There are times when I feel like I wasn’t born in the right time. As if I’m supposed to be somewhere else. It’s a feeling I can’t describe and it’s more than a deja-vu experience. This past weekend, I took my daughter to a Medieval Festival and Banquet out in Carnation. A wonderful experience. I’ve always been drawn to the 14th & 15th century time line. The dress, the lifestyle, medical practices and social practices are a strong fascination to me, as well as the horror. I can’t believe those people lived as long as they did without proper health care! It’s amazing. I could continually learn about that time in our world and never get bored. We didn’t dress up, basically because we do not own anything to dress up in, but enjoyed the festival none-the-less.
It was St. Bartholomew’s Festival.
A bit of history on old Bart. I digress, but to get a context, it is needed. (Taken from the ol’ trusty internet)
St. Bartholomew, 1st. century, one of the 12.
“All that is known of him with certainty is that he is mentioned in the synoptic gospels and Acts as one of the twelve apostles. His name, a patronymic, means "son of Tolomai" and scholars believe he is the same as Nathanael mentioned in John, who says he is from Cana and that Jesus called him an "Israelite...incapable of deceit." The Roman Martyrology says he preached in India and Greater Armenia, where he was flayed and beheaded by King Astyages. Tradition has the place as Abanopolis on the west coast of the Caspian Sea and that he also preached in Mesopotamia, Persia, and Egypt. The Gospel of Bartholomew is apochryphal and was condemned in the decree of Pseudo-Gelasius. Feast Day August 24.”
We entered through the wooden archway into a nestled wooded area of those in dress selling their crafts, clothes, garlands and even took a stab at the bow and arrow (which apparently I’m fairly good at) First try and I was mere inches from the center of the target! Girl power abounded. Fortune telling also graced the grounds, yet we passed that one up. I am a staunch believer that we should never know the future regardless of the seriousness or silliness of its context.
Through the storefronts we walked. It was a lovely day. Overcast with a slight damp breeze due to the humidity in the air. My daughter fell in love with the essential oil lotion made of spices. They were displayed in beautiful corked glass jars of all colors graced with a ribbon for finish. She chose the purple bottle. We then visited the resident sheep. One forgets how funny sheep are and how much funnier they sound. But they sure can eat!
Next onto watching a playful wrestle and joust and to pass the candle maker and blacksmith. Later we learned to juggle. I am using the word “learned” very loosely here. I was a hopeless case, but the juggler was rather cute and he was making me nervous. I caught all 3 balls only once and called it good. I was off to buy my honeysuckle head garland to wear the rest of the day.
My daughter kept returning to the dagger and leather front. The woman dressed in a lovely empire-waist white dress with floral garland to match introduced us to satchels of all sizes and daggers/swords to match. My daughter had quite a time touching each blade and gripping the handle with each hand to make sure she received just the right fit. At last, she came upon a 12 inch metal and black knife with its own sheathe. I bought it for her. Now, one could say that I was crazy to buy my 12-year-old a dagger, but hey, for some reason, she is drawn to it and she is in to WOW and gaming and wanted to display it on her wall. Who knows? In a past life, she could have been a kin to a warrior or something and has an affinity toward the art. I question not. I completely believe that we go on after death. I’m almost positive that I am a reincarnation of some woman long ago. I feel like I’ve been around a lot longer than I have. I don’t dismiss those kinds of feelings. I believe it to be true.
We then sit for an hour concert and listen to ancient instruments like the hurdy-gurdy and fiddler-type of instruments and a wonderful harp. A lovely display of talent and a graceful voice by a handsome young chap with tatooes of old on his neck and face. I still can’t be sure they were real or not. They could have just been for “play” purposes, but they looked real to me-and I have three tats to compare by!
Then came the Dance Macabre; very creepy indeed and a mysterious way to end the festival. I danced as my daughter finished her goddess candle. Then the feast. By that time, we were starving, so anything could have been eaten and we wouldn’t have cared. We didn’t have plates. We had “trenchers.” A large round piece of bread that was to be eaten and to be ate upon. So, let me preface this by saying we are not big meat eaters. We’re not vegetarian; we just don’t prefer meat. Well, this night provided a plethora of meat. Very good meat, but I fasted for 20 hours just to cleanse my system! What heaven was put upon us but a cherry pudding. Yum yum! Sweet pitted cherries drenched in red wine, cloves, cinnamon and sugar. I thought I had died and entered another realm. I could live off that stuff. So beef, chicken, hens, more chicken and more beef later and then we finally topped it off with grapes and cheese to cleanse the palate. It was wonderful. And it was fun to eat with our fingers too! A good time had by all.
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