Ye Olde Renaissance Faire

Today marked the thirteenth straight year I visited the Renaissance Faire in Chicago.

Well, it’s not exactly in Chicago – about an hour away just north of the Wisconsin border. It’s a long drive for a festival and I make it every summer. While there are street fairs and events that happen every weekend here in the city, I get most excited about the Ren Faire. Why? I really don’t know. I’m not someone that speaks in olde English nor do I play fantasy role playing games. I don’t own a sword, dagger, or scabbard. I don’t think to shout, “Huzzah” whenever someone wins my favor, and I don’t refer to the bathroom as a privy. So, what is so great about the Faire? I’ve thought about why I come back every year, and have found a number of reasons…

• It’s fun  – If you’ve never felt the satisfaction of hucking an axe at a wooden target bullseye, well sister, you’re missing out on some good time. You can throw knives, shoot arrows, fire crossbows and attempt to climb Jacob’s Ladder. There’s ten stages of shows where entertainers sword fight, sing bawdy songs, recite Shakespeare in a mud pit, and, of course juggle flaming batons. There’s a huge jousting arena where knights duke it out – sure, it’s scripted, but when they fall off their horse because they took a lance to the chest, it’s pretty intense. I could go on and on, but you’ll have to trust me here – the Faire is a real hoot.

• The clothing and speech –  The Ren Faire is only open for six weeks during the hottest part of the summer. It’s not the time to be dressing up in full Renaissance garb, yet hundreds of people do every day. Out of the thousands that attend per weekend I bet around 20% are fully decked out in heavy layered clothing. I love these people because of their commitment. This is their Halloween. But not only do they dress the part, they  speak  the part as well. Every woman is greeted as “M’lady” or “Hark, wench!” There are fairies, wizards, templars, pirates, princesses and harlots running around all sloshing their mugs of ale and cheering the queen. Also, you’ll see the occasional wood nymph wearing next to nothing which is always appreciated.

• The food  – If you’ve never had a turkey leg, you simply haven’t ever had a turkey leg. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I’d say “you haven’t lived” but that would be a stretch. The Faire has every type of food imaginable. I didn’t realize people in the 1700s ate tempura vegetables, but, hey, I didn’t exactly stay awake during history class in high school. I was too busy not getting dates. The food is amazing, however, and you can even buy those gigantic pickles on a stick. I’m going to the grave arguing that I invented the phrase “Pickles – the dessert of lunch.” In fact, I want that on my headstone. So, if you’re in charge of my grave site, get that shit done.

Aside from all else, I love the community of the Faire. A lot of people who dress up, let’s face it, are what we in America call “nerds.” But, to me, they’re fun fanatics. I love that they have the balls to get gussied up in elaborate costumes. Sure, it’s easy to make fun of the heavy-set woman in the chain mail bikini. I literally saw one gal airing out her crotch (my date explained this to me) because her costume was so layered. Every lady’s bosom is up and out, and every man is carrying a sword and mug. They greet each other as they pass, and everyone is having fun.

In a week, I’ll be attending BlogHer with nearly six thousand women. I go because my pals go. Most of my writer friends will be there. It’s my community. I’m grateful to have found my tribe, and I encourage you to explore yours. Find people that love your crap.

The Renaissance Faire is a reminder that relationships are the pinnacle of human experience. Thank you for being part of my community.