Today was the second Schweitzer Retreat. We decided as a group to hold the retreat at the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, because why not do something fun?
I don’t have a lot of Renn Fest experience. There is a chance I may have attended the gigantic Maryland Renn Fest in high school… perhaps even on a day when said school was occurring… but well, bad memory runs in the family and my parents occasionally stumble on this website when scoring the internet looking for Roseville Pottery. So let’s just say this was my first Renn Fest.
Yes, they did knock each other off of horses. Which is mild compared to what their respective women did to each other after the guys were finished.
Renn Fest folks like putting ‘e’ or ‘th’ behind every word, sometimes using both at the same time. Like the sign so warmly posted at the exit: “Returneth Soon!” They also are strong believers in boob torture.
We had a wonderful time! The costumes worn by the players and visitors (you can rent yer own garb at the door) were always interesting, often stunning, and occassionally hilarious. Our group met in the morning, doing ‘business’ in a tent for a half our or so, and then had more discussion lakeside in the shade of a tree. And about when Erica noticed the foot-long daddy longlegs crawling across my torso? Yeah, I acted totally cool.
Paul and the kids joined up with us around lunch time. They spent a generous part of the morning with woodworkers, where Will asked a hundred questions about furniture making. Really. As it turns out, when Will wakes up at the crack of dawn and we shove him out of our room begging him to melt his brain with tv while we at least sleep until the sun has risen — well, he goes to the front room, turns on PBS, and watches The Woodsmith Shop.
It was news to me, too.
We spent the rest of the day at the village. The kids played some games and enjoyed some shows (Will loved the jousting, Paul loved the jugglers). The coolest thing, though, were these swings:
I was terrified of Kate going on them. But the Swing-guy assured me at a 15-month old was, “like, totally-th fine-th on the ride,” so I softened. Then noticed that Kate had already walked herself through the gate and was jumping up trying to get on to a swing. Let that nervous-ninny-Mommy get in the way of her doing something Will was doing? Ha!
And so I did my best to take pictures of her, sitting cool as a cucumber, floating and spinning around in the chair. Considering how fast they were whipping around with kids in chairs every few feet, I figured that this panning shot was purdy decent.
We also succumbed to stuff. Will was drooling over the swords even before we walked through the gates. So while I was returning from a solo port-a-potty mission, I visited a wood worker. He told me that his products have a 100-year guarantee “against any wooden weaponry.” I explained that his sister’s head was not wooden, so that the guarantee was not going to apply to us, but good to know. Will was our Knight for the rest of the day.
Here they go, off hunting dragons. Or monsters.
We all did our best to boost the economy. Paul fell for a juggling stick and I picked up a bottle of essence oil (gardenia, although the one marked ‘teen spirit’ was tough to pass up). Kate came away with cute butterfly wings and a matching skirt. The lady I bought it from was way cool and showed me a half-dozen ways to repair the wings in the case of a snag. Then she asked me if I was married.
“Yes.”
“Well, the skirt is made from memory elastic. That means your daughter can wear it during the day, and YOU can wear it at night. Men LOVE it.”
See why I thought this woman was cool?
With all the fun shows, jousting, falcons, and shops (er, shoppes?), we were surprised to find that we spent the whole darn day there. We have never spent the whole darn day anywhere with both kids (that I can think of) and that is just about the best compliment I can give any event.
When we got home weary and dusty from our long hour’s drive back, we found that there was a message on the home phone. From my cell phone. Which is at the office of the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, awaiting pick-up.
Damn. Well, at least someone found it and was nice enough to leave it somewhere safe. Looks like we may be headed back to the 16th century sometime this week.
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