Broke, Bored and Beat

As much as I like Texas, as much as the foliage and demographics reminds me of the Ozarks, Missouri, and of home, I’m getting pretty sick of Texas. Granted, it’s finally warm enough to sleep with the doors open at night, and yet still cool enough that the parasites haven’t yet started flying. However, it’s humid and by mid-afternoon I’m damp, tired and can’t hardly breath. I just got over being sick and I’m still hacking up crap out of my lungs. It only wants to rain on the weekends.

I’m sorry, perhaps they are having a bad year, but business at Sherwood sucks big hairy balls. It’s rained every other weekend and every other weekend between it’s been cold. Neither John nor I have officially gotten paid for a full weekend’s worth of work. We’ve been stuck there at that damn campground because we’re broke and our van doesn’t run in cold damp weather.

The person who hired us, hired us for the feasts just to work off our pass. Well, because a feast day encompasses most of an entire day, that means we have to find other means of work for the off days and nobody wants to hire a person for one day out of the week. I would be a freelance breaker, but no one can afford an extra breaker. We’ve tried running around taking orders for the kitchen and selling sausages, but together we barely averaged $30 a weekend in tips. We wind up volunteering at the kitchen just to maintain the privilege to eat there, since we can’t afford our own food, and to earn a tank of propane once a week, which for the first 3 weeks was the only way I managed to make any product at all in the shop.

We’ve had to ask our boss for money at least three times now, and it makes me feel dirty. We can’t afford new tarps or a new cage for Mona, which she desperately needs because I can’t afford to fix our car and we can’t afford to drive it to where we can’t afford to vacuum it. We’re lucky Mona’s not dead and that our stuff is staying relatively dry under our ghetto tarps and that I haven’t blown up about all of this and/or taken a 12-gauge to our van.

We have nothing at this show, because neither of us left for a paying job – neither of us could find one – and now, I just realized, we have three more weekends left in this show. Total of seven work days. Four of those days are feast days. We have three days to make enough money to pay insurance, get gas money to Scarborough and pay for camping. We might be lucky enough to do the insurance, but there’s no way we’ll make enough for the gas and definitely not enough for camping at Scarby, which is the most expensive faire to camp at on our circuit.

I don’t even want to go to Scarborough. Even though I know we’ll have jobs and I’ll have a better gig at a flute cart… Every fiber of my being wants to evade more Texas for the rest of the year, blacksmithing be hanged. We should have gone to Arizona. We should have stuck to our original plan. I’m so jaded right now that if I could, I’d say screw all this and take off and get out of Texas this very night and go travel somewhere that I want to be.

Damn this society and their dependence on worthless paper money.

I want to be free.

Peace.

The Sherwood Forest Faire

They say this is the faire for Rennies. Started by Rennies, owned and operated by Rennies, and so far I’m inclined to believe it.

First off, as one turns into the participant entrance to the faire, there is a yellow triangular sign with “Welcome Home” painted in multiple colors. “That is a great idea,” John said, pointing. “I like that a lot.” It made us feel welcome and wanted.

Camping is free. The campground is spacious and open and we have a lovely little spot picked out for our home beneath a couple of young birch. Cute little red mushrooms are growing under my trees.

As per faire request, we are supposed to be sure that no part of our homes be visible over the fence from inside faire site, and that includes lights. This is to ensure the Renaissance feeling for our patrons. The more fun they have in our make-believe land, the more money they spend, and the more we eat. Har, har.

Once we picked a site out and parked our van, we crawled into the wood pile and drug out part of an old fence and a discarded piece of plywood and that became our deck. Next we dragged a couple of large logs over that stood approximately waist height, found a long rough-cut board and that became our table. We dug a fire-pit and I raked all the acorns and leaves and sticks out of the campground. We moved several more logs to use as extra seats at our fire. We’re in the middle of no-where, away from the partiers, which is where we want to be.

The faire site itself is gorgeously laid out. Seen from above it’s kinda shaped like New Mexico, with the gate being on top and a large lane leading directly across the middle of the faire to the jousting arena. The rest is big and open, with a center cluster of shops. The fences are made from rough-cut juniper and pine timbers, most likely timbers cut out from the camp ground. Several shops are made with these timbers, giving the entire faire a solid, unified field.

Beautiful junipers, oaks and pines pepper the faire and tall, crisp green grass coats the ground. Sunlight filters through the green canopy, giving the entire site a peaceful, whimsical, fairy-tale sort of feel. It is a pleasure to walk around the faire, watching all the booths and shops rise from the ground, paint their walls and hang their signs. Within the next couple of weeks this place will look like a medieval festival village.

There’s everything coming in here. Pony, camel and elephant rides, probably some war horse rides, too, and rickshaws to ferry patrons around in. There’s a stage around every corner, including a mud stage (complete with a mud show, a rare treat for faires). Most of the stages are placed around the outer rim of the park and the shops are sandwiched between them. Games and small stages, platforms and pavilions, rides, and yet more shops are all spread out in the middle of the grounds. The huge blacksmith shop (I will be smithing, but not in the shop on faire days) is placed right near the front gate, where folks can flood around them.

The site is set up so that patrons come in, walk down the center lane and disperse in every direction. The joust is strategically placed near the opposite end of the faire, since it is the main show at any fair, and so patrons will flock to the opposite side of the faire, and when the show is over they will meander through the rest of the faire on their way out.

The best part of the faire, in my opinion, is the huge fire-pit smack in the center of the faire. The pit itself is some ten or fifteen feet wide, surrounded by huge stones. Around that is a blackened chain looping through sturdy metal posts crafted by a blacksmith with heavy, yet intricate twists. Another ten – fifteen feet beyond the fire stands seven huge yellow granite stones called “The Seven Sisters.” It reminds you of Stonehenge. The Seven Sisters were imported from a former pagan festival site, and during the rest of the year, becomes the center of all the action at a small pagan festival hosted by Sherwood. It is the site of the coolest Rennie fire gatherings and drum circles I’ve been to yet.

I will detail more on The Seven Sisters fire circle when I learn more about it. I’ve been told it’s a story worth hearing.

Clearly, Sherwood Forest is set up with the Rennies in mind, by someone with the acute understanding that the more money that reaches us, the more the faire makes. By the tidbits I’ve heard about the social circles, his show makes it’s money on booth sales commissions over straight booth fees. Booth fees are not that expensive, and electricity for a booth is cheap.

There are several kitchens that feature actual authentic period food. Some courts have a menu I’ve seen nowhere else (what I’ve seen so far of the menus so far). I have yet to find a turkey leg court; either they have none or I don’t know about it yet. (Turkey legs are so over-done at Ren Faires… Did you know turkey didn’t exits in 16th century Europe? No, they had mutton back then. Dry, chewy, stringy, mutton. Some Faires do feature mutton – at least one – and they make it in such a way as to be palatable. Turkey is an all-American bird, not discovered until the Conquistadors… or maybe later when Columbus arrived.)

John and I are working with the kitchen that directs the Feasts here at Sherwood. We will be working about four hours a weekend serving at the Feast. Training starts today. We are not going to be paid in cash, but instead we are working in trade for passes (which means free camping, automatically), free food (we can even eat the steak and shrimp!), and any other benefits are assuredly generous boss can kick us down. Like high-dollar garb. If she has a position, and she’s thinking she might, she’ll hire me on as a counter girl at her kitchen. That’s cool. That’s what I did in Louisiana. I will work for tips, which doesn’t seem like a deal until one is informed that the counter makes a couple hundred in tips a day, we don’t split them with the kitchen staff, and there will perhaps be one maybe two other girls working with me. It has the potential to be a sweet gig.

The Sherwood Forest Faire is located about 45 minutes from Austin, TX. It starts Jan 11th and runs through to the first weekend of April. If you can, come visit us! Click the link to find the address on their website.

Come see us at the Rennies’ Faire!

Peace.

A Winter In Review

Written on Tuesday, Jan. 24th, 2012. Sherwood Forest Faire, TX.

We’ve finally made it to the Sherwood Forest Faire, and I can’t say how much I’m glad we’re here. Not to say that our stay in Toon Town wasn’t nice, but I’m glad we are out of there. We carried a lot of drama from Louisiana with us into our winter camp; add that to the neighbor’s drama and we had a whole lot of bitterness circulating in the camp. This winter frustrated me. I had plans to either be very productive or to relax, meditate, and refresh my body and spirit; read some books, do some sewing, fix on my house, play around in the shop. Stuff like that.

It didn’t happen. Nothing happened, except a whole lot of frustration. I finally bought some steel and got a few pieces cut, got some stuff ready to go, made about 100 nail swords, but never really got much product made because of all the ADD-ness happening at our camp. Go figure, that when I finally wake up one morning and decide that I am absolutely done with being a procrastinator, everyone else suddenly decides to procrastinate about everything.

In the end, as we’re all packing up to head to Sherwood, it finally struck me (smack in the forehead with a _dong-ong-ong-ong!_ sound) – Why the hell am I waiting on everybody when I don’t need to? Why was I stressing about looking after friends who didn’t ask for help? I feel I’m in that stage of life where I’m learning the finer points of life.

Perhaps if we’d all had jobs, we might’ve been less bitchy.

We did have many good highlights to our winter, however. We ate wild hog and had many happy, filling, meals of cornbread, beans, pork and eggs. I got to shoot a .22 for the first time in nine years, and got to shoot a lot of cool trash. I lurked about, drunk on wine and high as a kite, in a bamboo thicket secretly pretending I was an adventurous 10-year-old again. The weather was lovely. We never found ourselves short of beer or pot. I listened to the ambiance of Ryan refining his lovely songs (on his slowly failing old keyboard, poor man). We had huge fires, were visited by many generous friends, met a lot of strange Texans (strange for Texas, that is), had a nice, warm, yurt to hang out in most every cold night, I learned a new massage technique from the fellow down the street, and I found out that I’m still not pregnant, hahaha!

All in all, it was a nice winter, but now I’m feeling very hermity. I’m done hanging out and partying for the most part. I can’t be looking after my own health, cooking for half a dozen people, fixing on my house, and fretting over the shop all at the same time. And I kinda need my health, especially for the busy year to come.

Take a moment to take care of yourself, dear Reader. Life is more enjoyable if you are alive and well.

Peace.

Rennie Review: Rockin’ Food at the Larkspur Pizzaria

We learned pretty quick in this journey to trust in the Rennies’ judgments when it comes to the best digs, dives, hole-in-the-wall places, the cheapest and most decent hotels and motels, the best thrift stores to shop, the coolest headshops, and pretty much anything you would use as an excuse to get out of camp. There’s always that one seasoned Rennie in the campground that knows it all, word gets around, and certain places become infamous for experiencing a Rennie Take-Over.

Some towns, like some in Pennsylvania, don’t care much for us and treat us like a bunch of hippiefied gypsies. Other towns, like Larkspur, CO, loved us and welcomed our business with open arms.

There’s only half a dozen business lined up along Larkspur’s single road through town, and the one that stands out most in my mind (that I wish I had right now, sitting in the gloomy rain in Pittsburg) is the Larkspur Pizzaria [insert link to their website].

They serve some of the most delicious food I’ve ever had in my life. We tried several things (blew at least a couple paychecks there) on the menu. They have a few sandwiches, served usually with fries, most of them delicious paninis. There are pastas, most notably the cheese ravioli and the lasagna, and I personally recommend that if you order either of these dishes, to order them with the creamy basil pesto sauce.

As an appetizer, the garlic sticks are garlic cheese sticks and are the cheapest appetizer. The garlic knots, served drenched in garlic olive oil and parmesan cheese, are absolutely heavenly. The veggie calzone is stuffed stupid, just like it will stuff you stupid.

Yet the crowning star of this menu is hands down the barbque bacon cheeseburger pizza. The taste is well worth the extra few dollars you shell out. It’s 18 inches of thin-crust, hand-tossed pizza smothered in sweet tangy BBQ sauce, covered in chunks of crispy bacon ends-and-pieces, grilled hamburger and blanketed in a blend of yellow and white cheeses. If you don’t care for hamburger, order it with fried chunks of chicken. Either are equally delicious. This pizza also scores at the top of the charts when it comes to eating it cold or the next day.  I recommend, that if you order this pizza, order it sometime in the evening, because in my experience, the evening cook fries the bacon extra crispy, which makes the whole experience of converging flavors all the more phenomenal.

You can order beer here, too, and wine. The selection is not large, but they feature Leinenkugel Sunset Wheat beer, which is our favorite paired with the BBQ bacon cheeseburger pizza. (of doom) While in Colorado, we preferred to order our drinks at the Pizzaria, rather than at “The Spur” (“The Spur of the Moment” in Larkspur. They also served food, but closed their kitchens early, and it took forever to get a beer on a Sunday night) down the street. Our usual plan of a Sunday night was to eat at the Pizzaria, have a couple of drinks, then wander over to the bar to visit with friends and possibly do a little dancing.

I think that dude from “Diners, Drive-In, and Dives” should do a show on The Larkspur Pizzaria. The food is utterly phenomenal and a place I will be patronizing for years. Oh, and they have wireless internet, too, and live bands twice a week.

I’m going to be typing forever if I don’t stop coming up with reason why I give The Larkspur Pizzaria FIVE STARS in The Rennie Review.

Peace!

Illanoying and Indianus – The Drive to Pennsylvania

PA countryside - surprisingly beautiful.

Interstate 70 across the US is a largely uneventful drive. Once we left home we didn’t stop much except to pee, stretch the legs and switch driving every two hours or so. I tried to sleep on a number of occasions, but that never happened. We drove across four states: Illinois, bypassing St. Louis and it’s lovely view of factory smog hiding the Arch, Indiana, Ohio and the topmost nook of West Virginia before reaching Pennsylvania.

Illinois just seemed long and drawn out and the folks there are somewhat annoying. We stopped at a rest stop for a little down time away from all the other people parked there. We go in and it’s a lovely rest stop, yet some of the guys on John’s side were complaining about the stall doors behind too narrow. Well, fellas, try losing some of that beer gut! Then as we got back into the car for a little one-on-one, we’re interrupted when a big red shiny new truck pulls up right next to us – sideways, taking up about five parking spaces. Now, I could understand this if the truck was pulling a trailer, but it wasn’t. Some not-so-handsome dude and his butter-faced blond woman pile out of the car and stare at us like we’re the idiots parked all retarded. Then they bring out this ugly sharpei type dog and proceed to walk it all around our car. Retarded.

There’s not much to see driving through the rest of the state besides corn fields and… corn fields… In Indiana it’s not much different, but the people there are a whole new brand of odd. We stop in a McDonald’s run by semi-retarded teenagers that don’t know how to pay attention (then again, I think that accounts for about 90% of teens these days. Granted I’m sure my generation was retarded in its own right back then, but Jesus, these days they don’t know how to use a can-opener!). We sit down to eat in a quiet corner and stare at the french fries on the floor the next table over.

We notice that everyone patronizing the McDonald’s are either old, overweight and dressed in Sunday clothes at 10pm. Then a group of teens walk in – two boys and two girls both in dresses. As they pass us by the first girl grabs the second by the shoulders and points us in our direction. I guess they’ve never seen hippies before, even though we were dressed like any other Joe that just got off work and are dirty, tired and travel-weary. I waved and said, “HI!” in my most annoying voice, and of course they hid like being curious is a shameful thing. Thank you, public schools.

So we giggled and joked about it and John was sorely tempted to run up behind the girls and give them a big ol’ hippie hug. Then, when their boyfriends said something, he’d give THEM a hug and tell them how much cuter than the ladies they were. Ha, ha! I love that man. However, we left them alone. Instead we watched some dude with purple-tinted windows and pimp lights drive four times around the McDonald’s and park in the back lot. Creepy. Weird.

We saw the most cops on the highway in Ohio. Not just regular cops, but dog units, but we weren’t worried. All we had to do was follow the flow of traffic or just jump in behind a semi, which by law are required to drive five miles below the speed limit. Its a good tip to know about when you’re unsure of what the speed limit is on a highway.

We stopped in Indiana, just inside the Ohio border for the night. We realized we had some extra cash, so we found a coupon and crashed at a nice hotel for the night. We watched about four hours of cartoons. Incidentally, King of the Hill is a very accurate portrayal of Texas and it’s people. For example, the episode we watched was about Bobby’s school getting new history textbooks which didn’t cover the Alamo, which of course bothered Hank. At the end, Hank is telling Bobby more “history,” listing Texas as a continent along with the US and Australia. I got a kick out of that because Texans – and most of the rest of the US – think of Texas as a different country. (Watch how people react to a Texan when he tells them where he’s from and you’ll get my point.)

But I’m not trying to talk about Texas, I’m talking about Ohio. So we overslept and missed breakfast. Damn. I threw a fit, smoked a cigarette and ate some more of John’s mom’s delicious zucchini bread and back on the road we went.

Ohio is famous for “Skyline Chili,” which is sold in cans there, but I’m told is nothing at all when compared to momma’s homemade Skyline chili, which has dark chocolate as one of its ingredients. The Ohio kids tried to make some for us in Louisiana, but it didn’t come out right because of something to do with not having the right kind of beans. However, it is delicious and unique and if you’re ever through there, try to get yourself a bowl.

The bridge into West Virginia is very pretty and West Virginia – all 20 miles of it we visited – is lovely and green and lush. I can’t say much more on it, because we weren’t there long. We’ll be driving through it on our way south after this show, however.

Pennsylvania is surprisingly pretty. We drove through a veritable tunnel of towering hardwoods and low, rolling mountains. The elevation rarely exceeds 1000 feet. Every river you cross supports a thriving river town, complete with boating docks and floating barges and ancient brick factories and steel mills, many of which are still operational today.

The state is packed with people. According to the Rand McNally, it ranks 6th in population. There’s people and cars everywhere. The roads are crazy and twisting, full of one-ways and short on-ramps. Some of the ramps have stop signs instead of yield signs, which gets really annoying after a while. It’s very easy to get lost and mixed up and turned around. My sense of direction was ruined the first day we stayed here, and everything, even the big Wal-Mart parking lots, are on a hill.

I’m surprised at how pretty this state is and how green it is for how old and populated it is. The air is fresh at our camp and the water tastes good, even though we’re just on the other side of the mountain from the largest coal mine in the United States. Every day at noon we hear them test the air raid sirens and every night we listen to trucks riding their gears down the highway. There are coyotes here, too, and their songs are wild and looping like a bunch of drunken frat boys at half-time. I missed the coyotes and welcome their voices back in my life.

And I hear there are many great hiking spots close to us, too. I’m going to like it here.

Peace.

Hobo Stew (Brought to You by Real Hobos!)

I am about to present to you a really awesome survival recipe for all hobos, hitchhikers, travelers, vandwellers, adventurers, campers, Rennies – and basically anybody at all who possesses a means of cooking, a limited supply of food and an unusually strong desire to eat.

DISCLAIMER: Technically, I am not a hobo. I have never hopped a train. I’ve certainly met some hobos before and someday I hope to learn how to hop trains. However, I’m pretty sure a hobo invented hobo stew and they likely cooked it on a hobo stove.

I cooked my hobo stew on an antiquated Mr. Heater. However, if you would like to make this meal in the traditional way (while at the same time having a legitimate excuse to play with fire), Instructables.com has a fine set of instructions on how to make one for yourself. Click over there –> to be transported to TimAnderson’s classic Hobo Stove.

The Recipe

Hobo Stew is, in essence, a whole bunch of random ingredients thrown into a pot of boiling broth. However, in my opinion, Hobo Stew should be made with at least two major points in mind: 1) It should be filling. 2) It should be able to last as long as possible.

To make the soup filling, add a filling grain. Barley is really awesome. It’s filling and makes the soup into a stew.

To make the soup last is trickier, especially when one lacks the luxury of refrigeration. Meat generally goes bad very quickly, and you’ll need to stretch this stew out over at least two to three days (but seriously, you’re pushing it at three, IMO…). Therefore, Hobo Stew is – duh, DUH, DUUUHHHH!!!! – vegetarian. If you’re lucky to scratch up some meat, it’s generally cooked separate and added into your personal bowl.

For all you “normal” fridge owners out there: add whatever the hell you want, but you’d better eat it all, or I’ll sick the bums on you!

 

The Really Real Recipe, For Real – or – My Version of Hobo Stew

DISCLAIMER #2: I should warn you that I rarely use measuring instruments when cooking because the Devil Van eats them on a regular basis. Therefore, I will do my best to approximate the amount of ingredients, but I really do hope you know some simple cooking basics.

Ingredients

6 – 8 cups Water
2-3 chicken bullion cubes (or to taste)
Salt to taste
1 – 2 tsp. Garlic powder
1 – 2 tsp. Onion powder
Black pepper to taste
A pinch of Ceyenne pepper (optional, but highly recommended)
2, 3 Cilantro cubes (or fresh or dried cilantro)
About 1/2 c. white rice
1/2 c. orzo pasta
2/3 – 3/4 c. barley (I used rolled. It looks like oatmeal.)
1 large can diced tomatoes
1 regular can of black beans
A small quirt of lime juice (totally optional, include if soup doesn’t taste acidic enough for you)
1/4 c. of good extra virgin olive oil
As much nutritional yeast as you care for. (Again, totally optional. I just happened to have it on hand and because of its high nutrient content, I use it every chance I get. It’s probably the only thing standing between us and nutrient deficiency. THANK YOU, JESSE!!)

Directions

Place water in a large cooking pot (say… two to four quarts?), add bullion and bring to a boil. Add remaining ingredients and spices, save for the salt, black pepper and lime juice, which are added later to taste. Bring the soup back to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer, cover, and cook until either the orzo is al dente and/or the rice grains start to split. Remove from heat and allow to stand for a few minutes to allow the grains to finish cooking. Flavor to taste with salt, black pepper and lime juice if desired.

The beauty of this recipe is that you don’t have to worry about burning anything, so long as there’s plenty of liquid in the soup while it is cooking. The barley is key in this recipe. It thickens the soup, turning it into a true stew, and it’s what makes the food stick to your ribs.

The olive oil not only gives this stew a rich, buttery flavor, but also supplies vital – yet heart healthy! – fat and calories necessary for survival. Like the nutritional yeast, I use my olive oil every chance I get.

Oh, I also want to mention that not only does this stew keep well, it tastes just as good the next day. It’s pretty damn good cold, too, but we like ours warmed up just a little bit and eaten with some kind of bread. Mmmm!

Sorry I don’t have any pics of this stew. I didn’t think to post about it until long after we’d devoured it… but if you try it, let me know how it turned out for you. Or if you have a version of Hobo Stew of your own, feel free to share!

Peace