1066: A Bridge Too Far
Sep. 9th, 2005 02:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lenora_roseFinally posting about last weekend just as this next one is coming up. Meh.
We set out rather late, which I wouldn't normally think would be a bonus, and then came very close to ending up on the wrong side of the lake. (Lake Winnipeg is not small - it's large enough to have several foot tides.)
However, the combination of the two was just perfect to put on on one of the dark and empty highway stretches in time for the single most spectacular auroras I have ever seen. The ones we get in Manitoba tend to be white, or slightly green, and subtly slow moving. I've seen two magnificent "Cathedral" displays (Meaning they're shooting up from near the horizon all the way to the centre of the sky) at folk festivals, one during Bob Geldof's mainstage set and a spectacular rendition of "The Soft Soil", and one in the late hours at a campground music circle. This put those both to shame; reds and greens, and the lights were indeed dancing, moving visibly and elegantly along the sky. Best, they were right in front, so Colin, driving, could afford to watch them. We opened the sunroof, too. I think I was amusing both Colin and Chen, in the back seat, by just how much I was jumping and exclaiming and plain old rejoicing at their presence. It was made even nicer by a shooting star dropping along my side towards the fade-out.
They'd faded down just before we hit the next town on the highway - which, being lakeside, means it's long and thin and goes on and on and on.
Anyhow, we arrived at the camp in more good time; just as the aurora, which had been listless and nearly gone, woke up and started to dance again, a long ribbon and a spiral and more cathedral heignts - slower moving, and fewer colours, but who was I to complain? I watched them with their Majesties and their sons, the younger of which was trying to sound blasé, and "I've seen this all before", even as he's being wide-eyed and impressed.
(A note on Tarrach and Fina, the current King and Queen of Northshield - who will be stepping down in exactly one day. They're from Fargo, four hours' drive or so on good highways, which in Prairie terms is right next door. So they've visited us a lot, and we've known them for years, not just as SCA royalty, but as super cool and creative people. Prior royalty I've respected as royalty - and inside the SCA, they tend to be worthy of respect far more often than not, unlike real world royalty -- these two I like on other levels.)
Anyhow, Colin seemed to decide, against my direct advice, that unpacking and hauling things to the cabin was more important than oohing and aaahing. Translation: I told him, "Put that down and get out here!" and he ignored me. So by the time it was over again and I went to help him, there was almost nothing to do but get changed and string our bows for War Court. And grab a plum as I was hungry in spite of supper.
We arrived late to War Court, which is a short and simple ceremony honouring the fighters of the group, including us archers -- though since we were late, I didn't have to go up, which is good, as I would have had to figure out how to pledge the service of my bow and my plum. The Court ended pretty much as the plum did, which was good, as the next bit is the good bit for Friday nights; the "fire arrows".
Several years ago, Baron Robin experimented with strapping sparklers to the end of arrows and firing them out into the lake. It worked, it looked pretty, and immediately after the last arrow was fired in the first year, a big shooting star streaked across the sky on the other side of the lake. (To which someone said into the silence, "Odin is pleased".)
We've done it every year since. Usually the tide is right and the majority of the arrows wash up next morning.
Down by the lake, it was cool, and dark, and the auroras are still going, if more faintly, and mostly along the horizon where the trees hide them in the cabin and fire-pit areas. Robin makes his usual little not-speech ("This is a Baronial tradition 'cause I've done it more than once"), then he, Tarrach, and Baron Hreodbeorht* fire into the sky, and over the lake.
So we got to shoot our first fire arrows, and watch others make some impressive shots out into the sky, aiming for height, or distance, or unity (Three archers at a time). Colin and I even got a second round, which I wangled as the "engaged" round, after the out of towners and new archers got their second chances. A few people were joking that whoever shot higher was in charge of the relationship -- I did, but not, I think, for that reason.
Anyhow, we proved outselves to be getting old -- or at least to have spent too much time the week before sewing until the late hours -- by going to bed not too long after. When I grumbled briefly that I was going to regret forgetting my cloak (It was cold and the sleeping bag wasn't feeling adequate), my sister Branwen threw one at me, which is far more entertaining in the middle of the night than it sounds like.
Most of the two weeks preceding the event was pouring rain and/or cool. So it was nice that the weather reports were correct and Saturday was sunny and nice.
The very first thing I was asked to do was to help sew my sister into her garb. Branwen was wearing her gorgeous Tudor that was made from shot-silk "Hideous green curtains" (They were definitely awful as curtains, but they're lovely as gown). The front bodice piece had never sat right, and she'd learned through trial and error that the easist way to fix it was to stitch it up for the day, and rip out the thread at night. I tried, but eventually left it to a much better hand-seamstress, after I'd broken a thread I couldn't even decently tie off.
If this sounds too much effort for you - well, it does to me too, and she needed to help me by tying up the side-laces of my cotehardie. But it does look lovely.
I spent most of the day on the archery range, shooting for fun then competing in an odd and half-planned half improvised sort of tourney, at which I did poorly, followed by the Castel Rouge Champion's Shoot. In the Champion's Shoot, each archer fires a single arrow per round (Most shoots are either for six arrows a round or for as many as you can loose in a certain time frame), and anyone who misses outright is out. If no one misses, then the archer whose arrow is farthest from centre is out. I lasted most of the way, by the skin of my teeth in most cases. I'm good but not that good. Not with that competition.
Then I followed the hollers of "Buy my Stuff! Buy my Stuff! Buy Amaryllis's Stuff!"** and poked around the merchants some. The jewellery was okay, but the real treat is the honey merchant. If that sounds boring to you, consider: Creamed Blueberry Honey (Like jam, but not.) Apricot Honey spread. Honey with maple (This is PERFECT in tea... hmmm. Guess what I'm drinking as I type?). Cinnamon honey (Good in tea and on toast -- and in hot milk if you're stressed). Never mind that I was running low on plain honey at home and at work.
I also watched a little of the tail end of fencing, a duel of three fencers in an odd triangular set-up. It looked like fun. I do miss fencing. I just need free time to practice (Hah!), and protective garb that's easier to get into than a full Elizabethan corset and doublet.
I'd been considering a swim, but by then it was falling to evening, and my outfit for the day was a bit too much effort to change out of and back into. So instead I tidied up and sat down for Court.
This Court is the one where everyone gets their just desserts - er, their awards. Since the event isn't very large, this wasn't long, but it was entertaining. Most on SCA people will probably prefer I skip over it nonetheless, but I have to mention one incident.
Master Tarik is a fine gentleman with a strong dedication to using in-period techniques to do a variety of arts, including, rather famously, glass bead-making and other activities involving playing far too much with fire (On which more later). At any rate, his dedication to historical accuracy is noteable.
He's also expressed a wish before to be made an outlaw, which, in the SCA, seems to mostly involve being in trouble with their majesties and wearing a silly hat.
So... their Majesties gave him a choice. Since they were stepping down the very next weekend (As I said, tomorrow), and he would not be present, they could make him an outlaw, and give him a silly hat no doubt made by their younger son, or else... give him a pyxis, a major award for dedication to history, which would be on a lovely scroll and last a lot longer than his outlawry.
In spite of much heckling that doing so was the wimpy choice, he did in fact opt for the latter.
Then court disassembled, and we took all the chairs indoors and reassembled them into a new pattern for feast.
Ah, food! It seems like the kitchen staff as our September event is always the same people, some of whom we never see outside the kitchen and the back porch. Hoobah to them, though; they're wonderful. They gave us excellent bread, with super-garlic butter and herbed butter, along with almonds and cheese and dates (Branwen was *not amused* when I said I liked the dates despite how their appearance made me think of small cockroaches). The background musicwent through various dance tunes, and once Baron Thrym organized a bunch of us to get up and dance, and once, to a particularly pretty Italian piece, Branwen and I said to heck with it, and hastened out onto the floor just because.
Then the feast really began; Spinach tarts (Which are much much nicer than they sound), and a soup with chicken and other things. (Hey, my memory's not perfect.)
And stalled. A few musicians went up and sang pieces. We toasted their Majesties and their majesties to come, Baron Thrym came up and told his Three Archers joke (About Baron Robin, Baron Eric and Baron Hreodbeorht), then pointed out that none of them had been Barons when the joke originated, and "I still accept requests to make up stories about people... but I charge a lot more now."
And we waited. I played with the candles that, due to the open window, were melting all down one side. I got up and chattered with other tables. I went outside to cool down, then back inside to chat more.
We waited.
And at last we were rewarded by peas with bacon, and roast lamb, roast pork, and roast beef. The lamb was hands down the winner. All were happy, the kitchen staff was forgiven the delay by their skill - and then dessert went around. Oh, joy!
As the room was cleared and packed up, and those lords caught with Kitchen duty stripped to the waist and ventured in (Usually a sign that the kitccen is about to be the most fun place to be -- but this time, when I asked, they said they had hands enough, damn), more dancing was set up, mostly simple, but occasionally a little overwhelming. Alas, though, when a request for Whirligig (Fast, and complicated, and we haven't done it in a long time!) went up from people who haven't danced much lately, we failed to seize the opportunity to drag out old veterans and get them moving, but only because the musuc labelled as Whirligig was the wrong tune, and didn't fit the steps. Pout pout pout.
Alas, though, something was missing, and I roamed away from the dancing, only to learn there would be no fire at the firepit tonight -- the usual ready supply of logs wasn't available. This may sound small, with dancers indoors and a party in the kitchen and more drinking and chatting on the steps, but it darn near ruined my Saturday night. The fire has always been the place to be, whether it's because HRM Tarrach and Master Tarik are trying to set themselves on fire again (of which more anon), or the hoary old stories that get put forward (One of the Lords did make the observation that he's learned more SCA history from around the campfire than from any other source), or my favourite, the bardic circles, songs and all. Admittedly, four of the peple I consider essential out of the locals were missing (Abacchus, you're one... and don't pretend you don't know it,) but there were still enough musicians, especially out of towners, to make something happen. Except it wouldn't spontaneously break out on the steps, or in the kitchen, or in the hall, not with all the other stuff going on in all those places, and all the people broken up between them.
Don't mistake me. I had fun dancing, and I had fun chatting, and I'd have probably had fun scrubbing dishes in the kitchen (A sentence that is never true outside of SCA circles, but trust me on this.)
But I went to bed by One AM, after one more trip down to the beach to watch the water and the trickle of yet more auroras (Teeny modest ones). Usually One AM is just after the bardic singing degenerates from period, and/or SCA-based, and/or quasi-historic songs into period or SCA naughty songs, and from there into totally out-of-it silly ones, when the Arrogant Worms, Flash Girls, and other weirdness come out to play. And Colin had a good one to introduce, too. Mourn.
Anyhow, my back is aching, and I have to leave this computer, so I'll talk about Sunday later.
* If the profusion of Barons, Baronesses, and "Their Excellencies" confuses you, don't worry. What it means is our group as a group has been a round a long while, and the awards are getting hefty.
** This is not a figurative wording. Ceinus Baronialis, or Baron Thrym, can be readily identified by his distinct call.
We set out rather late, which I wouldn't normally think would be a bonus, and then came very close to ending up on the wrong side of the lake. (Lake Winnipeg is not small - it's large enough to have several foot tides.)
However, the combination of the two was just perfect to put on on one of the dark and empty highway stretches in time for the single most spectacular auroras I have ever seen. The ones we get in Manitoba tend to be white, or slightly green, and subtly slow moving. I've seen two magnificent "Cathedral" displays (Meaning they're shooting up from near the horizon all the way to the centre of the sky) at folk festivals, one during Bob Geldof's mainstage set and a spectacular rendition of "The Soft Soil", and one in the late hours at a campground music circle. This put those both to shame; reds and greens, and the lights were indeed dancing, moving visibly and elegantly along the sky. Best, they were right in front, so Colin, driving, could afford to watch them. We opened the sunroof, too. I think I was amusing both Colin and Chen, in the back seat, by just how much I was jumping and exclaiming and plain old rejoicing at their presence. It was made even nicer by a shooting star dropping along my side towards the fade-out.
They'd faded down just before we hit the next town on the highway - which, being lakeside, means it's long and thin and goes on and on and on.
Anyhow, we arrived at the camp in more good time; just as the aurora, which had been listless and nearly gone, woke up and started to dance again, a long ribbon and a spiral and more cathedral heignts - slower moving, and fewer colours, but who was I to complain? I watched them with their Majesties and their sons, the younger of which was trying to sound blasé, and "I've seen this all before", even as he's being wide-eyed and impressed.
(A note on Tarrach and Fina, the current King and Queen of Northshield - who will be stepping down in exactly one day. They're from Fargo, four hours' drive or so on good highways, which in Prairie terms is right next door. So they've visited us a lot, and we've known them for years, not just as SCA royalty, but as super cool and creative people. Prior royalty I've respected as royalty - and inside the SCA, they tend to be worthy of respect far more often than not, unlike real world royalty -- these two I like on other levels.)
Anyhow, Colin seemed to decide, against my direct advice, that unpacking and hauling things to the cabin was more important than oohing and aaahing. Translation: I told him, "Put that down and get out here!" and he ignored me. So by the time it was over again and I went to help him, there was almost nothing to do but get changed and string our bows for War Court. And grab a plum as I was hungry in spite of supper.
We arrived late to War Court, which is a short and simple ceremony honouring the fighters of the group, including us archers -- though since we were late, I didn't have to go up, which is good, as I would have had to figure out how to pledge the service of my bow and my plum. The Court ended pretty much as the plum did, which was good, as the next bit is the good bit for Friday nights; the "fire arrows".
Several years ago, Baron Robin experimented with strapping sparklers to the end of arrows and firing them out into the lake. It worked, it looked pretty, and immediately after the last arrow was fired in the first year, a big shooting star streaked across the sky on the other side of the lake. (To which someone said into the silence, "Odin is pleased".)
We've done it every year since. Usually the tide is right and the majority of the arrows wash up next morning.
Down by the lake, it was cool, and dark, and the auroras are still going, if more faintly, and mostly along the horizon where the trees hide them in the cabin and fire-pit areas. Robin makes his usual little not-speech ("This is a Baronial tradition 'cause I've done it more than once"), then he, Tarrach, and Baron Hreodbeorht* fire into the sky, and over the lake.
So we got to shoot our first fire arrows, and watch others make some impressive shots out into the sky, aiming for height, or distance, or unity (Three archers at a time). Colin and I even got a second round, which I wangled as the "engaged" round, after the out of towners and new archers got their second chances. A few people were joking that whoever shot higher was in charge of the relationship -- I did, but not, I think, for that reason.
Anyhow, we proved outselves to be getting old -- or at least to have spent too much time the week before sewing until the late hours -- by going to bed not too long after. When I grumbled briefly that I was going to regret forgetting my cloak (It was cold and the sleeping bag wasn't feeling adequate), my sister Branwen threw one at me, which is far more entertaining in the middle of the night than it sounds like.
Most of the two weeks preceding the event was pouring rain and/or cool. So it was nice that the weather reports were correct and Saturday was sunny and nice.
The very first thing I was asked to do was to help sew my sister into her garb. Branwen was wearing her gorgeous Tudor that was made from shot-silk "Hideous green curtains" (They were definitely awful as curtains, but they're lovely as gown). The front bodice piece had never sat right, and she'd learned through trial and error that the easist way to fix it was to stitch it up for the day, and rip out the thread at night. I tried, but eventually left it to a much better hand-seamstress, after I'd broken a thread I couldn't even decently tie off.
If this sounds too much effort for you - well, it does to me too, and she needed to help me by tying up the side-laces of my cotehardie. But it does look lovely.
I spent most of the day on the archery range, shooting for fun then competing in an odd and half-planned half improvised sort of tourney, at which I did poorly, followed by the Castel Rouge Champion's Shoot. In the Champion's Shoot, each archer fires a single arrow per round (Most shoots are either for six arrows a round or for as many as you can loose in a certain time frame), and anyone who misses outright is out. If no one misses, then the archer whose arrow is farthest from centre is out. I lasted most of the way, by the skin of my teeth in most cases. I'm good but not that good. Not with that competition.
Then I followed the hollers of "Buy my Stuff! Buy my Stuff! Buy Amaryllis's Stuff!"** and poked around the merchants some. The jewellery was okay, but the real treat is the honey merchant. If that sounds boring to you, consider: Creamed Blueberry Honey (Like jam, but not.) Apricot Honey spread. Honey with maple (This is PERFECT in tea... hmmm. Guess what I'm drinking as I type?). Cinnamon honey (Good in tea and on toast -- and in hot milk if you're stressed). Never mind that I was running low on plain honey at home and at work.
I also watched a little of the tail end of fencing, a duel of three fencers in an odd triangular set-up. It looked like fun. I do miss fencing. I just need free time to practice (Hah!), and protective garb that's easier to get into than a full Elizabethan corset and doublet.
I'd been considering a swim, but by then it was falling to evening, and my outfit for the day was a bit too much effort to change out of and back into. So instead I tidied up and sat down for Court.
This Court is the one where everyone gets their just desserts - er, their awards. Since the event isn't very large, this wasn't long, but it was entertaining. Most on SCA people will probably prefer I skip over it nonetheless, but I have to mention one incident.
Master Tarik is a fine gentleman with a strong dedication to using in-period techniques to do a variety of arts, including, rather famously, glass bead-making and other activities involving playing far too much with fire (On which more later). At any rate, his dedication to historical accuracy is noteable.
He's also expressed a wish before to be made an outlaw, which, in the SCA, seems to mostly involve being in trouble with their majesties and wearing a silly hat.
So... their Majesties gave him a choice. Since they were stepping down the very next weekend (As I said, tomorrow), and he would not be present, they could make him an outlaw, and give him a silly hat no doubt made by their younger son, or else... give him a pyxis, a major award for dedication to history, which would be on a lovely scroll and last a lot longer than his outlawry.
In spite of much heckling that doing so was the wimpy choice, he did in fact opt for the latter.
Then court disassembled, and we took all the chairs indoors and reassembled them into a new pattern for feast.
Ah, food! It seems like the kitchen staff as our September event is always the same people, some of whom we never see outside the kitchen and the back porch. Hoobah to them, though; they're wonderful. They gave us excellent bread, with super-garlic butter and herbed butter, along with almonds and cheese and dates (Branwen was *not amused* when I said I liked the dates despite how their appearance made me think of small cockroaches). The background musicwent through various dance tunes, and once Baron Thrym organized a bunch of us to get up and dance, and once, to a particularly pretty Italian piece, Branwen and I said to heck with it, and hastened out onto the floor just because.
Then the feast really began; Spinach tarts (Which are much much nicer than they sound), and a soup with chicken and other things. (Hey, my memory's not perfect.)
And stalled. A few musicians went up and sang pieces. We toasted their Majesties and their majesties to come, Baron Thrym came up and told his Three Archers joke (About Baron Robin, Baron Eric and Baron Hreodbeorht), then pointed out that none of them had been Barons when the joke originated, and "I still accept requests to make up stories about people... but I charge a lot more now."
And we waited. I played with the candles that, due to the open window, were melting all down one side. I got up and chattered with other tables. I went outside to cool down, then back inside to chat more.
We waited.
And at last we were rewarded by peas with bacon, and roast lamb, roast pork, and roast beef. The lamb was hands down the winner. All were happy, the kitchen staff was forgiven the delay by their skill - and then dessert went around. Oh, joy!
As the room was cleared and packed up, and those lords caught with Kitchen duty stripped to the waist and ventured in (Usually a sign that the kitccen is about to be the most fun place to be -- but this time, when I asked, they said they had hands enough, damn), more dancing was set up, mostly simple, but occasionally a little overwhelming. Alas, though, when a request for Whirligig (Fast, and complicated, and we haven't done it in a long time!) went up from people who haven't danced much lately, we failed to seize the opportunity to drag out old veterans and get them moving, but only because the musuc labelled as Whirligig was the wrong tune, and didn't fit the steps. Pout pout pout.
Alas, though, something was missing, and I roamed away from the dancing, only to learn there would be no fire at the firepit tonight -- the usual ready supply of logs wasn't available. This may sound small, with dancers indoors and a party in the kitchen and more drinking and chatting on the steps, but it darn near ruined my Saturday night. The fire has always been the place to be, whether it's because HRM Tarrach and Master Tarik are trying to set themselves on fire again (of which more anon), or the hoary old stories that get put forward (One of the Lords did make the observation that he's learned more SCA history from around the campfire than from any other source), or my favourite, the bardic circles, songs and all. Admittedly, four of the peple I consider essential out of the locals were missing (Abacchus, you're one... and don't pretend you don't know it,) but there were still enough musicians, especially out of towners, to make something happen. Except it wouldn't spontaneously break out on the steps, or in the kitchen, or in the hall, not with all the other stuff going on in all those places, and all the people broken up between them.
Don't mistake me. I had fun dancing, and I had fun chatting, and I'd have probably had fun scrubbing dishes in the kitchen (A sentence that is never true outside of SCA circles, but trust me on this.)
But I went to bed by One AM, after one more trip down to the beach to watch the water and the trickle of yet more auroras (Teeny modest ones). Usually One AM is just after the bardic singing degenerates from period, and/or SCA-based, and/or quasi-historic songs into period or SCA naughty songs, and from there into totally out-of-it silly ones, when the Arrogant Worms, Flash Girls, and other weirdness come out to play. And Colin had a good one to introduce, too. Mourn.
Anyhow, my back is aching, and I have to leave this computer, so I'll talk about Sunday later.
* If the profusion of Barons, Baronesses, and "Their Excellencies" confuses you, don't worry. What it means is our group as a group has been a round a long while, and the awards are getting hefty.
** This is not a figurative wording. Ceinus Baronialis, or Baron Thrym, can be readily identified by his distinct call.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-09-10 01:24 am (UTC)How the heck did you find my blog, btw?
no subject
Date: 2005-09-11 05:36 am (UTC)I hope adding you to friends wasn't a breach of etiquette.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-11 08:37 am (UTC)