Kele Johnson
English 101
Professor Corbally
27 February 2006
What's Faire is Faire--My Obsession
"Heave to, ya Jacks! All hands on deck!" Groggily I forced my eyes open as First Mate Nathaniel Alistair Davidson's voice rang through the paper-thin walls of the pavilion tent. I tried to focus my eyes, which were refusing to cooperate by failing to raise more than half mast, in order to look at my watch. Mr. Davidson's voice came booming through the tent, "Smartly now, laddies, smartly! Captain on the deck in ten!"
"Delilah! Delilah, wake up!" I urged as I pushed on my tent mate's shoulder gently. "Captain Riggs will be on deck in ten minutes." 
"Urrgghhh, I'm up, Tess," Delilah muttered. "Doesn't that man ever sleep? No matter how much rum he and Chum Bucket put in their systems, he's still up at dawn." 
"Well, I don't think Chum will be so lucky," I said. "I heard he joined the turtle club last night somewhere between the Bones to Jelly and the Mary Read."
"I heard that," came a muffled voice from the far corner of the pavilion. "What time is it anyway?"
"It's six in the morning, Chum," I said. "It's time to get up." Chum moaned loudly. "Oh why don't you people go away and let me sleep?" 
"Captain on the deck in ten-no, eight minutes now, Chum," I said. "You had better heave to and get out of your rack unless you want to find yourself on watch for most of the day. You know how he can be. You'll be saying good-bye to the cannons, and hello to gate watch."
Hastily, I threw on a chemise and knee britches and stumbled out of the pavilion, nose in the air, hoping for coffee. I was in luck. Rakiah was in the galley pouring coffee into various tankards and cups. I regarded her blearily. Rakiah laughed. "Did the captain make you stay up learning the drinking songs last night, Tess," she asked? 
"Aye Rak, he did. But believe me, I think that I got off much better than Chum. He'll be moving pretty slowly today," I answered. "I don't know why that boy thinks he can out drink our captain and still live to tell about it." 
Coffee in hand, I wandered back through the encampment, taking in the dawn. I looked around at the sleepy German village, watching as the town folk slowly started coming to life. This is one of my favorite times during the Renaissance Faire, before the guests, before the remains of the night before have been removed. For a few moments, you might have believed that you had slipped back through time into a pirate encampment. But what you have slipped into is my alternate reality, the life that I love to live, the life that I obsess about between the seasons, the Renaissance Faire.
In the off season, I am Kele, mild-mannered working mom who has finally realized her dream of returning to school for her degree. But the moment the calendar rolls around to February, I begin to fluctuate between Kele and my alter-ego: that twisted Celt, the Scottish pirate, crew member of "Neptune's Vengeance," the Lady Tesyss. She spends the days leading up to the Faire forcing me to surf eBay in search of the perfect garb to outfit her. She is quite the peacock, our Tesyss. She preens and struts before the mirror, adding and subtracting various pieces of clothing and different accoutrements, adjusting her cleavage to its best advantage. She is quite shameless.
And it is she who has taken up her observation point at the starboard side of the encampment, sipping coffee from a wooden tankard, contentedly observing as life in Koronaburg begins to stir.
"Captain on the deck, Mr. Davidson," I hear Blind Rob call out.
"Captain on the deck, ya Jacks!" shouts Mr. Davidson. I jump to my feet and stand at attention, as Captain Riggs strolls out of his cabin.
Our encampment is run very much like a pirate ship of old. Captain Riggs has been elected to his post, and he takes his job very seriously. And we, his crew, take Captain Riggs quite seriously as well.
"At ease mates," says the Captain. He settles into a chair, and turns to look at me. "Well, Tess, do ya remember any of the songs we taught you last night?"
"Aye sir," I answer.
"Well then, my lady," the Captain smirks as he turns to look at Mr. Davidson, or Nad for short, "why don't you favor us with a song?" A song? Lovely, the Captain is a morning sadist. Falling out of character for just a moment, I respond. "Oh c'mon Troy," I plead, "isn't it a bit early for me to start with the drinking songs? I haven't even had a full cup of coffee yet!"
Fortunately, the fates are with me. The townsfolk begin to gather at the Pirate Stage, some already in garb, some still in pajamas, and they serve as a proper distraction so that I don't have to sing in the dawn's early light. It's time for Morning Notes. "I reckon I'll be singin' later Captain," I laugh, and off to the stage I run. 
Morning Notes is the part of our day when we who perform are given our instructions for the days events, and when the previous day is discussed. This is the camaraderie that I love, and that I miss so badly when season is over. Today is opening day. Many of these people I have not seen for nearly a year. It is much like a family reunion, except that most of us truly enjoy and love each other. Not much is accomplished this morning, and most of our time is spent catching up with old friends.
Back at the Cove, we have three cannon shows today and one small arms demonstration. Obtaining a working flintlock pistol is another of one of my obsessions, or rather, it is an obsession brought to light by Tess. She loves the smell of gunpowder in the morning. She forces me to play Powder Monkey so that she can be up close and personal with the cannons. She is hoping that the Captain will let her play with small arms today. 
I don't have time to think about it too much though because it is time to dress. There is only one hour left until opening gate, and the air in the village is beginning to hum. I slip into the pavilion and start pulling out costume pieces. The sound of movement comes to me from the corner of the tent and I stop mid-strip. A fairly loud snore rips the air, ending on a small gurgle. I laugh and continue to change. Poor Chum, he'll face the Captain's wrath later, but I believe that I will let Nad rouse him. I have things to do.
I pull on my chemise and my skirts, and begin the tedious and difficult task of lacing my bodice. I have decided to wear a short sleeved chemise despite the slight chill in the air this morning, although it will warm later. If I wear long sleeves, Captain Riggs will not let me shoot the small arms. He once mentioned something about the likelihood of catching my sleeves on fire, or some such nonsense, as if I'm not as coordinated as I could be. But he is the Captain after all.
Once I've laced my bodice, I put on my belt, and check to make sure that everything I will need for the day is ready to be secured to it. I add my pouch, double-bladed knife (peace tied of course), my eating utensils, my tankard, my fan, and of course, my flask containing a bit of the single malt, which no self respecting Scot would be caught without. It's my little way of keeping Tess true to her Scottish roots.
"Opening guns, Gunner's Mate," I hear the captain cry. I emerge dressed from the pavilion in time to see Delilah take the hot match to Maggie, the cannon she prefers to shoot. "BOOM!" The sound rings out across the Santa Ana River, and with that the Faire is open.
I don't have watch this morning, so I head down into the village to get my hair braided. I make my way to Bree's braiding booth, and join the line of village women waiting to have their hair braided. It is preferable for me to have my hair either up, or under a hat. I'm not planning on wearing a hat today. It is supposed to be ninety degrees, and my felt cavalier's hat is sauna-like even in cooler weather. 
There are patron's coming through the village now, and we are careful to acknowledge them and to include them in our conversations. Many of the children who come through the village are wide eyed and awestruck by their surroundings. I know how they feel. I had that same feeling of wonder during my first trip to the Faire over twenty years ago. I have it still.
After having my hair braided, I wander toward the arena. There will be jousting soon. I am going to join my friend Terri to drool over the various knights and assist in bringing patrons to the joust. I'm not the best of the hawkers, but I am enthusiastic.
I love the joust. There is something quite primitive and lovely about it all. I dreamt at one time of joining the joust. I ride quite well and I thought that I would make an exemplary knight. However, I found out that there is more to it than just being able to ride well. You must fall well too. My brother taught me how to stay ON the horse, not how to intentionally fall off. I had no desire to learn to fall off of a perfectly good horse. That put an end to that dream.
As I leave the jousting arena, my friends, Siler and Clarc, are on the pirate stage. They sing Renaissance era songs, tavern songs, drinking songs, a few ballads, and more drinking songs. I pause to watch them before heading back to the encampment. One of my favorite moments of Faire revolves around a song they sing and I'm hoping to hear it. Steven (Clarc) catches sight of me, and leans toward Gary (Siler), and whispers to him. They break into the guitar riff which begins the song I love, "Red is the Rose." It is a haunting song and I have tears running down my face as I always do when they finish.
"Tess!" I hear my name called above the din of the applause. I turn to look in the direction of the voice. It is Margo, otherwise known as "Big, fat, bug-faced, baby-eating Baysheville" or Lady Baysheville, depending upon her mood. She is the Captain's woman, and from the determined look on her face, she is on a mission from him. "Captain is looking for you, Tess." "Is he mad?" I ask her. "No, not at all," she says. "It's time for the show. Did you lose track of the time?" "Aye," I said. "I've been listening to Steve and Gary." "Well get back to camp," she insists. "We have a show to put on."
I hurry back to the encampment, hoping that I have not frittered away my chance to participate in the black powder show. When I come into camp, Chum is laying out the pistols on the table, along with the powder canister. He turns and gives me a sickly smile. I have to turn away before I laugh. Chum's face has a definite greenish tinge to it.
"Am I to shoot then sir?" I asked the Captain. "Aye Tess, you are," Captain Riggs answered. "Get your gloves."
I run into the pavilion and retrieve my leather gloves. As I move back to the line and stand between Long John McEwan and Blind Rob, I notice a crowd has gathered. "Weapons at the ready!" calls Mr. Davidson.
"Weapons ready sir!" we call back in unison. 
"Load yer charges then mates." 
"Aye sir," we say. One by one, we take the powder canister, and load one powder charge per pistol.
"Prime yer weapons!" 
"Aye sir!" we call. The powder flask is passed around and pulling our hammers back to half-cock, we pour a small measure of powder into the pan.
"Prepare to fire on my mark," says Nad. "I want a round from starboard to larboard mates!" 
"Aye sir!" we say. We pull our hammers back to full-cock, take aim, and wait for Mr. Davidson's mark. 
"Fire in the hole!" he cries. "BOOM!" "BOOM!" "BOOM!" The sound of the pistols echo off the small river canyon as we hit the perfect starboard to larboard round.
"Well done, mateys!" Mr. Davidson says. The crowd breaks into enthusiastic applause. Whew! I am still tingling all over. Small arms are what I really enjoy. From the feel of the grip in my hand, to the smell of the black powder smoke afterward, I love everything about it.
"Well, Tess," the Captain says to me afterward, "what did you think?"
"BOOM!" I say to him happily. 
"That says it all," the Captain laughs, and pats me on the shoulder as he walks away.
The rest of the black powder show passes in a haze. I am pressed into service as Match Monkey, as Chum is none too steady on his feet. The Match Monkey would have been a small boy of about eight or nine on a ship. He must be small enough to fit in the cannon area, an area that would have been not more than three to four feet high. Children under eighteen are not allowed to work the black powder in our group, so the task of Match Monkey (carries the lit hot match to the gunners) and the Powder Monkey (carries the black powder to the gunners) is performed by the crew members. As the Captain runs through the show, he explains to the crowd how these tasks would have been performed on board ship and who would have performed them. Our guild is both educational and theatrical, and so the Captain aims to teach all who come to see us about the Pirates of Rogues Cove.
There is so much to do and see at the Faire that even those of us who work it rarely see it all. Before the run of Faire is over, I will shoot a bow and arrow in a tournament with the Archers of Ravenswood; I will make candles in the village; I will watch at least a dozen Rat Races and at least two dozen jousts; I will sing a drunken pirate ditty before a crowd of my friends against my will; I will reluctantly bow to peer pressure and eat at least one turkey leg, but none of that will be today.
The Faire will close at six tonight. When the last patron has left, many of us will declare it to be "freedom from the bodice time" and the garb will be traded in for jeans and tee shirts. We will all sit around and reflect on the day, and some of us, perhaps me included, will have just a bit to drink.
We are all, each of us in this place, in our own ways obsessed by this Faire. And perhaps we are all afflicted with a bit of a split personality disorder as we truly believe our alter egos to be actual people. Perhaps a person would have to be just a tad off in order to love this Faire as much as each of us does.
Am I truly twisted to nurture this obsession? Perhaps, but it matters not a whit to me. I am a Ren Faire geek. I am a pirate.