Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Saturday, 20050820

The final Saturday of Pennsic, I was still tired from my previous burst of activity, but did eventually wander up the hill for very last minute shopping and to say goodbye to friends among the merchants. This was cut short when I realized that the pretty but ominous clouds moving across the top of the hill had changed direction and decided to rain on everything else as well. I'd picked up a couple of items on my shopping list, failed to check my email because Mystic Mail was already closed, and was on my way to get my shoes adjusted at Medieval Moccasins when it started to rain, so I strolled back to camp to check the windows of my tent. The times it rained this year it didn't really storm, though we sometimes heard thunder in the distance. Compensation from Mother Nature for some of the really miserably wet Wars we've had on occasion, I guess.

Once I was back in camp, I mostly stuck around until dark. After the rain let up, there was food, there was conversation, and there were "shouldn't we be going to the Viking Boat Burning" noises that I should have paid more attention to. Basically, I got distracted and didn't pay enough attention to how quickly dusk was falling, so by the time it finally registered and we (anniemal, syntonic_comma, and I) headed down to the lake to watch, the boat was already on the water (and on fire) and we were navigating other people's campsites in the gathering dark. This year I never made it to the far side of the lake to look at the boat while it was being built, and I didn't write names on slips of paper to put into the boat, but I watched, and while I watched I thought of my friends and kin who've died, and I listened to the noises coming from other groups of watchers. This year I didn't hear much from most directions; a little here and there, but most of the sound came from the spot on the shore where the boat was launched and someone was calling out the names.

After the Viking Memorial, I decided to head partway around the lake and see whether much_ado, whom I'd meant to visit more but hadn't seen since she came to my camp in the first few days of the first week, was still around. Alas, no, I was too late, but I discovered that the folks still hanging out in that camp were fun to talk to.

Back in my own camp later, as most folks were headed to bed to prepare for an early start in the morning, I didn't really want to let go of the evening even though I too was tired. Saturday night is when it feels like Pennsic ends, for me. Sunday morning is all about packing up and going home, at least for the people who haven't fled already (some people start leaving Thursday ... I remember when I used to arrive on Friday, but the timing and pace of Pennsic has shifted over the years). Sunday there are still friendly hellos, and we're still on site, but we're not "doing Pennsic", we're striking camp and trying to get out. It's Saturday night that feels like my "this is the last bit I have to savor until next year" time. So crashing early Saturday night is hard; I want to squeeze every last bit of Pennsic-ness out of the evening -- night -- before I admit that it's done.

My camp had gone to bed, but a member of Burning Hand was still tending the fire next door, so I joined him to stare at the fire and delay the inevitable. That's where last Tuesday's qote-of-the-day came from -- the two of us standing by the fire contemplating the idea that it was the final night of the War, both feeling melancholy at the thought that it was just about over.

That was when it struck me that the lover who took me to my first Pennsic had cursed me. She has cursed me with having a home town that only exists for two weeks out of the year.

But during Pennsic, it's hard to consider it a curse. It's only that final night around a campfire (gotta find a campfire to sit or stand next to in that mood), or at odd moments of longing during other parts of the year, that it feels like anything other than a gift. For those two weeks, it's a heck of a town.

Sunday, 20050820

I didn't stay up too late sulking. I was asleep by 0230. In the morning I got a later start than I'd planned to, but it didn't matter -- I stalled long enough for the canvas tent and the plastic tarps to dry while organizing everything else, worked at a reasonable pace, and still had a few hours to wait for the truck to be ready after I'd bundled everything up. I was the last to leave my block (or the two adjacent blocks) but I did see a couple of vehicles parked in campsites much farther up Brewer's Road. After I'd packed, I wrote a diary entry in which I observed, "Last night I wanted to squeeze every last minute out of Pennsic that I could. Today, Pennsic is already gone and I want to get back to Baltimore." Farther down, I wrote, "My city is gone, evaporated like a morning fog, not to be seen for fifty weeks. It is time to return to my mundane city, my city-in-the-world, for the next several months."

Still a few days to catch up on yet ...

"There was a cooked lima bean, but it had a little root and it looked like it might grow, so we planted it in the ficus. And that was real crazy of us because of course it could not grow, it was cooked. It just looked so green and alive, more alive than anything we'd seen, and at that moment it seemed possible because that lima bean was full of hope and promise and magic." -- designgirl, 2005-07-05