The Code of the Flower-Seller at the Sterling Renaissance Festival is very strict… if the sender of the flower wishes to remain anonymous, the seller will not reveal his/her/its identity. This is especially true of the flower seller known as SkunkFlower (or Gabrielle in
Normally, this young lady’s devotion to her Code doesn’t have
much impact on my life, but right now it’s making me crazy. Last Saturday, the
Splinter Clan once again visited Warwickshire in the year 1585, to frolic with dear friends too seldom seen. After Lord Mayor Thomas Catesby introduced me to the crowd outside the gates as “Emissary of the Clan MacSheepie,”
I made some flower delivery arrangements with the aforementioned SkunkFlower, then wandered down the lane and settled
myself into my usual post at Splinters’ Corner. A bit later, she approached
me and presented me with a rose. When I asked her who had sent it, her reply
was “I’m not allowed to tell you.”
This was somewhat surprising, but at the time, I assumed it
was just a specific dear friend being goofier than usual. By the end of the day,
though, my mind was completely boggled, as young SkunkFlower had returned to me on many occasions, each time placing her basket
before me and asking, “What do you want? What do you want?” She seemed to be quite amused by my increasing confusion and cries of “Again?” In the end, fifteen beautiful roses and a bunch of "Special Daisies" went home with me, where they brighten
my living room tremendously.
The part that’s making me crazy (okay, crazier
than I usually am) is not knowing whom to thank for such a wonderful gift. However,
unless I can trick the information out of someone, it’s not likely that I’ll ever know for sure who was behind it. Whoever you are, thank you!
It was a wonderful day all around. The weather was perfect, sunny but slightly cool, with fresh breezes blowing through the Shire. The performers were at their best, holding nothing back, as is customary on the closing weekend of the
Festival. At one point, I had the opportunity to chat with the new owner, and
thanked him for the improvements he had made, bringing back some of the magic the festival seemed to have lost in recent years.
Many fine folks stopped by at Splinters’ Corner to chat for
a bit. Kate, as usual, had a small flask of lusciousness that she shared with
friends. This time around, it was filled with something called Navan, a French
cognac flavored with Madagascar vanilla.
Yum! Kelly stopped by several times, once helping me to adjust portions
of my attire, and in doing so completely shocked some civilians who happened to be passing by.
Can’t imagine why the sight of her on her knees with her hands up under my skirt, tugging at my chemise, bothered them
My Demon Godson spent a fair bit of time with me, telling
me a bit about his work at Sainte Marie Among the Iroquois (a local historical site), and offering some interesting speculations
of his own about the source of the roses. Several members of the long-ago troupe
known as the Poor Folk were about the shire as well, and it was delightful to see Joe, Cheryl, Robin, Jeff and Michael again.
Lord Mayor Thomas Catesby stopped by when his duties would
permit, bringing Sheepie to visit with Mairi and Linnea, catching up on news of other friends not able to be present
this year. Still later, he and Catherine the minstrel stopped by and we all sang
a few songs. Yes, I sang my brains out, which has resulted in me having no voice
to speak of (or with) today. The Final Pubsing was truly magical, and saying farewell to my favorites among
the Bless the Mark Players was as difficult as ever.
Another season has ended, the fine folk of Warwick scattered
to the four winds. As the song says, "Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain, for we may and might never all
meet here again."