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This weekend I camped out at the Sherwood Renaissance Faire. If you’ve never done this, here’s the short version: sleeping in the woods, drinking mead, crowns and corsets and swords, live jousting, people watching, turkey legs, horning beers, shopping for quill sets and dragon glasses, rude humor, clan parties, more mead, more food, more woods.

It’s mostly spectacular.

At Sherwood, more people dress up than not and by dress up, I mean have beautifully tailored and authentic period pieces and accessories. Not costumes from Party City. Many people make their own clothes or collect them over time from vendors at renaissance faires.

Even if you’re not all-in (live, breathe, repeat) the faire, it’s fun to get into and most people do. My first faire I walked out with a sword and have added a few curioos each time since. It’s hard to not to do more, especially when your group is going through a few bottles of mead and suddenly it seems like an awesome idea to have a quill and ink set for signing important documents at work.

The downside is those bottles of mead which lead to late afternoon naps in the tent and a very clear message from my body than evening revelries will not include any more alcohol. Diet Coke and water it is.

Going to the renaissance faire is just as much about camping as it is the faire itself. And lately, I’ve been trying to figure out how much I like camping. I mean, I like it. But do I want to do it more? Less? How outdoorsy am I anyhow? At the moment, enough to own a tent, sleeping bag, and a new foam pad which does more to save me from the cold ground than it does to make the dirt any less hard. After two nights of that, it may be worth the air mattress is the future … if I go more in the future. I’m still trying to figure it out.

Writing now from my bed, while I wait for my campfire smoked clothes to finish in the laundry and do some work for what will be a busy week ahead, I am exhausted. Camping was tiring. Or maybe it was the day drinking or my tent uprooting and collapsing on me at 3 am? Camping was also meditative and disconnected and is there really anything better than sitting by a campfire while conversation from good people rolls over you? And s’mores. There’s nothing better than s’mores.

The only way to figure out my own enjoyment and investment in camping is to do it more often. In the last few years, I’ve only gone in tandem with a renaissance festival. I think I need to go just to go be in the woods and hike. I certainly loved my cabin and hike trip a few weeks ago. I want to know how I feel about the tent and hike kind. Or just the backpacking kind.

It was a good weekend. But this is a good bed. I am happy to be at home.

With Love,

Natalie