At Pennsic, there’s a camp on the ‘Ghetti on the corner of Brewers and By The Way, or maybe Cariadoc. They have painted pavilions. They hide all their modern amenities; they are never out of garb (right down to their underwear); even the wash on the clothesline is period. Every year, I walk slowly past this camp because they are one of the wonders which fill my Pennsic.
This year, this amazing camp offered a carefully researched, medieval pleasure garden–turf benches, a gaming table, tile walkways, a small fountain and period plantings–on a trailer. I wanted to attend one of the classes they hosted concerning this garden, but I was working during all the class times.
Instead, I went slowly by the garden, filled with poor peasant envy for such luxury, and I copied this bit of documentation from the placard explaining the pleasure garden because these ancient words capture a bit of the of the blur which happens between old and new as I do my mundane work.
The dirty, low peasant farmer/gardener/digger of holes is grateful to the camp wherein live lords and ladies, so high and so noble and so beautifully inspiring. The dirt-digger is happy for the words you shared:
“The love I feel for the plants would inspire me…to fetch water in brimming buckets. I pour the water drop by drop.” – Walefrid Strabo, On Cultivation of Gardens
(- Windy McGlinsky)