Photo Journal, no. 7 | To the Renaissance and Back

1. Wolfman, in chainmail.
2. Clif Bar, Knitting, Horn flagon, Faire address: Ready for a long drive.
3. Spider, hiding on a sheep skin rug.
5. Late lunch: Cider, turkey leg, and sausage on a stick.
6. Boss Wench, my new future band name.
9. When we see the camel, I say, “Oh, look how pretty it is,” at the same time Wolfman says, “What an ugly beast.”
11. Leather Mystiques, of Oregon, where Wolfman purchased his piebald gauntlets.
12. Scottish babies.
14. “Creaking above thy very head hang the silent corpses of Henry’s dead.”
17. A boy draws what Wolfman recognizes as the Nine Realms in the dirt.
18. “Poke a dead man with a stick!”

If I can’t write about it, it must have been fun. That is the rule of my life and writing habits. Let me just say this, we did not want to leave. I envisioned an RV with a couple goats tethered to it, and a life for us as traveling craftsmen of some sort. Leather? Metal work? Corset fitting? Weaving? Something, something creative and with our hands, and traveling from Renaissance Faire to Renaissance Faire across the country. Wolfman says, “We’d be poor,” to which I respond, “But we’d be happy. (And we're already poor.)”

Now, to learn some craft.