Since many of us have been involved in one form or another of living history or medievalism for pushing 20 years or so, we’ve got friends and sister-groups all over the place.  Many of them camp within spitting distance of us, there in the bog.  Some of our friends, however, camp so far away they […]

So we got there, we camped temporarily on the flat while Scott and Bodwin wandered around making cryptic gestures and grumbling, and we had a metric f-ton of fun with our friends, the pyromaniacs dear, dear freaks Celts.  And then we drank Marconis.  I was tasked with helping Etaine "get her blotto on."  I did […]

So, as I mentioned, we got a trailer for the camping trip.  Sounds crazy, I know, but this is the first time in years Scott and I have been able go for the same number of days, so we wanted to take just one vehicle.  Nothing makes us more exhausted than packing up at the […]

<p>So, the last two important bog poems: </p> <p><strong>The Grauballe Man</strong></p> <p>As if he had been poured<br />in tar, he lies<br />on a pillow of turf<br />and seems to weep<br /><br />the black river of himself.<br />The grain of his wrists<br />is like bog oak,<br />the ball of his heel<br /><br />like a basalt egg.<br […]