I’d never been to a Renaissance fair. For 40 years I’d managed to avoid it, in spite of the fact that my Dungeons and Dragons past, my history geek side and my fascination with Celtic lore in general put me square in the group dynamic. Still, it was the image of standing in a blazing hot field while adults all around me played make believe in polyester jester costumes which held me back.

Turns out I was underestimating Renn faire goers. The Bristol Rennaissance Faire we visited Sunday for my birthday is nearly as old as I am. Just three year younger than me actually. In those years they’ve had the time to grow a few trees and build a few permanent type structures. Serious faire-goers have had ample opportunity to create their own economy and the creation of quality costumes seems to be a real part of it.

The night before my whole household could barely sleep. Anoif had painstakingly sewn her costume over the past weeks. Too bad you can’t really see the skirt well here. It is a very lovely green thing with many pleats and folds.

She had been to the fair last year with friends and was now determined to be a member. She helped her equally excited brother cobble together a sort of hobbit hobo outfit that passed as somewhat old and historical looking. They urged their father and I to participate but we explained how we would need to have our hands and limbs free from restrictive clothing in order to better reach our wallets every two minutes once on the fairgrounds.

The wondrous anniversary of my birth finally dawned and off we drove, making a brief lost pitstop at the Mars Cheese Castle to explore not just their fine cheeses but also the modernity of their plumbing which we’d soon find lacking in more ancient realms.

Once upon the dusty red packed earth of the Renn faire I made haste to assert my queenly status (when Queen Elizabeth wasn’t looking). I ,for example, declared we’d all try some archery and then fetch a beer and a sassafras. I deemed the Mud show too pithy in the word department and short on the mud flinging, so on we flounced.  In fact, we flounced until our brows perspired. We ate, found gifts for certain soon to be wedded folk, ate some more, bumped in to friends we knew everywhere of course, oggled much silver jewelry and watched our children jump around on a bungee trampoline contraption that seemed out of place amid the crowd. Ken and I found some small delight in categorizing the faire-goers. Although by no means did we complete an entire nomenclature, here is a small sampling of what we observed. Ken will probably post his separately:

dark shrouded wizard types

ethereal painted fairies

completely been there since 1973, wearing a burlap sack or rags and looking kind of drugged guys

fairy animals

little girls dressed as princesses or fairies

highlanders

Shakespearean wood sprites (one is the mushroom sprite and crawls around)

leprechauns

your every day garden variety parent opening and closing a leather wallet device for their deliriously happy children

girls in Catholic school attire with animal tails or horns on their heads, maybe both

dudes with whips and cudgels

people with fake pets, often dragons, on their shoulders

royal guards

women wearing barmaid or can-can type outfits from an entirely different era

your basic Viking type guys

authentic looking Queen’s court

your average pirate

Conan type creatures

various and assorted men in tights or leggings

knights, usually hanging out with gladiators and vikings for whatever reason

your sexy Halloween costume clad pirate gal, always with similarly dressed friend

your “I’m just here with my wife who likes to dress up as a Renaissance period woman while I wear my  construction boots and jeans” kinda guy

clumps of young people drinking beer and just wearing a goofy hat they bought there

don’t forget my son, the hobo hobbit…or is it boho hobbit? Here he is after having befriended the strangely beautiful and aloof fairy. They took a stroll together…

How fun it was to witness the jousting and queen’s dramas. To see grown people wrapped up in the world of make believe. To look at costumes and weaponry that is as close to authentic as I could have imagined. To eavesdrop on young adults admiring our kids and their friends’ outfits “I hope when I have kids they’ll want to dress up for the faire…” To thank a shopkeeper for complimenting the 5 children I somehow ended up with in one seamstress shop. Afterwards she said “What well behaved kids you have here. Usually this many in one store will cause a ruckus.”

To see a whole world based on fantasy and history combined and run mostly by creative role players and friendly artists. It was actually like coming home. Now I can imagine why Anoif wants to be there every weekend. Who cares is my feet were red and dusty all the way back to Chicago?