minimum diameter to keep the weight low. I ended up having to put an extra layer of duct-tape on it.
The main safety precaution we take – other than using swords made of rattan and real armor – is that there are no openings on the face or over the hands larger than a particular diameter, and all weapons are not under a particular (thicker) diameter. Marshalls carry little metal gauges usually to test, but I’ve seen one use his knuckle in a hurry.
A glance at my driver’s license and authorization card, a dash of spray paint on my weapon, a sticker on my helmet, and I was authorized to fight in Pennsic 50! Huzzah! This is a goal I had started working toward months ago. (I’m writing another blog post about that.)
I ran right out to the pick-up field and fought a few passes with a stranger who kept whacking me clean in the head the second I got close enough to swing … and omg I was sucking wind. Five quick deaths that didn’t even entertain that dude, and I went back to the Baronial tent to rest. I toyed with the idea of finding someone less bloodthirsty to practice against. A knight, not a squire. Or just swallow my pride and admit to my next opponent that I was coming back from a long hiatus and could we take it easy? But I hated fighting people who took it easy. It felt insulting, and I couldn’t stop myself from dropping my own fighting down further to match.
Maybe I can’t do this, I thought. But I kept a brave face for a few fighter friends who saw me and stopped to say hello. Then I remembered I’d left my dear sister waiting for me! HA! Excuse to bail.
The walk back to camp was only a little less grueling than the walk to the field. I’d gone the long way around on my way out, not knowing exactly where I was going. Reaching camp, I dropped my armor quickly, getting some assistance tugging my arming coat off as it adhered to my arms with sweat, and put on my sari, because it was wicked hot out and a bare midriff sounded awesome. It was a modern sari, but as you know, Bob, the sari dates back to the fourteenth century!
And as I stood in my tent pleating my sari against my palm, I realized: I had forgotten to pack any of my shoes. I had planned to wear sandals with the sari, and to have my medieval turn-shoes for wearing with other outfits. DOH. All I had were my tennis shoes, so I guess I was going to be a tennie-wearing woman all war.
Should I put on a squire’s belt with the sari? It would help hold my little cloth pouch for my wallet… NOPE. I also found I’d forgotten all my belts! The only belt I had was the one with my armor. Oh well. Saris don’t need belts. I had remembered to pack the gold earrings and necklace from India that went with it. I tried to drape the top of the sari over my head like I’d seen in medieval miniatures and pinned it to my hair with two straight veil pins.
Milesent and Constanza were eager to join me shopping. We were off!
I’ve been broke for a while now, so my goal for Pennsic shopping was to buy only one thing – a tiny vial of myrrh oil to replace the one I bought many Pennsics ago. Milesent’s main goal was Coffee Slushies. We meandered our way through, passing the perfume merchant nearest Three Bears since we assumed there’d be more. Not a lot of perfume merchants this year? We went into a big spice merchant’s and … that was a mistake. It smelled so good I couldn’t leave without getting a bottle of curry spices. And oh, they had mango tea! I love mango tea. So I got the smallest bag of mango tea they had. See, virtuous!
PENNSIC THE SHOP-ENING:
$10 Myrrh perfume (alas not essential oil but eh)
$7 jar of French Curry Mix (Absolutely essential!!)
$5 sachet of mango tea
$5 bottle of mango extract! (OMG OK OK it was by the register!)
$NDA present for Milesent purchased later
Two coffee slushies purchased by Milesent
= less than 50 dollars on frivolous spending, ergo I am a good Reasie.
We sat under a tree to escape the heat and enjoy our slushies – Constanza is lactose intolerant so she got a berry slushy. We met old friends wandering the market and had a charming, relaxing time. MANY people complimented my bright, colorful sari. No one told me I was being too modern or questioned my folding technique. Woot.
We got back to Three Bears and guess what? It was Cocktail Hour! 😀 Roughly four-ish pm? Ah, Pennsic Day Drinking. I opted for the Gin and Tonic this time and since no one was going anywhere, Milesent and I could both drink.
As we sipped and socialized, I was checking social media, arranging meet-ups with far-flung friends who I knew were also at the war, and one of them was available right then! “Hey, Milesent,” I called, “Want to check out the arts and sciences display? Master Lorenzo is there!”
And my sister listed dangerously to the side as she turned to me and joyfully shouted, “Shuuure! I’m a laurel! We do arts!”
My sister was three sheets to the wind. This was awesome.
Master Lorenzo has been my online friend since the Livejournal days. Like… early 2000’s? Anyone remember Livejournal? He lives in the SCA Kingdom of Meridies which is Alabama, all of Georgia west of Augusta, eastern Tennessee, southern Kentucky, and the Florida panhandle. So … somewhere in there. I should really learn where. We’re such good friends! Anyway, this would be my first time meeting him in person and I was stoked!
The arts and sciences display was rather like a big science fair for grown ups, focusing on Medieval Stuff. (Technical term.) There was a set up of a medieval kitchen, a whole thing on a Japanese woven hat, glass blowers, potters, bread makers, yarn makers, different types of sheep wool… you get the idea. Lots of cool stuff! A friend of mine was here somewhere with her in-depth analysis of how to butcher a hog, based on archeological finds – knife marks on bones – and what knives were available at the time and her own experiments hacking up piggies. Very cool, right?
Milesent tripped tipsily through the aisles, gushing at people whose work she thought was good and dropping little tokens she’d made while I found Lorenzo, and we hugged, instantly recognizing each other despite only online photos. Then we mostly chased Drunk Laurel, who was faster than a toddler in a crowded shopping mall, and alas, the display was closing up, so we followed Lorenzo back to his camp, where we met cool people and talked about medieval stuffs.
Wednesday night was Midnight Madness – a tradition wherein all the merchants stay open until midnight, with lots of lights, costumes, and performers in the streets. We were thankfully sober enough at this point. Even if you’re broke-ass like me and can’t afford to shop, it’s a wonderful sight, wandering through the carnival atmosphere and firelight. I saw a massive glowing octopus being carried aloft by five people, four with two tentacles each and one with the head. Oh it was lovely.
One year, my sister and her husband got dressed up as the Sun and the Moon and our camp did a parade of the heavens with them. People just do this stuff! It’s so fun.
Milesent then headed home, because Thursday was her husband’s birthday. Before parting, she shyly gave me a paper bag, inside of which was a bottle of gatorade, a bottle of water, and a mini bottle of vodka. “For during the battle,” she pointed to the gatorade and water, “for after the battle.” She pointed to the vodka and winked. I hugged her and walked her to the parking-lot-field. I missed her instantly.
Though I wanted to drink and revel all night, I headed to bed well shy of midnight, for tomorrow morning I had a 9:30 am battle muster!
It rained gently in the night, the sound of droplets on canvas soothing. I slept well, but in a tent, you can’t help but wake with the dawn. My roommate Sunny’s alarm went off and I rolled over once, checked my phone for the forecast – there was some concern about the weather, that it might thunderstorm while we were battling.
I brushed my teeth and put on my armor. In the main area of the camp, bacon was frying, scenting everything nicely, and coffee was waiting, too. I don’t like bacon and coffee. (I know, I’m a heathen.) So I had some black tea and waited for the pancakes, which were fried in the bacon fat and quite exquisite.
No one else was ready yet? Our unit commander, Sir Nick, arrived, I had another cup of tea while I groused with him about SOME people not showing up on time. Constanza ambled in and admonished me that, “They say 9:30 in the hopes that we get here by 10.”
Well, fine. Constanza was not going to fight today because she was scheduled to judge the arts and sciences war point, and she was rather cross about it. Normally the arts and sciences competition is on the Wednesday of War Week, a day without battles, but for whatever reason the scheduling gods had put it opposite the field battle this year. “I never would have volunteered if I knew!”
Two other camp-mates joined Constanza with booklets of judging criteria in hand, and we cheered and waved our Judgmental Brigade off to do Artistic Battle for the Glory of the Midrealm.
And we still hadn’t mustered the army!
It was overcast, but had not done more than drizzle a few seconds when the Baron and Baronness arrived to see us off. There were nine of us to march to the field, with a drummer and a trumpet to play us on the way. Also, there were wagons, so I got someone to carry my helmet in one.
We marched as a unit to the baronial tent and our baroness raised her arms and said, “Insert inspirational speech here!” They had to go off and perform their baronial duty at the A&S Competition, too.
Slowly, more fighters arrived, swelling the Cleftlands ranks up to about 25. So far the rain was holding off. The regional commander stopped to discuss strategy with Nick and get the numbers. I sipped my gatorade and worried about my overall fitness.
Then at last came the call, “Arm up! Battle in fifteen! Form up with your units!”
Sir Nick led us to our place in the line-up, next to larger Ohio and Kentucky units, forming the Oaken Army. Battle cry: I Could Eat.
While two larger baronial groups were going to stay together as a big mass, we of the Cleftlands were assigned to be a small flanking unit at their side. “Give me shields up front,” Sir Nick called, holding his spear horizontal to show the line he wanted. I used to always rush to take that front spot, but remembering how hard it had been to get to the field yesterday, I lingered… but no one jumped forward, so begrudgingly, I did. Soon others formed behind me and I cleverly offered to change position with a squire in the second rank so he could be next to his knight.
Things were getting close now. On either side of a large field, thousands of armored combatants massed behind two lines of hay bales, our edge limits. To our right, the wooden “castle” had flags on its battlements, unfurled roman numerals counting down the time to “lay on”. In the middle of the field, small at this distance, stood the Marshalls, the safety officers, with their black tabards bearing yellow crossed swords and their black and yellow striped staves, which they all held up now, prepared to lower them at the moment the battle began. I watched them like a racecar driver watches the go light. I felt the tickle in my gut rise into my chest. I was strapped in, ready, and about to run forward.
The “II” was pulled back from the battlements, replaced with an “I”. Sir Nick gave us our final instructions, “On lay on, we move forward at a walk, stay dressed to South Oaken. Follow my commands from there, our goal is to protect South Oaken’s flank!”
Then I saw the marshall’s staves fall, and slowly, after it, the boom of the cannon, and the rising roar of thousands of excited re-enactors.
We didn’t go forward at a walk.
I dutifully repeated Nick’s commands and tried to admonish my line into something closer to a walk, but we trotted up to the enemy, a unit with black shields adorned with red chicken’s feet. Okay, they’re supposed to be, like, talons? Black Talon is the group. I can’t help it, I shouted, “I feel like chicken tonight!”
When we were within five yards of the wall of black shields, one of the commanders for South Oaken back-peddled between us and their unit and shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” so I took her to mean charge and shouted “Charge” on the top of my lungs… and we did.
The crash of bodies against wood, sliding between shields, struggling to get my arm free so I could swing, hitting sides and backs as I passed… crawling and stumbling over people… and through! I was still alive! And there was Sir Nick! “Cleftlands! Cleftlands!” I called out, re-forming with the remains of my unit. Nick glanced back, saw there were a good number of us and then pointed his spear – “Left”
“Wheel left! Wheel left!”
There were four battles, and I ended each of them with my unit, or dead on the ground next to at least one other member of my unit. I had no trouble keeping up, and no trouble charging when need be. I realized that my exhaustion the day before might have had more to do with the oppressive heat and the 2-hour drive I’d undertaken beforehand than being pathetically out of shape. It drizzled a little on us, and the air was, if not cool, at least only warm. I left the battle soaked through in sweat but pleased with my performance, grateful to still be playing this game, twenty years after I started.
I gotta be honest, there was one thing I was most looking forward to at Pennsic, and it was now time for it! Exhausted, I tramped back to camp, stripped out of my sodden armor, laid it out to dry, and went to the camp shower.
No, the camp shower wasn’t what I was looking forward to, stay with me. I had my soap and a rag and I was like, “Where is the camp shower this year?” I wandered around and … ah, there it is. I went in and found to my surprise, instead of a solar bag on a hook, a whole fancy set-up with dials and gizmos for propane heat. I fiddled with it for a while and … didn’t figure it out. I soaped myself and rinsed in freezing cold water that smelled of sulfur and iron. (The water at Pennsic is VERY hard water. It will not quite rinse soap off you, but wow does it feel good after a battle.)
As I stepped out of the shower, a lady said, “Hi, um, do you know that’s not Three Bear’s shower?”
DOH! I had crossed into a neighbor camp by mistake! She was very understanding, though, and even showed me how the propane heat worked if I wanted to come back.
Embarrassed, I went back to my tent for what was, in fact, the BEST THING ABOUT PENNSIC.
There is NO NAP on earth like napping in a canvas tent after a hard day’s fighting, your muscles well-used, freshly showered in a clean linen chemise.
I dunno… it’s the best nap, ever.
I woke up in time for dinner, like a smart fighter. The camp had cooked an amazing meal, as usual. Roast pork, curried veggies, deep-fried-bacon-wrapped cheese! The couscous was just right.
But the bread did me in. I sawed right through my thumb!
After dinner, we all went to Midrealm Court! A big old formal deal. I knew that a friend of mine (the one who did the pig butchering research paper) was going to get a big award, so I was stoked. I also had my G&T with me in a clay goblet and my knitting to get through the longer bits.
Court in the SCA is mostly about people receiving awards from the crown. So-and-so is being recognized for his art, such-and-such for her fighting. The higher level awards have ceremony, like knighting.
To my utter joy, in addition to the friend I knew was getting a big award, TWO Of my camp-mates were called up to receive top-level awards! Angharad, definitely my oldest friend in the SCA, was put on vigil for the Order of the Pelican. (The knighthood-level awards, called peerages, often have a “vigil” period between the award being made public and being bestowed. That’s how I knew Vukasin (she who cuts up pigs) was going to be Laureled.) And then Mark Rengarth, one of the founding (? Or at least very early?) members of the Camp of the Three Bears, who had been our best known secret as an extraordinary armorer and researcher into the construction of medieval armor, was elevated to the Order of the Laurel. Something, honestly, that could have happened decades ago. But I think it was just that he was so well-known in his field it was taken for granted?
My only regret from court was that I didn’t bring a refill for my G&T.
Then I went to the Midrealm Royal party – which was Pompei themed. Lots of chitons and togas, people circulating trays of cheese and olives, and a giant cloth volcano set up, with strands of glittery mylar waving from it, lit from inside. It was clear there would be a performance of some kind late in the party. There was much eager talking about how there was nothing to worry about, the gods were just blessing us with those rumbles and lights. How would they do the eruption? Bolts of red cloth? Foam? A group of ladies in similar costume with wreaths in their hair were clearly “shrine attendants” and might be the ones to pull it off.
For now, there was a dancer doing tricks with balls of fire on strings. I had a drink, ate a lot of olives and cheese, said hi to a few friends… but it was a crush and I didn’t see a lot of people I knew, so I skeedaddled back to camp.
Friday there was another battle, and I totally intended to go to it, but when Sunny’s alarm went off, I rolled over and said “ten more minutes” which turned into a half hour. When I finally roused myself and wandered into the main area in my chemise, seeking out tea, well, it was late enough that people asked me, “How was the battle?”
Sometimes the best thing you can do with a vacation is waste it. 😀 AAAH luxury.
I was surprised to see people already breaking down parts of our camp. There was a warning of thunderstorms on Saturday, and so the camp leaders had decided to start packing up all the common property today. The mud-brick bread oven was disassembled and a big old u-haul was parked, waiting to be filled with stuff.
Well, I hadn’t helped set up camp because I’d come late, so I was glad to have the chance to help take down – I had considered leaving today. I had one outfit with pants – an embroidered blue selwar kameez – so I changed into it. It was now nearly noon and it was so hot in my tent as I dressed that my fingers soaked the fabric with sweat as I pulled the drawstring at my waist.
I also discovered that I had packed 5 pairs of underwear, one bra, and 4 pairs of socks for four days – which was one pair of socks too short and definitely a bra short. I had to change out of my socks after battle because they were battle-filthy. Chagrined, I looked through my dirty socks and picked the least-dirty pair to hang from the tent rafters to wear tomorrow.
What’s the list of things I forgot? LOL. I also failed to pack my medication, but I was hoping that’d just… not be too much of a problem?
I started out helping with the oven disassembly. First with shoveling crumbled mud-clay. Then, after the dried mud surface was cracked and pulled off, the bricks had to be individually cleared of mud and stacked.
The camp toddler wandered over and, as I was removing bricks, picked one up and put it back. It was the cutest thing. “She doesn’t want the oven to go away!”
Constanza came back from the battle and we helped take apart the shower tents. Then it was the kitchen tent furnishings, and then the benches in the main camp tent…
It occurred to me quite vividly how very much STUFF the camp had. You didn’t think about it all spread around, but getting things into the truck was rather a game of Tetris.
It sounds grueling, but our pace was steady, unrushed. I took breaks to sip water in the main tent, and by dinner time we had most of … the kitchen gone. Um…
The camp cooks poked through the coolers, selecting foods from what was left. Ealdred roasted two whole chickens on a spit, but they were taking a while and the natives were getting restless. “I need some unskilled labor,” he called, “Hot dogs!”
“I can do that!” One of the things about camping with Three Bears is, well, there are these Big Cooks and they have their plans and meals and in years all I’d ever managed to make was gazpacho once. But no one else wanted to do the hot dogs and so, for one night, I got to be the cook at Three Bears! Okay okay there were other dishes! But the hot dogs were done first and I basked in the hungry gratitude as they vanished off the tray.
After dinner, there was a Shakespear performance under the stars, with one of my camp mates in it. Romeo and Juliet.
I got a seat in the far back and enjoyed the staging until it started to drizzle. Not enjoying myself enough to sit in the rain, I wandered about, visiting people, and went for a long wander down by the lake, to watch the fire against the water as the day ended. I failed to hook up with friends camping down that way, but I didn’t mind, it was meditative and pleasant, the cool of the summer evening, the chatter of the tree frogs, the shouts of joy and conversation.
I reminisced about parties of the past, drunken stumbling in the rain, shirtless young men in kilts, Vlad’s Pleasure Palace … there were a lot of Pennsics when I walked around this lake.
From the top of Runestone Hill, I looked back and saw a bright McDonald’s sign poking over the rim of trees, a beacon of modernity I hadn’t remembered being there before, tall as a swizzle stick in a lowball glass.
It rained steadily overnight, thankfully stopping just before dawn, and I woke up to pick at cold chicken leftover from the night before. I put on my last medieval outfit, a pink cotehardie, and found that people were all packing up. I was feeling nauseous and dizzy – booze catching up to me or not taking my anti-depressant for four days? I drank a lazy cup of tea, deflated my air mattress, helped with a little more packing up, and went to the market to buy one last thing, a present for my sister. The merchant had already broken down their tent! But she let me pull what I wanted from a packed box. I returned to camp, packed my own stuff, some gentle socialization, some more tea, and then said, “You know, I think I’ll go.” I’d done all I’d come to do. Plus there was that storm everyone was worried about.
I felt suddenly misty-eyed, thanking everyone and hugging farewell. Returning to Pennsic had been like returning to my twenties. It felt like a real vacation from my life. I didn’t write. I didn’t check social media. I didn’t think about work, day job nor side hustle.
The feared thunderstorm struck me halfway home, but had slowed to a drizzle when I got home. I stumbled, exhausted, out of my medieval garb and into the shower. AH, hot, soft water.
And then, of course… NAP TIME.
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