The 37th Annual Renaissance Pleasure Faire is being held
weekends at Casa de Fruta. Last Sunday, my husband and I went to
Ren Faire with our old friend Jeff
– that is, our friendship is old; Jeff, isn’t, particularly –
and four assorted children: his, ours, and somebody else’s, ages
12, 13, 14, and 15.
The 37th Annual Renaissance Pleasure Faire is being held weekends at Casa de Fruta. Last Sunday, my husband and I went to Ren Faire with our old friend Jeff – that is, our friendship is old; Jeff, isn’t, particularly – and four assorted children: his, ours, and somebody else’s, ages 12, 13, 14, and 15.
We had a marvelous time. We lucked out on our choice of day to attend. I have friends working Ren Faire this year, and they tell me that on some days many people, faire workers and patrons alike, seem seized by a spirit of lechery. Last weekend, Saturday was such a day. Sunday was relatively mild and modest. Go figure.
The crowds were large, but not horrible. Business was brisk, but we never had to wait in a line more than two guests deep.
Much at Ren Faire appeals to girls, and Anne, Jaime, and I reveled in it. We all dressed up. I wore my chemise, bodice, skirt, and a muffin cap. This is the exact same costume I wear to march in the Independence Day parade as a 1776 Molly Pitcher impersonator, except that I substitute a mob cap for the muffin cap. I can cover about a thousand years of history, Middle Ages through the Renaissance through colonial through the 1840’s, by donning or skipping the bodice and updating my hat. Talk about classic fashion.
Jaime wore a more specific and fashionable Renaissance dress and a wreath of flowers. Anne wore a tunic, breeches, mis-matched moccasins, a beret, and her bamboo practice long sword. She was spoiling for a fight, but was, alas, disappointed.
My husband, bless his soul, obliged his womenfolk by donning his timeless boots, breeches, and fluffy shirt, as well as the slashed doublet and Tudor cap I made for him years ago for his niece’s wedding.
Jeff, Josh, and Colin, typical guys, refused to dress up. They wore shorts and T-shirts. Some people just don’t know how to enjoy themselves.
We arrived at the Faire around 1:30, bought sausages, beer, and root beer, and wended our way to the jousting field barely in time for the 2 p.m. show. We got to cheer “huzzah!” for the black knight, and watch the black, red, green, and silver knights hit each other with mace and sword and lance. It was pretty exciting, even from the cheap seats on the hill behind the stands, especially when they tilted, and knocked one another off their galloping horses.
After the joust, we wandered around the booths. Ren Faire is mostly a craft faire, hence its appeal to women. You can pretend to be learning something of historical significance while shopping for stained glass kaleidoscopes, ceramics, leather pouches and belts, pewter goblets, painted gourds, baskets, and clothing: Renaissance, pseudo-Ren, and pure modern hippie.
The kids enjoyed the activities. They threw axes, shot longbows and crossbows, and fenced. There’s an area for little kids too, where they can race turtles or fish or shoot peanuts from crossbows: very cute.
But what can a guy do at Ren Faire, if he’s not into swaggering around in a kilt with a sword? Well, he can look at the swords and knives and chain mail. He can eat steak and sausages. He can drink beer. And there are a lot of women of varying degrees of attractiveness, who have been deluded into thinking that dressing in Renaissance attire means that one’s bosom must be threatening to spill from the top of one’s bodice.
In general, though, you’ll see more skin on the beach.
Yes, blades, bangers, beer, and bosoms, even guys can enjoy the Ren Faire, at Casa de Fruta, this weekend and next.
On the way out of the gate, a pseudo-Puritan accosted me. I could tell she was supposed to be a Puritan because she was wearing black. (The real Puritans wore a lot of different colors.)
“Are you proud of yourself, Mistress?” she hissed at me.
“I hope not!” I huffed, in mock horror. “Pride is a sin!”
“Oh,” she said weakly. Pseudo-Puritans don’t know what to say when confronted by the real thing.
