Leafpower

It's been one of those weeks.

You'd think it was due to the rapid approach of Fest, but MNRF is the furthest thing from my mind lately....

No, there's been other stuff, hospitals and health-related stuff (not for me, for someone I love), and some crazy shenanigans in the White House, and things that have raised my blood pressure and made me question whether or not I went to sleep one night and woke up in a Stephen King novel. The kind where otherwise intelligent and empathetic people suddenly go off the rails and begin wreaking havoc for no apparent reason. Nothing makes sense! It was REALLY not making sense about this time a year ago, but this is off the charts now....

Anyway....

After a couple days of back-and-forth hospital visits spent in a car full of memories, remembering the past and wondering about the future, studying the physical effects of the passage of Time, and being waaaaay far away in my head, I finally got myself in to the Studio. I opened the door there and saw leaves EVERYwhere -- some awaiting their frames, some spread out on my little table, some raked into a pile on the floor, some in various stages of completion, others sticking out of books and bags and boxes, others decorating the walls. Their mess was everywhere. Their scent was glorious.

Dr. Leo Buscaglia

Walking into the room reminded me of an anecdote once shared on PBS by the late Dr. Leo Buscaglia. He told his audience then of his great love of leaves and how one Autumn friends of his raked up a whole yardful, carried them into his house, and dumped the lot onto his livingroom rug. (The camera was focused on some older ladies in the audience when he said this, and the looks of alarm on their faces was priceless. I was reminded of my mother. In fact, when I recall this particular program now, I sense her in the background behind me, aghast, just like those women. But then he went on to say that all winter long, he and his friends hung out in that livingroom, sitting in piles of leaves. Everyone laughed. The audience ladies giggled uncomfortably, perhaps imagining all the eventual compost. I'll never forget the anecdote, and I can recall that feeling of recognizing a kindred spirit out there in Television Land....)

He loved leaves, too.

After hanging up my backpack and sitting down to work, I found that I didn't know how to begin, where to start. Should I clean the room? Would that make me feel better? Make a list? (Lists always soothe me....) Turn on Public Radio and let Capitol Hill wind me up some more? A class of kids was noisily and animatedly creating art outside my door, so there was no chance to stroll around the classroom and get my bearings. I didn't even feel comfortable using the microwave out there for my tea, in case I disturbed them.

Then I remembered headphones. And the audio book I'd bought at a sale -- 'The Dark is Rising' by Susan Cooper (read it years ago and loved it). And soon I was caught up in the tale, and before I knew it there were gilded leaves in front of me, old and crisp things that were suddenly beyond beautiful. Even the imperfect and overlooked ones were now soothing my soul.

Things weren't perfect by the time I left for the day, but they were definitely better. And I'll take that! I'll take that and run with it.
...

Be Sure to Bring Your Appetite -- :)

 

ALREADY it's the last weekend of Fest, and I've got so much to tell you that I'm not sure where to start. At the beginning, I guess. And it's in there somewhere, in the filled-to-the-brim kettle of tasty Fest fare that I'm eager to share with you....

But before I dish us both up, I should probably focus all my attention on this final huzzah, right?

So it's back to work for me! Sooooo much to do before this final 3-day weekend (which includes Festival Friday -- one of the best showdays to visit me if you've left Fest until the last minute). And if I see you, my friend, be prepared for a hug! PLEASE don't forget to introduce yourself (or re-introduce yourself; I'm old and forgetful now) because I don't want you to walk away without one, OK? I'm that grateful for you.

And I promise: Now that my thoughts and impressions of this Fest season have simmered, I'll serve them up to you soon so we can both sit down at our leisure and savor the story of Mayfaire's 29th year. I think it's lifechanging! But I think a good cup of coffee is lifechanging. :)

It's all in what you make it, right?
...

Harvestime at Tumbledown

Frost predictions. Snow in the forecast. Salt already on the sidewalks in the City! Just another October day here in Minne-snow-tah....

Many folks are putting up storm windows and picking the last of their tomatoes today. But me? I'm drying milkweed seeds.

I picked the pods a week or so ago. And yesterday (a Sunday) I dealt with them proper. It was the perfect day for it, too; rainy and cold. My kitchen was toasty, my house was shadowed. Downstairs the dryer tumbled bluejeans and sheets, upstairs the lovebirds chewed happily in their sleep. And I was at the sink, my fingers flocked with milkweed fluff as I shelled seeds into a bowl.

And it'd have been super-smart of me to be outside at the patio table as I worked, but there was the rain thing, of course. And when you have neighbors like I do -- ones who have manicured lawns and spend fortunes on pesticides and weed control chemicals -- keeping your milkweed fluff to yourself ('in an enclosed area,' in other words) is probably best, as no one enjoys having a complaint issued against them, not to mention a formal visit from the city's Weed Inspector. However, shelling pods indoors poses a special problem: beware the fluff!....

I have lots of milkweed plants in my gardens here at Tumbledown. And friends have shared with me many different varieties of them, too. I have the usual Swamp Milkweed and Showy Milkweed, which grow everywhere here in the Midwest. But I now over-winter some tropical varieties that wouldn't survive our cold temps here. I always think that they'll come in handy someday should our weird new weather patterns prevent a future year's local crops from growing in time for the Monarchs to need them upon their arrival in the spring....

Harvesting pods is a job I wouldn't want for a Job, I don't think. But once a year it's a special pleasure. I'm That Person who enjoys shelling ears of corn and running my thumb along columns of fat peas (maybe you like to do this, too?), and this is similar. It's also a lot like preparing full-blown dandelion blossoms to become Liquid Sunshine (aka dandelion wine). Sticky and messy. But satisfying, too. While I'm knee-deep in it, there's nothing else to do but go away in my head.

On Sunday as worked I thought of past seasons' Monarch butterflies and the people I've talked to about them at Fest. I happily recalled the looks on the faces of both kids and adults alike as they studied my hatchlings and asked me questions.

This Fest season I couldn't believe how many adults found the whole butterfly process gross! One little girl (whose mother was asking me a question about my artwork) was standing near the butterfly tent and eyeing a chrysalis when it began to hatch. She stepped back in absolute open-mouthed awe, trying to draw our attention to what was happening. The whole event took a millisecond, I swear -- then the fat butterfly was out, suspended, its tiny wrinkled wings moist and curled.... "What's wrong with it??," her mother asked, now eyeing the very-unbutterfly-looking creature, and I explained how the latex-like substance that it consumed while eating milkweed as a caterpillar would now flow from its fat abdomen into the veins of its wet, floppy wings, extending them completely before stiffening and hardening, like a plastic. The mom grimaced while the little girl smiled with fascination.

A while later, when the wings had taken on as much fluid as possible, any leftovers were jettisoned in a blurp of Monarch 'afterbirth,' staining the paper towel at the bottom of my butterfly tent. The mother and her daughter were gone now, but a fresh set of adults were sickened and aghast. "How gross!" they complained. Oh well....

Over the seasons I've found that most adults are ooked out by the process, sadly. Not all, but most. However, every kid -- no matter what age -- seems fascinated. To them it's a messy and magickal miracle. Makes sense, right? Life IS messy.

This season I got the bright idea to bring my cache of saved milkweed seeds to Fest. I separated them into tiny Ziploc bags that I doled out to anyone interested. A number of folks took some home for planting. And any leftovers were scattered around the Site after the season had ended and I'd closed up my shop for the year.

Pods waiting to be opened

Have you ever been interested in saving a pod of milkweed for its seeds? You'll get dozens of them from a single pod, and you can scatter them in your own gardens, if you'd like. The Monarchs will love you forever if you do (and I will, too!). Here's what I do:

Collect ripe milkweed pods. You'll know they're ready if you spy a couple that have 'burst' a bit. And you'll want pods that haven't opened completely yet because they'll just be easier to handle. (I usually have to harvest mine way earlier than I'd like, but that's only to keep them from wreaking havoc with my neighbors....) If you're not going to harvest the seeds immediately, keep the pods in a paper bag so they get some air circulation.

Stem-side down; seam is on top

To open a pod, hold it in your hand with the stem away from you, facing down (the pointed end of the pod will be toward you).

Split open the seam. The seeds will be in a cluster at the stem-end of the pod and their fluffy ends will (hopefully) be gathered tightly at the pointed end, kind of like a seed bouquet. The goal is to grasp the bouquet in your fingers so that the seeds stay tightly together and no fluff escapes. Pull this cluster from the pod. It will look kind of like a pinecone.... (Don't forget to shake out any loosened seeds that have collected inside the pod.)

Separate seam to expose seeds and fluff

Holding the fluff-end of the bouquet tightly in the fingers of your left hand, gently 'back-comb' the exposed seeds with a finger of your right hand. If they're stubborn and refuse to fall away from the fluff, go ahead and scrub them between your fingers. You won't get them all, more than likely. (I'm guessing that they didn't separate from the fluff easily because they weren't dry enough.) Collect what you can before dropping the remaining fluffy mess into another paper bag. When the last pod is finished, close up the bag of leftovers to allow them some more Dry Time. As the leftovers age a bit, you can occasionally shake the bag to loosen the seeds from their fluff. Then after a time simply cut off a bottom corner of the bag and pour the seeds out. OR, sometime before winter arrives proper, grab a child and have them help you scatter the leftover fluff and seeds into a nearby field while you both make a bunch of wishes!

'Back-comb' seeds into bowl

It's my understanding that milkweed seeds need the winter season in order to germinate. You can scatter the ones that you've just 'shelled' now before winter. Or you can store and then refrigerate them for a period before sowing them in the spring. Before storing, make sure they're dry! Otherwise they may get moldy. (Mine are currently spread out on a sheet of newspaper.)

Dry completely before storing

And guess what I recently learned about milkweed seeds that I hadn't known before? 'Shocking' seeds that have been refrigerated seems to improve their germination rates! To 'shock' them, simply soak them in warm water for 24 hours before planting. Who knew?


The Pollination Station has all sorts of cool info on how to store and when to plant milkweed seeds. You can also purchase seeds there as well as sponsor a future butterfly and/or caterpillar. Cool beans!

Happy harvesting!
...

My Fave Time of Year is HERE

Smiling! This is obviously before the weather wilted me.

It's begun. Fest is here. And, as always, my emotions continue to run the rollercoaster gauntlet.

I should've suspected something was up on the Friday before 1st Weekend when, way earlier than usual, I looked around and saw that everything was packed/framed/priced/organized and I was showered/dressed/ready-to-go. Because in the 25+ years that I've been doing the show that has NEVER happened. And as it turned out, it didn't happen this year either. I was hallucinating, apparently.

But other stuff did happen. Magickal stuff.

That first Fest weekend I reconnected with some forever friends and made some new ones. I watched a Monarch butterfly hatch and shared the experience with others who knew nothing about the butterflies and their plight. I hung out with my friend Terry (author of the book I illustrated) and his family and enjoyed some great conversation as well as a bowl of his amazing chili. I remembered why I adore my hard-workin' minion, 'Sir Douglas' (every shopkeeper needs a Doug). I threw together some garb pieces that allow me to be my shapeless, grandmotherly self. (That is not it in the photo above; Sir Douglas snapped a pic of me modeling his wife Deborah's Irish dress and once I got it on and saw myself in it I didn't want to go back to being shapeless....)

AND -- get this! -- I got out of the shop and saw the show. And that hardly ever happens, unless there's a bizarre fire that closes down my neighborhood and forces me to walk around site in my jammies....

Who knew that I'd see mermaids preening in a woodland grotto and a circle of fairies dancing in a sun-dappled forest. I tried on masks, admired carvings made of amber and jet, attempted to solve a riddle, was shadowed by a most amazing dragon of leather and feathers and scales. I heard toe-tapping music, watched a stage of gypsies dance with fire, made a wish in a cauldron, and was surprised by an unexpected visit from a beloved friend.

I learned quickly why Seeing The Show freaks me out a little even as it charms me. And I retreated to my dear Mayfaire where I could put a sales counter between me and all the action. I gave hugs and got hugs and shared hugs and was asked for hugs, and by the time Sunday evening rolled around I was DONE. All energy was gone. Monday came and went and Tuesday arrived and it was STILL gone....

And before I knew it, the second weekend had arrived and I was only marginally ready for it.

And then the weather raised the stakes: high 90's with a heat index in the 100's. Mayfaire easily went through five gallons of water on Saturday alone. The few patrons there lumbered around the site like dazed souls lost in the desert. Fest participants paced themselves, bringing a cheerful coolness to the show that hid their discomfort. (I love my Fest Family and the lengths it'll go to to make positive memories for my customers.)

I annoyed everyone with my mothering ("How are you doing? Are you staying hydrated? Can I get you some water?"). I suffered ankle-circling blisters from my leather boots. I lived on commercial sports drinks and pickle juice. I sweated all over my demo sketches. I was miserable. But we were all miserable together. And Fest people can make anything fun, I swear.

And then it was over. That blistering 2nd Weekend ended in an air-conditioned car and eventually in a cool bath with a Freezie-Pop and a book. It's Wednesday already and I still feel foggy. Yet I'm getting ready to do it all over again, only this time for a just-as-hot and just-as-dusty 3-day weekend. And it'll all be good because we'll be together.

And really? In another two weeks or so Minnesota will have frost warnings. So we might as well enjoy these Dog Days while we can.
...

P.S.: If you're in the area, PLEASE hie thyself to yon Minnesota Renaissance Festival in Shakopee! My shop -- Mayfaire -- is #443 near the Crown Stage (where Johnny Phoenix and the Tortuga Twins perform). Ticket and show information can be found here at this link. AND you can print out a coupon book with over $200 in Fest savings for free here at this link. I hope to meet you there. :)

Overfreakinwhelmed

'Tis the season.

Of excitement and anticipation and doubts and second-guessings and assorted heebie-jeebies.

Of 'I-Can-Hardly-Waits' and 'I-Hope-My-Garb-Still-FITS.'

Of 'This-Is-What-I've-Been-Looking-Forward-to-All-Year's.

And WORK, of course.

Lots and lots and LOTS of work....

WorkworkworkworkWORK.

Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooork.

*Sigh*

I hardly know where to begin.
...

Coffee, Comments, and Change

You may have noticed: there are no longer any 'comments' capabilities on my blog. There used to be (and I've appreciated every one that I've ever received, please know!). But recently I found myself of two minds about a post I was editing, wondering if I was about to step on any toes by hitting the 'publish' button. I had an opinion, but I doubted if many would share it or understand it. And then I wondered how I'd feel if I was challenged. Would I waffle? Back down? Go into a tailspin? Do what I usually do: hide until hopefully everyone's moved on so we can change the subject?

And at about the same time, I realized just how much I check (and recheck) that dang 'comments' section to see if I've Got Mail. I'm not an attentionmonger, but no one wants to feel completely invisible. And lack of comments just made me think that all the time I was taking to write, hone, proofread, perfect was for nothing, like writing a letter and attaching it to a balloon....

I realize The Maily is completely narcissistic; except for those occasions where I sneak in a post about a Bigger Picture, every day it's all about Me, and that's not the way to write a blog and expect it to be read, at least that's what I've been told, and I tend to agree. But I'm still learning and still trying to find my groove here. And I hope that if I haven't driven you away yet, that you're willing to hang in here with me until The Maily gets its legs proper....

But my goal is not to have a crazy big blog that gets me a spot on The View. I get my 15 Minutes of Fame every season at Fest when a customer takes a moment to personally tell me how much my work has made them smile, and that's way more than enough attention and responsibility for me. This blog is for that customer. It's because we meet only once a year, and this is for the rest of that time, for keeping in touch, for making that special moment last a little longer, maybe enhancing it with a personal story or two.

Before I began The Maily, I knew it was going to be for That Customer, and I tried to put myself in their place. I picked up a favorite picture book will illustrations by a favorite artist and remember thinking, "If Tasha Tudor were alive and writing a blog, I'd be all over that! And I'd want her to write as if she was taking a moment out of her day to have coffee with me."

The idea gave me shivers. I wouldn't have wanted her to write about anything but herself and what was happening in her magickal world. What was going on outside her window? Better yet, what was going on inside her head? And when I tried to imagine what a post from Tasha would look like, I didn't see a big, long, wordy, opinionated diatribe with links and advertisements. I saw a single photo and a paragraph. A magickal moment.

I began The Maily with that format in mind, then doubted myself when everything I read about blogwriting told me I was doing it wrong. Then the 'comments' section seemed to prove to me that I was doing it wrong. And then I began rethinking the whole dang thing.

But now I'm back to Square One. I like my original idea and I don't want to change it.

So I made the decision to take away the 'comments' capabilities. (Everyone knows they can still share a word on my Facebook page if they must.) There is now nothing to be checking and rechecking. I don't have to self-edit -- how will I know if I've stepped on toes if this is essentially a one-way conversation? And -- save for the occasional bout of wordiness -- I plan to continue doing exactly as I originally imagined: write to you as if I was taking a moment out of my day to share a coffee.

Because I am.
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The End of a Season

A yawn.

A contented sigh.

I can almost feel Mayfaire curl up like a cat in the sun and close its eyes.

It was a good season! And hugs to all who made it so. :)
...

Busy, Busy, Busy!

My 3-year-old grandbug at Fest's 1st Weekend

My Eldest has been home, the MN Renaissance Festival has gotten underway, and since I wrote last I've been knee deep in grandbuglets and Fest preparations. It's all been a blur!

And in a few moments I'll be heading out to the site to get an early start on the 2nd Fest Weekend of the season.

There are so many things I want to tell you and so many people I want to thank for making my 1st Weekend so dang memorable. But Time has caught me up and it will all have to wait, sadly.

But when we do 'meet' again, I'll just have that much more to share with you! :)

Can't wait that long? Then come out and see me at Mayfaire, shop #443 by the Crown Stage. You'll be glad you did!
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Huzzah -- It's Almost Here!

Mayfaire -- looking all Fest-ive!

Since I wrote last so much has been happening.

That little caterpillar I mentioned in the last blog post? It made its chrysalis today.

The new little grandbug that my arms keep longing for? She's here! All the way from California. :)

That little shop called 'Mayfaire' that I keep talking about? She's all swept, scrubbed, furnished, and set up. New art's been hung for display. Plants have been planted. Flags are flagging.

The Renaissance Festival that I've been creating art for? It starts in just two days!

The Village soon welcomes YOU

Just in the bit of time between this post and the last, my Fest neighbors and I have been working like bees readying our neighborhood. It promises to be a fun, new season that I'm totally looking forward to.

(And I must have been channeling some of its energy because I've been happily drawing nothing but mermaids over the summer and now guess what? There will be MERMAIDS there. Real live ones that swim and everything. Am I psychic or what?)

If you're planning to attend the MN Renaissance Festival (and I hope you are), here's a great ticket offer from the Startribune. And when you get there, you can use this map to help you find my shop: Mayfaire, #443 by the Crown (aka Tortuga/Johnny Phoenix) Stage. Cool beans.

Oh, and don't forget to download the merchant coupons before you leave so you can save money on everything from tarot readings to fantasy hair weavings to -- ahem -- art by ME. :)

Need directions? You can find them here. Ticket info? Ditto. Too late to get in on the Strib offer? You can find discount coupons at your local Subway, Dunn Bros. Coffee, or Papa Murphy's Take-n-Bake Pizza.

And ladies -- if your guy isn't into Renaissance Festivals, take heart. There's a pub on site that features beer and sports broadcasts. Park him there and then come have some FUN, 'k?

Don't bother telling him that there really are knights in shining armor there ready to sweep you off your feet or that he'll be missing enough tightly-laced bodices and ample cleavage to last his eyes a lifetime.

He'll figure it out!
:)
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Self-Doubt and Sleeplessness

Eeyore understands -- :)

The last two weeks have been sponsored by the letter 'i'. For 'insomnia'....

(Sigh.)

This happens to me every summer prior to the start of the MN Renaissance Festival's season. Even though I know to expect and prepare for it now, being in its throes gets harder every year.

It's all due to the fact that even though I'm physically exhausted at the moment, my thoughts are a perfect storm.  There's so much to do, order, create, organize, scan, clean, print, package, sew, launder, frame, sign, number, count, fill-in-the-blank. The list is endless and intimidating! And then I have to go and add to it a plateful of self-doubt with a side of longing-to-rewind-Time-and-do-all-sorts-of-things-over.

I look at the recent work I've been so happily creating and I suddenly dislike it in spades. It's not good enough. It's all too whimsical or something. Too light! And too cartoonish, maybe. I imagine harsh public scrutiny. I compare myself unfavorably to creative friends I know who really ARE artists. I imagine few sales for the millionth Festival year in a row....

I find myself wanting to rewrite my history. Insert some stuff in there that never happened but should have. How would things be different now if I'd gone to Art School, learned to use the correct materials, learned to do things the right way, found my style? Would I have a healthy respect for my work now and not see it as simply lucky scribbles? Would I finally view it as Real Art, worthy of payment, and stop giving it away? Would I be able to call myself an artist and not feel like a liar?

I know it's just my inner Mean Girl. I recognize her voice. She's taking advantage of the fact that I'm too tired right now to fight back and I know this. As I try to fall asleep at night she hits me with her best shot -- over and over again -- and I just lie there and let her.... I've learned over the years to anticipate this, too. (Again -- doesn't get any easier.)

Do other creative people feel this way, I wonder? Do they share these doubts? And if so, what do they do to silence their inner critics?

What am I saying? Why don't I just ASK you: You're creative, my friend. I'm in awe of everything you do, and you know it. Do you experience what I'm describing? And if so, how do you handle it?

Waiting on your every word,
~me.

...

Etsy or Bust!

An example of my resin work

My 'flat art' (meaning two-dimensional work that can be framed and hung on a wall) is really what I'm known for.

 

I was originally juried into the MN Renaissance Festival with it over 25 years ago and, as a result, it's technically the only kind of work I can sell there. My customers know me. They expect to see drawings and prints. And at the moment Fest is the only place that I really show my work. 

 

However, in recent years I've begun playing more with materials other than papers and pencils. And even though I've since been granted permission to do so, the little oddments I'm making are ones that are difficult (for me, anyway) to sell at Fest. And, to make matters worse, Technical UN-savvy Me has yet to figure out how to sell them from my website.

 

SO. I'm thinking they might just be ideal for an Etsy shop.... 

 

The idea intrigues me.

 

Fest is my only show now for a reason. I'm naturally reclusive, for one thing. I love my weekends and dislike venturing too far from home. And, I'll just say it: I'm older now and just not fond of the travel and set-up and tear-down (not to mention the expense) that goes with doing a show.

Over the years, in an effort to get my work out there and still not wander too far from my cocoon, I've occasionally thought of opening a little local storefront. Sounds quaint and fun at first glance, but then we're talking again of uber-busy weekends and the worries of covering expenses. :(

So how much better is the idea of a virtual storefront? A virtual art show? Where the lease/entry fee is minimal, the customers all warm and cozy shopping in the comfort of their own homes, the upkeep and maintenance and utilities all non-existent? And Happy-Artist Me behind my virtual counter in my comfy clothes?? (Awesome!)

Granted, 'if you build it, they will come' doesn't apply. Because they won't, necessarily. As of right now, Etsy has a million bazillion quillion virtual stores all offering amazing products. Being noticed at all will be a dang miracle! But no one ever said this will work as well for me as it does in my imagination....

But it can't hurt to try!

Anyway, I've done boatloads of reading since I saved a spot on Etsy for myself a year ago, and I keep revisiting my 'shop space' there and sticking a tentative toe in the water. But now seems like the time to get down and dirty with it. My Eldest has put the pressure on, for one thing, by suggesting an Etsy shop in the first place and daring me to get one up and running. She offered to do all the set-up for me recently when she was home for a bit, but I disliked the idea of putting her to work on her visit.

Plus, I wanted to show her that I can DO this. (Because I CAN!)

So since her departure a week or so ago I've been knee deep in all things Etsy. Black Friday/Cyber Monday are big incentives. I've taken a crapzillion digital photos of my creations. I've written and rewritten copy until it no longer makes sense to me. I've researched shipping charges and Paypal accounts and packaging ideas, blahddy blah. It's all been a baptism by fire, but I think I'm making some teensy progress.

Or maybe I'm just facing the right direction!

But that's progress, too, right?

... 

Fire, Fear, and the Final Weekend of Fest

The 2011 Fest season is over. The feeling is bittersweet. By the time the Final Weekend comes around every year I'm more than ready for it: My product is dusty, my feet are tired from standing all day, I want my weekends back.

This year brought an especially jarring and traumatic Final Weekend. I'd spent long hours preparing for Fest's final three days, and James and I had no sooner fallen asleep Thursday night (correction: Friday morning) than we were awakened by a neighbor bursting into the shop to warn us of a fire.

It's important to note here that the Fest grounds are drier than newsprint -- this year especially -- and many of the buildings there are old and tinderboxy. As far as I know, few people sleep on site during the show season as permission to stay overnight in the shops is given only to those booth owners who jump through hoops and reconstruct their buildings to Code (at great personal expense). I have no idea who was responsible for calling 911, but if there hadn't been someone already on site at the time, the aforementioned fire would not have been called in as quickly nor contained as rapidly as it was. Just in the first few minutes that I was aware of it, I watched in horror as it roared through a whole line of buildings....

My initial awake moments were nothing but confusion and chaos. I could hear the roar of the flames and feel the heat, even though the fire was still at some distance away. Crews had yet to arrive; I could hear their sirens. But even though I knew help was on its way, I thought for sure we'd die -- to me, the fire was just that out of control. In stunned silence I watched it rage and roar and reach for the stars. Tree branches crackled in the updraft, picnic tables bubbled from the heat. The noise was deafening.

After our initial shock, James and I took off in opposite directions, banging on shop doors and rousting our neighbors. Then I hunkered back in fascination as fire trucks sped on site and men in silhouette fought the flames. (Above is video I took after crews arrived. As awful as it looks, it doesn't begin to capture what things were really like....)

When all was contained, we shopkeepers were escorted away together in our cloaks and pajamas, and I stood at C-Gate in stunned silence, wrapped in every layer I could find yet still cold and shivering.... All around me, participants were filing up from the campgrounds. Many were in costume and being directed to the Front Gate where patrons were already waiting for the show to begin. They'd at least be entertained there while crews secured the burn area before opening the gates.

Miraculously, no one was hurt. And all had been speedily contained. WE WERE SO LUCKY and knew it; things could've been far worse, especially if fire had occurred the day before when winds were high. Or if the morning's flames had reached the giant propane tank that stands just yards from the burn site. 

James and I learned that our entire neighborhood would be roped off for the day due to the investigation. And upon learning that we wouldn't personally be opening for business, the two of us took the opportunity to actually see the Show, albeit in a zombified, sleep-deprived manner. And later that evening when we were given the OK to return to our shops, the two of us walked through the campground on our way back from the parking lot and encountered a troupe of fire dancers rehearsing their performance, and I immediately felt a rush of adrenaline as I watched them jump through the flames.... The sight, the sound, the smell, the heat, the bodies in silhouette -- it all combined to give me nightmares. And I woke the next morning convinced that it was all happening again, like some crazy version of Groundhog's Day.

The remaining two days of that final 3-day weekend went by in a blur. Folks came 'round to say their goodbyes. Talk was all about the fire. Just relaying the news made me remember it all over again, and I'm afraid I spent that Saturday acting a little shell-shocked.... I sold some stuff, I'm not sure what. I think my sales were decent (at least I hope they were), but in the grand scheme of things I really didn't care. I just wanted to get through the weekend and return to the safety of Tumbledown.

And now that I'm here, I can feel myself succumbing to the pull of the Rabbit Hole. My lungs seem compromised, my sinuses are packed with dust, my throat is sore, I'm coughing myself hoarse, and I suspect I've got a case of the Post-Fest Crud. I need liquids and a book or two. And silence.

So if you don't hear from me for a titch, that's where I am. Decompressing in Lala-land and feeling like the world's biggest baby.

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P.S.: In rereading this post, I realize I've made it sound as though the fire was my own personal catastrophe. Please know that my heart goes out to those Fest folk who lost their buildings! And I offer up the biggest of thankyous to everything imaginable that was responsible that morning for saving lives. ~delayne.

Renaissancey Ramblings

Mayfaire in the rain -- :)

Only two weekends of Fest left. I can't say I'm not sorry.... It takes so much out of me to do this for the entire Fest season, and I half wonder if it'd be any easier if I did the Circuit and made every weekend a Fest weekend. The thought gives me the shivers. I'm sure I could do it, but I doubt for very long.

 

Autumn is my favorite season of all, and by the time Fest is over for the year I've pretty much missed its highlights. My gardens have peaked, the leaves have turned, Indian Summer has left the building -- the works. I'm still in a sort of post-Fest recovery when my birthday comes and goes and Halloween appears. But I know if I didn't have Fest to do come August every year I'd miss it in spades. It's just that now that I'm older, it's more difficult for me to Do It All.

 

This year, Fest has been sweet and rather uneventful. And as usual, I've learned a lot. I've learned that framed art is a luxury few can afford in a crappy economy, and that my lifetime customers will purchase from me regardless. Some have even saved money to commission something special. Others have drawn during the year and are eager to show me their work because I've specifically asked them to.... Some new customers are now my friends and have already visited me multiple times. Why someone would pay the admission price just to see me and have a Scotch Egg is unimaginable, but there you have it.... Strangers have stopped in for a smile and a hug. Little kids have stopped by to tell me what books they've read since I asked them last. And some customers have even brought me books(!) because they know how much I love them, bless their hearts.... The people I meet and take the time to get to know -- no matter how difficult that is for me -- are some of the most amazing and heartwarming folks on the planet. But it took stepping out of my cocoon to learn that.

 

The remaining two weekends will be easily the busiest by far unless weather interrupts attendance. Barring that, I expect to be pulled thin and feeling especially apologetic. Friends and family often wait until the last minute to attend, and by then I barely have time to wave and acknowledge them let alone enjoy a proper visit, and I feel bad when I can't give everyone my undivided attention. But it is what it is....

 

And -- believe it or not -- I'm already planning for and looking forward to next season. :)

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Something New!

Hey, everyone! Here's a little blip that features me, my new work, a bit of my shop in the background, AND my new lucky hat -- how cool is that? And if you're here in Minne-snow-tah and want something to do on what promises to be a fabulous autumn weekend, why not visit me at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival? My shop is Mayfaire (#443) and I'm by the Crown (aka Tortuga) Stage. Maybe I'll see you! :D

An INFP Tries to Make a Living

 

The MN Renaissance Festival is my big show of the year, my only show of the year, the one that pays my bills. Sort of.

 

My goal every spring is to be so ready for it that I can spend my summer days curled up in the hammock with a stack of comic books until the day arrives when I have to leave for First Weekend. But that's never happened. A more honest scenario goes thusly: Spring and summer both get away from me and I suddenly realize that all is now down to the wire, and 'being ready' will mean working 24/7 until the first Opening Cannon is fired.

 

Of course, it wouldn't be Fest season without this rush-and-panic. Sometimes I suspect it's even necessary, as the work spent getting ready keeps me from thinking too much.

 

When I first fantasized about becoming a full-time artist, I imagined myself cocooned in my cozy house, creating whimsical drawings, and -- I don't know what -- telepathically sharing them with people, apparently.... It never occurred to me that most of the work I'd be doing would be non-art-related. Or that a BIG part would involve interacting with people. Why I never thought of this embarrasses me now. Did I really assume those things would take care of themselves?

 

When it finally dawned on me that being an artist meant selling myself as well as my work, I assumed I'd eventually just get used to it. But I've been doing so now for over 25 years, and if nothing else, interacting with people has gotten more difficult. Even though I haven't a bit of 'actor' in my DNA, I keep telling myself that my game face is a role of sorts, and to wear it I have to get into character. But I have no idea what a confident and extroverted Artist looks or sounds like. However, I do know what it feels like. It feels fake.

 

I've been told I pull it off -- mostly from folks who only see me once a year standing behind my Festival shop's counter. None of them know me well enough to tell that I'm a quarter cup short of a panic attack.

 

If you shared a weekend with me at Fest, you'd wonder why I make such a big deal about what it takes to do it, as nothing much happens there than me standing on my feet all day and smiling at people until my face cramps. But I tell you what: Once I'm home again on a Sunday night I have all I can do not to go to bed for the rest of the week. I'm laid up with whole-body inflammation, I swear. Two days of people takes the stance-and-circumpoop right the heck out of me.... 

 

These days before each weekend now I 'armor up.' I ground and center, I dust off my attitude of gratitude, I thank the Universe for giving me the opportunity to live my life the way I do, as being personally vulnerable and exposing my work to the opinions of others is a small price to pay for this lifestyle and I know it. In comparison, the office job I once endured brought me way more money, certainly, but it also brought more health problems than I knew what to do with. I will never get rich drawing fairies, but it's still a dipped-in-gold improvement. And for that I'm eternally grateful.

 

I love being a part of Fest. I've always loved it! And I hate that in order to participate I have to gear up for it in spades when I know that, as always, it will prove to be all sorts of rewarding and magickal and amazing.

But for this INFP, it's one of the hardest things I've ever chosen to do.

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Fest Season is Here!

Mayfaire (Shop #443)

The Minnesota Renaissance Festival -- of which I'm proud to be a part -- began its season last weekend. This will be my 26th year there. And because I have so much to say about it but little time in which to do so (much must be done in preparation for Weekend Two!), I'll hit you with the highlights of my season thus far, 'k?

First Weekend was all SORTS of magickal. I saw familiar faces and new faces, met an honest-to-goodness Horse Whisperer(!) and a concerned father who conspired with me to make some fairy magic for his not-so-little-anymore girl. I got hugs and compliments and well-wishes. I got to dandle new babies. And I even made a sale!

There was a little rain, there was a lot of sunshine. The weather was such that I could wear my fave chemise, the handmade one I constructed from a curtain and a petticoat, the one with voluminous sleeves that tie at the elbow and catch on the pointy costume bits of friends when I hug them. And I chose the comfiest overdress -- the one that doesn't require all the flotsam that I usually buckle around my body when in costume -- and a beautiful Fest friend gifted me a straw hat that tied it all together with perfection.

Some of my favorite customers (I have awesome customers!) arrived to share pics of their grandchildren and catch me up on their lives. One brought me REAL coffee! And during a gentle rainshower my shop hosted a magickal little music jam that I felt blessed to witness. And did I mention that there was a hummingbird? And a dragonfly that circled my shop's interior, stopping briefly to check out its reflection in the art before going on its way.

All in all, a wonder-full first weekend. And very soon I'll get to do it all again. :)
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