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Last weekend, May the 10th. and 11th., I went back for a second visit to the Oklahoma Renaissance Faire, a bit into the country from the northwest corner of Muskogee.

The weather on Saturday was hazy and humid with the sky overcast most of the day, and the patterns and density of the gray in the clouds were swirling and changing constantly. Friday night previous, a tornado had ripped thru Oklahoma City and looked for a while like it was going to last as far as Tulsa. Muskogee didn't get any winds, but did get plenty of water. But there was little mud at the fairegrounds the next morning with its well graveled and caliched paths. The temperature at sunrise was just a little below 70, and it stayed in the 70s all day. It didn't rain until 2:30, when it sprinkled for about a half-hour. Then all buckets above were overturned at 3, and people were running into the castle thoroughly drenched. It all left as fast as it came, the sun peeked for a while, then the clouds returned and stayed until closing time.

An hour before sunset Saturday, after the faire was over, a line of clouds announcing the dry line of a cold front dropped a brief shower on the town, then the skies cleared completely behind the clouds proceeding on to the southeast. Sunday dawned with the air still and the temperature in the low 50s. It quickly warmed into the mid-70s where it remained all day - the air crystal clear, the shadows clean, a photographer's ecstasy.

Saturday morning, while in the entry alley waiting for the opening gate show, I soon espied Bruce the Bruce and Norm Tuba. Norm was in a full silver breastplate and a helmet that looked like it came from a conquistador's head, with long plumy feathers at the top. He told me however that the outfit was German. Tucked into his belt was an ornate wheel-lock pistol. The Bruce's hair and beard were a wee bit longer, and his kilt was perhaps a wee bit more than a wee bit shorter. He was now a full-fledged musician with several stage appointments, and he frequently had to be leaving as I encountered him and got to conversing.

John Auld was again portraying His Majesty, King Henry, the Eighth to Bear that Name, in all his haughty and jesting imperiousness. The gate show both days was basically the Spanish ambassador trading veiled belittlements with His Majesty, finally resulting in a challenge to meet at the chessboard - but the dialogue was different the two days and sounded largely extemporaneous. Somehow bagpipers were rationalized in marching toward this scene from the other side of the fence, they opened the gates, and they let the festival begin.

This was Mother's Day weekend, and all mothers were given a deep red, yellow, or pink carnation at the end of a long stem. Actually, about any female could get one, and I was able to rescue one from the ground. Malvito the Malevolent was just inside the gate passing out stems that were just stems, as he advised passers-by to have a rotten day.

As I walked in, and thruout the two days, many people recognized me and greeted me by name. Saturday I wore my tie-dye purple chemise with the bodice reversed to its lavender corduroy side, with no overskirt, as I anticipated warm weather. Sunday I was in the maroon Italian nobles, and was asked several times if this was new. Quite a few wanted to take my picture and sometimes pose with them. I was asked several times if I had lost the bet, and I got one singular comment on my attire, "Some people will do ANYTHING for Mother's Day." For the first time I had a dollar bill deposited into my cleavage after one of my dancing displays.

Quite a few capital improvements had been made to the grounds. There were several new small flush privies, big enough for two or three whizzers with one or two thrones on the lord's side, with concrete floors and rough cedar walls - and no portapotties left on the site. This was indeed a giant leap forward, but there were still a few little things to be finished, like handles on some of the doors, hooks and shelves for your impedimenta, and some Sloan valves that still didn't work right. It was only during the very crowded part of early afternoon that I was starting to see long lines by the ladies' door, and I seldom at any time had to wait at the lords' (One area where I DON'T favor gender equality is restroom design. The female side should always be at least twice as big as the male side (but in the best of all possible worlds all would use the same and there would not be these silly taboos (but that's a tangent I won't continue on)).)

Last year I had seen a stonecutter demonstrating some stonemasonry atop a small slab. This year his creation had grown into a chapel, all finished except for the ridge cap on the roof, with windowpanes enclosed by intricate woodwork. Saturday morning the King dedicated it with a ceremony, where he took a knee before God in front of the altar table and christened it the Chapel of the Holy Grail.

Some bleachers had been added around the jousting field, and some stables had been installed beneath the reviewing stand, bringing the Lord Sheriff and the horses' rumps all under one roof. Grass covered berms easy to sit on surrounded much of the field, and on top of them stood trees that will provide much shade in a few years.

But the most spectacular addition was labyrinthine boardwalk on stilts above the ground that wound thru a grove of trees with low droopy branches, all draped with vines. The paths separated into several channels weaving back in and out with each other, and little stucco mud huts stood in wide spots and intersections, wherein were some shops. I got the feeling of being in the Ewok's domain in the third Star Wars flick. Near one end was perhaps the best stage I have now seen at any faire, a large circular deck with benches around the perimeter fence and a complete canopy of branches above, a cool refuge that matched the air-conditioned interior of the castle.

It seems like Bob the Juggler wields his whip while standing on top of the big ball and Terry Elton throws his cards in the air and thrusts with his sword at every faire I attend, and they did at this one too. Other acts that I had met before were also there: Commedia Sans Arte, the madcap improvisational actor's troupe, Boru's Ghost, Tullamore, the Bilge Pumps, Karen Troeh, the harpist, and Selkie, the hammered dulcimerist

I beheld for the first time the Bedlam Bards, who asked us all in the pub inside the castle if we wanted to hear some dirty songs, received a loud "yes", and commenced - but their show was interrupted for about five minutes because it happened that the Queen's Tea in the room behind was just letting out and a parade of kids had to leave in single file past the bar.

At Norman last month, I had remet the Rogues, the bagpipe band from Houston, but without their former front man and bodhranist, Bryan Blaylock. I found out where he had gone when I saw him insulting the English as before in front of a new band, Scotland Rising, with two pipers and a high-pitched snare drummer that approached closely the mechanical precision of the Rogues. With these two bands and Tartanic, it's starting to appear that Texas is becoming the new motherland of excellent bagpipers. Bryan's wife was with him, hawking CDs and dancing the fling with balletic grace, with her skirt tucked up into her belt displaying her slender bare cuisses lifting above her striped bestockinged mollets. I felt a bit intimidated to dance beside her, but still did a few times.

In the jousting field I beheld the Celtic Family Games. The Great Big Guy Who Ain't John Auld (can't figure out his name from the program) from Commedia Sans Arte announced, "in some highland games you have the hammer toss, where a contestant throws a heavy weight at the end of a staff trying to attain a great distance. We will not do that here. Instead we will do the Hamper Toss, where you will throw these garments lying before you into these wicker baskets as they are held by my assistants here." This was followed by, instead of the Stone Carry, the Scone Carry, where parents and kids walked with trays of bread on their heads; and instead of the Caber Toss, the Capon and Kipper Toss, where balls were thrown at rubber chickens and fishies hanging on strings from a horizontal staff.

The human chess match had been rained out on Saturday, but Sunday was perfect, and I saw the most acrobatic combat that I have seen at any chessboard. The people in noble garb were able to designate proxies, so nobody fought in farthingales. The more appropriately garbed sometimes engaged in judo throws and overhead tosses (onto a plywood surface, and I wondered if there were any bruises being made). A standout was a petite redheaded woman playing the chess position of queen, confounding a lot of men with both sword and wit.

Those who were exiting the Faire were asked to fill out a questionnaire where we rated all the acts and such features the privies and the food prices (all in the same list) - rating them as Did Not See, Not Very Good, Pretty Good, Really Good, and Great. I had some trouble deciding between Really Good and Great, so all of my ratings were either Did Not See, Pretty Good, or Great (there really weren't any Not Very Goods).

I was asked to rate the food, and it was most all either meat with bread, or sweet confections. I looked around for a vegetable dish, and could only find some onto which was poured seasoned salt. (I'm on a salt free diet for high blood pressure, and fortunately there was at least some meat without salt. I'm also developing diabetes, and I have to watch the sugar.) I also looked in vain for a non-alcoholic and non-sweetened drink that wasn't bottled water. (Was there anything like O'Doul's? I can't honestly say I looked.) Tap water to fill my jug with was appreciatedly copious at all the royal privies.

I was asked who was the best overall character, and I answered with His Majesty, but I also have to mention another man whose name I can't figure out from the program, but he played a jester and could also dance a balletic jig.

I was asked what was my most delightful moment, and that was as the noon parade on Saturday ended at the maypole. Scotland Rising kept on playing their pipes, and twenty or so performers, in a hodgepodge of garb styles of all social levels and several nationalities, all got together and did a fast jig in line dance style, all doing the same movements. I felt the energy combined into a standing wave, and I looked at it all and said to my self, this kind of moment is why I keep coming to the Renaissance Faire. After the jig ended, they did a few other Tudor Virginia Reel-like dances, where some of the moves had been practiced better than others, but they all laughed and got it back together and kept on keeping on. And this exemplified best the strength of this particular faire.

To describe best the way I am most impressed by this faire, I want to use a word that is often used as a term of derision, but I find a way to use as a profound compliment. That word is amateurish. The word actually comes from the French, and means lover. An amateur performs ones craft out of love, and this love is expressed with an enthusiasm that one does not always observe in the professional who can execute actions with polished consistency, regardless of mood at the time, and also often does so without any real emotional involvement. In previous postings I have remarked on how some of the best performances at faire are by high school madrigal choirs, all hyped up by being at the faire and able to strut their stuff in front of strangers - better than the acts of the pros who do it week in and week out. That spirit I feel in the performers at the Oklahoma Renaissance Faire, in the giggling way they make up for slips and rough spots in the performances, in the enthusiastic way they talk, in the way they will carry on with each other even if there is no audience present. Of the five faires I have been to so far, it looks like the cast of this faire has the most fun doing what they are doing. It is the cast I would most like to be involved with if I ever were to decide to step further in from playtronhood.

-Butterfly Bill

"Greetings, milady...or is it milord?...or..um...."
"So did you lose the bet?"..."No, I won it, he bet me I wouldn't"

a review of last year's OKRF:
http://www.grapevine.net/~butterflybill/OKRF.htm

more faire reviews:
http://www.grapevine.net/~butterflybill/RbStories.htm#renfair

my music for computer:
http://www.geocities.com/farfallabill/MechMus.htm