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 may as well be in Canada.

After a few days of set up and staying home, we decided to walk up to Tir Thalor’s camp to ask them if they wanted to fight with us again.  This trip includes a lot of fighting, an aspect of this particular hobby I’m trying to forget I like.  Anyway, their group is based in New York, and they’re less a living history group than a fantasy sort of group.  And their camp is really really a long walk.  Uphill.  But it’s all good.  They make good mead.  Really good mead.  It means something when I say that–I think most mead is only good for catching flies, since I’m not at all interested in picking up 14 year old girls who like D & D.  And once I catch flies, I feel like a jerk.  So I really dislike most mead.  But Tir Thalor’s mead is worth walking to Canada for. 

Before the walk, there was the primping.  Since we were going up to Canada to hire Tir Thalor, we needed to get out the good stuff, and carry pointy things, and maybe write up a bit of a set list.  Etaine (pronounced EEE-thaw-nyuh, by the way) painted up most of us.  Here she is working on Alerin, who had just gotten a fantastic felt hat from Liadan.
 


She makes the best felt. 

And, you see that black something or other on Etaine’s shoulders?  You know what that is?  It’s a crow-feather cloak.  For bardic bombast, of course.  Fionn made it.  Woot.  I ‘ll have to photograph it properly if I can ever get close enough to it without getting nipped on the finger–the feather tips are curled so prettily.

Ruadhan (notice the Campari-colored hair?) got a lovely, simple little horn and spiral.

Bodwin, well Bodwin stood around looking like he might stab someone.  I don’t know what this expression was about. 

And then we congregated for a while, waiting for the slowbees . . . and apparently Scott needed to do a little dance.   

I made that tunic he’s wearing, of course, and the pants.  Udutai made the boots.   And I made the skirt Etaine is wearing–very nice purple linen.  I think maybe she wears it to work too sometimes.  And I think I made that red tunic Cellagh is wearing–it’s actually Moragh’s, but he kept swiping it.  It’s a very nice silk noile.  Whenever we’re standing around or lazing, I take a little mental inventory of what items I’ve made that are on my friends.  I shoot for 100%.  It happens once in a while.  I’ve got about 50% of the folks in this gathering.

This is Fionn in the center, the maker of the feather-cloak.  Cellagh is wearing the boar-tusk necklace because he was doing war-chief biznazz.  I don’t know why he’s looking a bit deranged, but it may have something to do with a critical lack of beer in his redonkulous mug there.  And he’s got one of Richard’s repro helmets on for no particular reason.  Again, blame it on his thirst. 

Anyway, we then walked to Canada.  Etaine and I sang some, and Fiona from Tir Thalor sang, and we tried to take some great pictures of the moon but none of us were still enough to capture it correctly with our fake slow-shutter settings on our digicams.  But the moon was gorgeous, framed in their gate. 

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