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Feast of the Hunter’s Moon
Oct. 10th, 2024 08:27 amI had a whirlwind weekend! The first weekend in October is always the Feast of the Hunter’s Moon, a reenactment of a French trading post that was active in the mid-1700s, and for the first time ever I was not merely a spectator but a participant: on Sunday, I spent all day playing my dulcimer with the Dulcimer Gathering.
First, however, came Saturday, which I did attend as a spectator (although in costume), because I had a friend visiting and because I needed to buy my dulcimer. Hitherto I’ve been using a cardboard loaner from the Dulcimer Gathering (you can get a surprisingly nice tone with a cardboard dulcimer actually), but there’s always a dulcimer seller at the Feast and my plan from the beginning has been to get my dulcimer there, so I could try out an array and find the one that called to me. And I did indeed find a beautiful sweet-toned cherry wood dulcimer.
I also got fry bread and meat pies and a red-and-green cockade for my hat, which may have plighted my troth to God knows what political movement (there were some tartans that I sedulously avoided), but it really put a nice finishing touch on my costume so if I’m now a Jacobite I guess I’ll just have to live with it.
Fortunately, after all this gaiety, Monday and Tuesday were fall break, and I took both days off to recover. On Monday I spent the day with Mom and Dad, who were watching my niece, who is one and a half and talking up a storm. Does anyone understand most of what she’s saying, no, but most of the time she seems to be talking to herself anyway, and she has a special voice that she uses when she’s actually trying to communicate with us: slightly louder and more demanding, as mostly she is communicating her wants. “Up!” “Don!” (Down.) “Kib!” (Crib. She likes to play in her crib.) “Mek!” (Milk.) I’ve heard her say a very clear “ap-pul,” although she didn’t on Monday.
She also seems to call her grandmother “Mama,” having perhaps adopted this as an all-purpose word for trusted female caregiver. Also much easier to say than “Grandma,” of course.
Then on Tuesday I had the day completely off, with no responsibilities, and spent the day happily puttering. I ambled downtown (it’s within walking distance from my place), replenished my stock of notecards at the local artists’ cooperative, crossed the bridge for a happy morning catching up on correspondence in Starbucks, and then recrossed the bridge and stumbled upon the early voting location, which had such a line that I went over to the library to grab a book before getting in line. (The book was Katherine Applegate’s Odder, the story of a sea otter, which is very cute.)
And I painted a watercolor portrait of Bramble! I was not quite brave enough to do it with his eyes open (eyes so often break a picture), but it is recognizably a cat, perhaps slow-blinking at the viewer from the top of his cat tree.
First, however, came Saturday, which I did attend as a spectator (although in costume), because I had a friend visiting and because I needed to buy my dulcimer. Hitherto I’ve been using a cardboard loaner from the Dulcimer Gathering (you can get a surprisingly nice tone with a cardboard dulcimer actually), but there’s always a dulcimer seller at the Feast and my plan from the beginning has been to get my dulcimer there, so I could try out an array and find the one that called to me. And I did indeed find a beautiful sweet-toned cherry wood dulcimer.
I also got fry bread and meat pies and a red-and-green cockade for my hat, which may have plighted my troth to God knows what political movement (there were some tartans that I sedulously avoided), but it really put a nice finishing touch on my costume so if I’m now a Jacobite I guess I’ll just have to live with it.
Fortunately, after all this gaiety, Monday and Tuesday were fall break, and I took both days off to recover. On Monday I spent the day with Mom and Dad, who were watching my niece, who is one and a half and talking up a storm. Does anyone understand most of what she’s saying, no, but most of the time she seems to be talking to herself anyway, and she has a special voice that she uses when she’s actually trying to communicate with us: slightly louder and more demanding, as mostly she is communicating her wants. “Up!” “Don!” (Down.) “Kib!” (Crib. She likes to play in her crib.) “Mek!” (Milk.) I’ve heard her say a very clear “ap-pul,” although she didn’t on Monday.
She also seems to call her grandmother “Mama,” having perhaps adopted this as an all-purpose word for trusted female caregiver. Also much easier to say than “Grandma,” of course.
Then on Tuesday I had the day completely off, with no responsibilities, and spent the day happily puttering. I ambled downtown (it’s within walking distance from my place), replenished my stock of notecards at the local artists’ cooperative, crossed the bridge for a happy morning catching up on correspondence in Starbucks, and then recrossed the bridge and stumbled upon the early voting location, which had such a line that I went over to the library to grab a book before getting in line. (The book was Katherine Applegate’s Odder, the story of a sea otter, which is very cute.)
And I painted a watercolor portrait of Bramble! I was not quite brave enough to do it with his eyes open (eyes so often break a picture), but it is recognizably a cat, perhaps slow-blinking at the viewer from the top of his cat tree.
