Beltane XLII a.s.

Spring is here and my House, my Tribe, celebrated it with several new beginnings. I can officially call it my Tribe now, I suppose, as I was accepted as a Fosterling. Niam Ingan Eoghanin, She Who Must Be Obeyed, stood up as my Foster Mother. Should all go well, and I don’t see why it won’t, I will be ‘Made’ a full member of tribe in a Year and a Day, on the Morning after Beltane. I will be granted a Torc by the Chieftain that day and declare my Tuatha (Warrior).

Niam’s own son was made a full member of Tribe that night. The Chieftain placed the torc around his neck as the whole Tribe watched by the firelight of the Beltane fires. Erik Mac Malcolm had served as a ward of the tribe for many years and he is the first Tribe member to choose to be Made without fostering for a year and a day.

Of course the big event that took place this Beltane was the handfasting of our own Thor Ulf Bjornson and Brighid ni Siun. After a week full of rain, the sky opened up on Saturday to bright blue Spring skies and the sun shone upon the gathered Tribe as Thour Ulf and Brigh were joined in marriage in a beautiful ceremony conducted by our own First Born, Malcolm.

Blackstone Raids. Or Not. Again.

This weekend the Dragon roared and Blackstone Mountain trembled. As warriors and their followers came from all over the Realm converged in the Eastern Mountain Range, I too had backed my parcel and, while not quite ready to wield my sword and shield with my brothers and sisters, I was ready to lead support. And shop, if at all possible.

Alas, ‘twas not to be. The veterinary healer announced on the very eve I was to leave that my faithful hound was ill and would need constant treatment and the administration of a certain costly potion in order to recover. So, instead of schlepping (that’s a period term, no?) the pooch across the hills and valleys, I remained on the ranch here at home. My thoughts, if not my annoying self, were with my comrades in the Barony and my new family in Tribe.

Malcom Mor spoke with me late last night before turning in at his own homestead and told me there was much taking of heads and bloodshed and that the Dragon was victorious.

Chaaaa!

And the puppy seems to be doing better as well.

South Oaken Regional Arts & Science Faire , or not.

I was all set to attend the South Oaken Regional Arts & Science Faire this past weekend, but the Fates conspired against me and it just wasn’t meant to be. Between the sorrowful experience of dropping a loved one off at the airport to begin the long trip to Iraq, the pouring rain and harsh wind that lasted into the next day, and the newly physical deformity of my face, I decided to forget my plans and headed home.

Oh the physical deformity? It seems that my face was trying to make up for my relatively acne-free adolescent years by exploding all over my stressed out skin. I still considered going, even though I felt like I shouldn’t be out in public with out a bag on my head. I figured, to be in period, my options were:

a) Dress in tattered sackcloth, add bandages, ring bell and hang a sign around my neck that read “UNCLEAN” and go as a period Leper.
b) Small pox.
c) Add mascara, and call it Plague.
d) Dress in drag with a full Wimple to cover most of my face.

In the end I decided to stay home and work on my University papers. I suppose there is always next year.

By the pricking of my thumbs...

I’ve been designated as a future Garb Whore.

I can’t argue with it. I am. I’ve been to two events and I have six, no seven tunics. Wait, eight, or is it nine. There are a few in the works. I’m still learning though, I just learned to sew a few weeks ago. I’ve started a nice tunic for court affairs but I’m hoping to make it to Blackstone Raids so I can take a gander at the Worlde famous Calontir Trim.

But I’m working on me armor too. My shield is 90% finished; I just need a hand with the final steps. Then pad the helmet and I’m ready to come out swinging!

Midream’s Scribal and Heraldic Symposium

An octagonal tower crowned in spikes, pierced the late winter sky, as I rounded the bottom of the hill. The gray stone church rested onto of the hill’s apex, overlooking the land before it and all who passed in it’s shadow. Scattered about its base were headstones, the graves of those who wished to be within reach of the church even in death.
I circled the church and came to a halt beside the much more modern two story peach bricked school. There, beside the minivan, I was welcomed by Lord Edward de Calais and Lady Juliana Montalto del Mar. And then I was put to work.
It was the Midream’s Scribal and Heraldic Symposium, deep in the southern lands of Barony of Flame. I leant what help I could, helping to set up, organize, and carry all manner and sort of tools and objects inside. As Edward and Lord Alexander von Stettin, he who is known as Ogre, prepared the food, I assisted in serving the company. I even played to role of Troll for a short time.
Lord Tigernach mac Eoghain ua Aeda, who mundanely lives and preaches at St. Rose, our site for the event was friendly and entertaining and very knowledgeable. Not to mention he had the best garb! ;-) Master Thorvald Redhair attended to teach and to learn as well, and a good time was had by all. We maxed out at around 20-25 people, with only eighteen staying for Dinner. Embarrassing tales were recalled with laughter. A story or two were told. And the company was quizzed, our knowledge tested. Though anyone who didn’t recognize the JRR Tolkien quizzes, well I just don’t know what to say.
By the time Dinner was complete, the moon was in full eclipse perched right over the church’s tower and the wind blew occasional gusts of light snow across the grounds.
My second event, one that had many of my own Barony, was highly delightful. I got to know a few people much better. I can’t wait for the next.

Candlemas

My excitement was hard to contain.

I entered the Convention Center in Lexington in trepidation, dressed in jeans and a fleece pullover, a full backpack of borrowed garb over my shoulder. I was unsure if I was in the right location. Then I saw the first bumper sticker. Then another and another. One green minivan even had the license plate that read SCAVAN. I was nearing to my goal.

My first event.

As I approached the entrance to Hall, a woman exited the building dressed in bodice and gown, a hooded green cloak protecting her from the chill rain that fell lightly from the overcast sky. Another sign. Inside the door, a golf and fishing expo was underway and men of all ages and gut-sizes milled about as I headed down the long hallway. A young boy laughed and pointed ahead, asking his father what the funny man was doing in armor. I looked ahead and saw a knight on his way to the privee. Already I sympathized with the armored man. I was already feeling kinship with the Society. I had made it.

A quick peak in the door and I dashed into the latrine to change out of my mundane clothes. I had borrowed a tunic and belt from AEric, Tinker’s husband. Him being slightly lager than myself, outweighing me by at least a hundred pounds, I had stitched up the neck. Otherwise I would have looked like “A Midsummer Night’s Flashdance.” The effect wasn’t attractive, but it was adequate.

I proudly showed my white membership card to Troll at the gate, announcing that this, Candlemas in the Shire of Dragonsmark, would be my first event ever. I was granted free access to the festivities therein.

A small square hall, plain and unadorned, had become a medieval courtyard. Four squares were roped off in the center for lists and the clang and bang of rattan on armor already echoed off the concrete walls. Three or four vendors had set up shop along the nearest wall, a Rattan salesman selling huge poles in the corner. Centered upon the lists was the Queen’s throne, flanked by Prince Dag’s and Princess AnneMarie’s to her right and Prince Val and his consort of Atlantia to her left. Along the other walls, other Lords and Ladies of the Society had encamped around the lists, in manners and fashions that suited them. Some sprawled on blankets, others in modern camp chairs. Some had knockdown chairs common within the SCA and some had set up mini-indoor camps, complete with rugs, tables, and pens for children.

The day was incredible. The atmosphere was festive. And most of all, the people were humbling. Everyone was kind and courteous, eager to speak with me and help me understand what was going on. Sarah of the Cleftlands spoke to me at length. And the very nice Lady whose name I cannot recall, a retired Army SFC, with her “Scandahoovian” dress introduced me to Prince Valharic, of whom I had read of in Tinker’s copy of “The Knights Next Door.” Prince Val offered his assistance, should I need anything, since both he and the Lady had the US Army in common with me.

But the aspect of the whole day that struck me the most was the emotion. During the court, several people were called up to crown to receive awards. But one woman, Baroness Alex, who stood small behind the Queen’s throne, was surprised when she was summoned to kneel. She was to be raised to Peerage, a revelation that caused her to cry and shake with emotion. Then it truly hit me.

This wasn’t just a group of men and women playing dress-up. There was true, deep emotion here. This was truly important.

And I was eager to be part of it.

Oh, and I got to be present when Valharic announced Atlantia’s union with the Midrealm for Pennsic XXXVI. Chaaaa!

In the begining

It happened almost by accident.

In the fall of 2006, I was on temporary assignment in Maryland, and one of my local friends asked if I wanted to go to the Maryland Renaissance Faire. I’d been to a few Faires before and, being a complete and hopeless nerd, I loved them. So I said sure. And then I logged onto their website so I could plan for time, cost and directions.

Somewhere along the line, I noticed a link for the SCA. The Society for Creative Anachronism. The next thing I knew, it was 4am and I was crawling into bed, trying to get two hours of sleep in before work. But I couldn’t. I was too excited. My face stretched taunt with a massive grin.

I had discovered the Society, the Dream. My Dream. I spent many, many hours devouring anything I could find online about the Society. Two months later, in December, back home in Kentucky, I crossed the street from the Post Library where I had just spent most of my lunch on more SCA-related research, this time looking at video from the Pennsic War, to the Education Center. Denise, the friendly receptionist to whom I’ve spoken before, greeted me with her eyeglasses perched on the tip of her nose, a beaded chain looped from the glasses arms and around her neck.

As she fetched my education record for me, I glanced over the whimsical paraphernalia that was scattered over her desk, a multitude of pixies and fairies, particularly Disney’s Tinkerbelle. But most importantly, pinned behind magnets on her upper shelf, were two postcards. Pennsic postcards.

“…Hey…” said I. “I was just reading about the Pennsic War. Are you part of the Society for Creative An...Anak…Anachro…?”

“Anachronism. And yes I am.”

Well that started a two hour conversation, only occasionally interrupted by one of her customers. Denise Tinker-Lemke, otherwise known as Keely the Tinker, just happened to be the Chatelaine for the Barony of Flame, the Barony responsibile for the Louisville, Kentucky area. The Barony belongs to the South Oaken Region of the Middle Kingdom, the Third Kingdom ever to be created in the Society.

“So what time period are you interested in?” she asked, very nonchalantly.

“Irish.” I said. “Very early period.”

“How early?” She asked, a gleam alight in her eyes now.

“As early as possible.”

“Oh really.” While she didn’t quite steeple her fingers ala’ Montgomery Burns, you could hear the same inflection in her voice.

And so then I learned about her House, Ring Tribe, a barbarian band of Celts.

Thus is begun.