I’ve mentioned before that me plus alcohol leads to some crazy visionary experiences, so it won’t surprise you that while away at the drug and booze-fueled responsible childishness that is Pirates and Fairies I had a few otherworldly encounters. What does this have to do with raspberry beer? I did say booze-fueled. It was on sale and it is local and very tasty (otherwise the title would’ve been “Mead and the Eldritch World” which, for some reason, conveys a much more profound and well-researched post than one with beer in the title).
Friday we drove to the site a little while after sunset when the stars and the moon were out. We drove down the mountain, around the sea inlet, and I got to see my mountain from the other side with the moon directly over it and a veil of stars – all shining onto the water. We made it to the opening ritual where a giant clock covered in vines and glitter is stopped – for Never Never Land is a place outside of time.
We lit the sacred fire for our weekend of adult-only sillyness. Along came the usual conversation:
“No cigarette butts in the sacred fire, please use the butt cans.”
“What about smores and hot dogs? Can we cook smores and hot dogs in the sacred fire?”
“Yes, smores and hot dogs are okay.”
Later there was a lengthy debate about whether it was okay to put in one of those dye packs that makes an entire fire change colour for an hour. They finally agreed that, chemicals or no, changing the colour of fire is pretty mystical, so toss ‘er in!
Saturday was fairy day. We had a tea party. There were many tutus and even the menfolk wore wings (some with sparkles). There were sparkles and bubbles everywhere. No sparkles for me though, no, all the Virgo planets in my chart demanded pressed linen and cotton and a comfortable professionally made corset –all in a matching shade of green (okay, maybe Leo, Libra, and Taurus were involved too). There was a fairy dance by the lake where everyone dresses like fairies and dances to a laptop dj. I drank a lot of raspberry beer. There was no tea in my mug at the tea party, you guessed it, it was beer.
Stars dripped from the trees like dew. Stars reflected in the smooth surface of the dark lake. Jupiter shone down on the sacred fire upon some stones jutting out into the lake (we had to use someone’s iphone app to figure out it was Jupiter – sorry to spoil the beautiful moment).
That night when I lay down on my bed inside the cabin with the snorers I slipped out of my skin to go to the lake instead of falling asleep. It was beyond gorgeous. The bottom of the lake is full of the dead decaying trunks of thick old trees. From the eldritch world at night the lake is black and the transparent white spirits of the giant leafless trees coat the lake. The stars, so white in the black night sky, seem to float right above the tips of the ghostly branches. The stars reflect into the darkness of the lake and the shining white roots beneath the surface mirror the branches above. I can’t hear the snoring from here, ahh.
Sunday was pirate day. It should really be called corset and arrh day. There was skinny dipping, kayaking, and canoeing. Fairies have tea parties, pirates hang out in water. My man and I went with the canoe and paddled around the circumference of the lake so we’d get a bit a shade. The lake water is so clear you can see the bottom. We paddled over the bodies of the long dead trees I’d seen in the otherworld the night before; silent and still and covered in layers of silt. Water dripped on our bare toes from the paddles. It was lovely and even a bit romantic despite the odd dozen or so beer cans some yahoos sunk around the lake. Yahoos never have good taste in beer. It’s always Coors or Bud. Tastes like nothing.
We ended pirate day with a regional Scottish whiskey tasting. Fairies drink tea, pirates drink whiskey. Blech to the peat. Yay to the alcoholic candy that is Edradour whiskey.
That night I had a prophetic dream that a couple I knew would break up and when it would be. How come I only ever dream of unhappy stuff like people dying and bad things happening? They tend to come true. It tends to make me not want to tell people.
Monday morning was all about Belgian waffles and bacon by the lake. We trained the camp kitchen staff well –there was bacon with almost every meal and they even let us all have extra bacon. Once upon a time, such events were vegetarian and bacon had to be smuggled in and fried in the parking lot on a Coleman like a bunch of stoners in an alley hiding from the cops. We packed up our stuff, cleaned up the cabin, said our farewells, and then we drove back around the sea inlet and up the mountain home.