Taylor's gift, or reward, the terms mattered little, but the results were the same. We were going to the Renaissance Festival. It would be a daddy, daughter day, a way for our group of travelers to say thank you to my thirteen year old daughter.
     Our quest began with a perfect late summer day, warm, with a hint of cadmium orange dancing on the edge of the trees. The sound of the gravel under the tires, the top down, my daughter’s smile a memory born...a perfect moment shared between a father and his child. Now we would find a way to make sure the day met our expectations.
     After our misadventures at Cow Pie Blues Festival it was decided that my daughter Taylor could pick out an event or festival. She had weathered storms, a reluctant “Mary Jane” our V.W. bus braking down and all the difficulties that present themselves when one travels. 
     The Renaissance Festival was her choice. I would of course write, but this event was not about The Blue Water Traveler.Com it was about saying thank you to my very wonderful daughter.This event was nothing new to either my daughter or myself. I had in the past shown my work as an artist there, now I would have the opportunity to share some of that past with my daughter, and with you.
     From the moment we arrived, the stage was set...people in costumes, chiding voices, and dust, lots and lots of dust. I roll it through my mind, “yes, this is how one would get to the market in times past," I thought.
     If you do not want to walk a mile to get to the entrance you need to get there early. This day Taylor and I would skip the long walk to the entrance and park near the front gates. Do not think unkindly of me,but I have a way of getting what I want and a handicapped parking permit. We could have also brought my motorcycle and the results would have been the same. I stress this because after a day walking through the village and play areas, anyone with children will wish they had gotten there early. Tired children and a long walk in the dust is not how I want to end my day. A nice ride on a pony cart, I could do that, but I didn’t see one.
     “Over here dad this is the way in,” Taylor yelled as she walked toward the gate. The excitement in my daughter’s voice already made the price of admission seem a little less. Twenty dollars for an adult, no it was only $19.95. "Who comes up with these prices," I laughed with my daughter as our our day began.
     The Renaissance Festival is a place for imagination, on all levels. People in costumes, both attendees and workers, added an historic feel to the village. The historic aspect kicked our imagination into high gear. At this festival you see everthing from the tenth century to the eighteenth century and all are acceptable, so be ready to imagine that the time period referred to as the Renaissance was a bit longer than it was. Now you are getting the idea, if you can add a few hundred years what is the problem with a few fairies and a troll or two tossed in for good measure.
     If you have a problem simply look around and watch the children and learn. This a place where wooden swords save kingdoms and every princess wants to be rescued. This is what we paid for, and how often do you get to be a child again.
      “Where to fair maiden?” I asked Taylor, She scaned the village and smiled “this way!” Our journey began down a path to shops and stages. My daughter had a mission, a small silver charm in the shape of a dragon needed to be replaced. A memory from another time, lost in the shuffle between home and her mother’s house would be restored today.
     Along the way we experienced the fabric that binds this festival together.The music, the performers, and the events in the main arena are the real strengths of this event. The shops and vendors selling so many cheap reproductions have for the most part replaced the hand made arts and crafts of earlier festivals. In the place where one could watch a skilled craftsman making a pair of buffalo hide boots you can buy a pair of genuine vinyl shoes that come all the way from China. The trade routes are still open, so some things have not changed.
     Taylor and I moved in and out of shops, stopping to listen to music or to take part in a play for the children. Finally we reached the glass blower’s studio. A throw back to earlier times at this festival... artisans working and sharing information about the objects they create. This was Taylor's event but the sight of the kiln and the smells made me smile. 
     My smile grew when Taylor asked if these where the same people that were here when I was doing this festival. “No,” I told her. "but the process is the same." To my surprise her quest was set aside for the entire demonstration. In another life the glass blower’s name was Albert Young and my space was the one next to his. I would demonstrate the intaglio printing process and try to stay out of the heat produced by Al's kiln. In between shows we would play music and sell art. I did not tell my daughter that I thought it was better then, instead I joked with her about my costume and how I tried to keep my white shirts clean while I did my work.
     Al has moved on in his work as have I but we are both still true to the idea of original art. Albert now owns and operates Michigan Hot Glass Workshop. Check out his website at here. He is in my opinion, one of the best glass artists I have ever seen. I hope that you will take the time to visit his site.
      The Renaissance Festival is a festival that requires dedication. The process of getting to the main arena, demands that one moves quickly through the myriad of shops. A process that can be hindered by a thirteen-year- old girl. Crystals and jewelry, candles and candy,  the list is long. Eventually we reached the main staging area in time for the demonstration of the hunting birds of prey.  It was there that the festival really started to shine. Known as the sport of kings, hunting with birds of prey was hunting in its most purest sense. For the royalty it might have been a sport, but those wonderful birds were also used by commoners to provide food for their families.
      We were informed that the main difference between the nobles and the common hunters was the birds that they used. The results were the same hoewever, somebody got to have dinner.The performance was both beautiful and informative. The powerful birds taking their queues from their master would cut and dive and return to place. Sometimes the birds would return to their perch, at other times they would fly and land in the grandstand, a view perfectly suited fort those noble creatures. With very little imagination , one could very easily be transported back in time, to a place where one was connected to the world in a much more intimate way.
     We were informed that the trained raptors were always rewarded for their efforts, and never harmed. This I thought might be in the best interest of the person training the bird, and not simply an act of kindness. Once a raptor has engaged it’s pray, it’s claws must be removed one at a time. This thought that was played out when a magnificent falcon decided that the assistant's hair was the perfect place for a short rest. Not a good time to react suddenly. I smiled at Taylor and said, “I think it was a good thing we did not bring our Chihuahua puppy.”.
      At the back of the festival compound we found a new area. This area was delineated by exhibitors and vendors, not a part of the week to week permanent festival shops. It is here that you will find handmade items, and individuals connected to the things that they produced. Handmade items, food, clothing and art now embody a personal touch. Wine from local vendors like Wills Wines can be tried and purchased.
      Hats and shirts made from recycled fabric brought a touch of authenticity to this very commercialized event. Here Taylor and I enjoyed a reprieve from the over-priced, mass-produced items that were being hawked in the village. Here we found a slower pace and time for us to renew our quest for the small silver dragon that my daughter had her heart set on finding.
     We had only covered about half of the festival at this point. Along the way we had seen tattooed women and dancers infusing the traditions of the past with the movements of the present. A theater group delivered laughter in the true sprit of a fifteenth century traveling stage show. We had also seen enough turkey legs being gnawed on to make us wonder if there where a bunch of one legged turkeys somewhere out in the world trying to find a ride to the barn for their next meal. Taylor and I decided at this point that we would skip the turkey this Thanksgiving. The poor creatures could use a break.
     Back on the path and into the shade we moved in and out of displays. The undefined shopping was punctuated by the performance artists that populated the crowd. With the perfect crystal in one shop, a vial of faerie dust in another, we gathered these small mementos together that later would become the catalyst to bring back the memories of a perfect day.
     Still, we found no silver dragon but we did find a faerie being made out of mud. Taylor decided to make her dragon out of mud also.  Her movements always in character, she constructed her dragon and she never spoke as she went about her work. A small handful of dirt here, a little water to mix it with and she continued to build her dragon.
     Her lines were drawn in the mud and claws emerged from the dirt. We lingered for a little while and talked about the dragons we had built out of sand on yet another perfect day when magic seemed possible.Where there is smoke there is fire and where there is fire, maybe there is a dragon. Not this time though, but what we did find was a performer doing an act with fire.
     As I have said, there are some true gems at the Renaissance Festival. This was one of them, born of times past with the humor of today. We were entertained by the skill and the traditional fire act. I knew we must be getting close to the silver dragon. It was the only way I could see this day ending.
     A perfect day needs a happy ending. I was right and there is nothing better than being right. This was about making someone else happy. In the next shop we finally found what we were looking for, a small silver dragon charm on a leather cord. Here I could not count the cost, as memories of this day were beyond price. For a little while we had left the world of the every day behind us. We gathered treasures of laughter, sights and sounds that we locked away safely. We will unwrap them now and then like a warm blanket on a cold winter day when it demands it. We will be a little warmer because we brought something with us.