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I'm de-corseted. I'm showered. Life is better.
This is the 2nd year the Free Artillerie Company went to the Fresno Celtic Festival. Once again, it was a haul - left work at 3:45 with one stop for McDeath and a pee and got to the park to set up at dusk. Once again it was just me and five or six guys - which is not a bad thing because they already had the bell wedge set up with the cannon safely hidden inside, the dining fly up, a rope perimeter set up for our camp - and beer to serve me as soon as I got my tent up and gear stowed. I think it was a limited edition brew by Full Sail and I am DEEPLY concerned that the bottle cap had SCA propaganda inside it. "Live the Dream." I shit thee not, dear readers.
It's nice to know one has been missed. I usually attend the highland games at Woodland at the end of April, but I did CostumeCon this year instead. And it was nice to be the young one of the group for a change. Not to mention the least deaf.
Once again, I got about three minutes' sleep due to freeway noise and at least one late night freight train. Sometimes I get to sites and I crash like a rock, other places I just can't seem to settle.
Attendance appeared a lot lighter this year. I attempted to do a little busking and made a whopping $4 for a little under two hours' migratory playing - it's a Celtic fest. I kept having to move to avoid pipe bands or the sound shadows of groups on stage. I kind of expected this - the economy is in the toilet and people are more likely to spend their festival money on crap T shirts and beer than throw it at me. As usual, people seem to have absolutely no qualms about interrupting me while I'm playing to ask WHAT I'm playing. So I smile and do the 50 words or less explanation and then launch into a tune again so they can HEAR what I'm playing. If I'm lucky, someone realizes that they probably ought to put something in the bowl in front of me for my trouble. If.
Then there was the middle aged blonde Walmart Wife type who marched up to me and demanded loudly to know where I'd bought my straw hat. I stopped playing, said, "Excuse me?" as if I hadn't heard her. She repeated her question, again without so much as a "Please." "Hats of Berkeley. In Berkeley." "Well THAT doesn't do ME any good!" she huffed and flounced away. No. No, it doesn't. I should've offered to sell her mine for $100. The band was nice and sweaty by then.
Fresno in September is not anything like Scotland at any time of year. I was in linen chemise, corset, stockings, wool petticoat, linen kerchief, linen cap with straw hat on top. Fortunately, we were camped near a nice stand of trees so the guys could drill in the shade, and there was a reasonable breeze most of the morning.
I've done this enough times and listened to the guys that if they leave camp or are busy powdering up or something I can actually explain to members of the general public the difference between a matchlock and a wheellock and a flintlock and tell them a little bit about the Companie's leather cannon.
With only one camp follower (me), trying to play sheepdog with the tourons during the firing demos was extra special. YES, boneheads, that's a real cannon and those are real guns and even if there aren't shot in them, your day is going to suck profoundly if you end up with a burning piece of aluminum foil in your eye. A young Hispanic kid in a National Guard cadet T-shirt saw me trying to wave some people off before they walked across the field, asked if I needed help, and sprinted down to help me cover that stretch of road. Cute as a button, kept ma'aming me. He and some buddies happened back our way in a golf cart when we were doing the 3:30 PM demo and they stayed close by in case I needed them. Actually, the crowd had thinned quite a bit and most people were content to sit in whatever shade they could find.
We tore down right after closing ceremonies and I was actually on the road by 5:30. Traffic was moving pretty well and I got home by 8:30.
This is the 2nd year the Free Artillerie Company went to the Fresno Celtic Festival. Once again, it was a haul - left work at 3:45 with one stop for McDeath and a pee and got to the park to set up at dusk. Once again it was just me and five or six guys - which is not a bad thing because they already had the bell wedge set up with the cannon safely hidden inside, the dining fly up, a rope perimeter set up for our camp - and beer to serve me as soon as I got my tent up and gear stowed. I think it was a limited edition brew by Full Sail and I am DEEPLY concerned that the bottle cap had SCA propaganda inside it. "Live the Dream." I shit thee not, dear readers.
It's nice to know one has been missed. I usually attend the highland games at Woodland at the end of April, but I did CostumeCon this year instead. And it was nice to be the young one of the group for a change. Not to mention the least deaf.
Once again, I got about three minutes' sleep due to freeway noise and at least one late night freight train. Sometimes I get to sites and I crash like a rock, other places I just can't seem to settle.
Attendance appeared a lot lighter this year. I attempted to do a little busking and made a whopping $4 for a little under two hours' migratory playing - it's a Celtic fest. I kept having to move to avoid pipe bands or the sound shadows of groups on stage. I kind of expected this - the economy is in the toilet and people are more likely to spend their festival money on crap T shirts and beer than throw it at me. As usual, people seem to have absolutely no qualms about interrupting me while I'm playing to ask WHAT I'm playing. So I smile and do the 50 words or less explanation and then launch into a tune again so they can HEAR what I'm playing. If I'm lucky, someone realizes that they probably ought to put something in the bowl in front of me for my trouble. If.
Then there was the middle aged blonde Walmart Wife type who marched up to me and demanded loudly to know where I'd bought my straw hat. I stopped playing, said, "Excuse me?" as if I hadn't heard her. She repeated her question, again without so much as a "Please." "Hats of Berkeley. In Berkeley." "Well THAT doesn't do ME any good!" she huffed and flounced away. No. No, it doesn't. I should've offered to sell her mine for $100. The band was nice and sweaty by then.
Fresno in September is not anything like Scotland at any time of year. I was in linen chemise, corset, stockings, wool petticoat, linen kerchief, linen cap with straw hat on top. Fortunately, we were camped near a nice stand of trees so the guys could drill in the shade, and there was a reasonable breeze most of the morning.
I've done this enough times and listened to the guys that if they leave camp or are busy powdering up or something I can actually explain to members of the general public the difference between a matchlock and a wheellock and a flintlock and tell them a little bit about the Companie's leather cannon.
With only one camp follower (me), trying to play sheepdog with the tourons during the firing demos was extra special. YES, boneheads, that's a real cannon and those are real guns and even if there aren't shot in them, your day is going to suck profoundly if you end up with a burning piece of aluminum foil in your eye. A young Hispanic kid in a National Guard cadet T-shirt saw me trying to wave some people off before they walked across the field, asked if I needed help, and sprinted down to help me cover that stretch of road. Cute as a button, kept ma'aming me. He and some buddies happened back our way in a golf cart when we were doing the 3:30 PM demo and they stayed close by in case I needed them. Actually, the crowd had thinned quite a bit and most people were content to sit in whatever shade they could find.
We tore down right after closing ceremonies and I was actually on the road by 5:30. Traffic was moving pretty well and I got home by 8:30.
