Hame, hame, hame
Jul. 16th, 2007 01:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jere7myThe nicest thing about your first vacation after moving to a new place: home suddenly feels like home when you come back to it.
We're back from a week of dancing and music in the tall pines, aka Scottish Session II at Pinewoods. I spent much of the first half being antisocial, lying flat on my belly in the needles taking pictures of mushrooms, or holed up in the cabin scribbling lyrics for my ceilidh act. Even so, I managed to meet some nifty people: Ian and Guenevere, the thoughtful rocket scientist who married the German free spirit. Friendly crewperson Emma, who agreed with me about the hotness of the kitchen crew, with the steam and the kerchiefs on their hair and the no-nonsense kick-yer-ass attitude. The adorable moppet child of Elke Baker, who hid a starfish behind her back and ordered us to "Wonder!" when we asked where it went.
The session's theme was "pirates and mariners" (read: "really just pirates") so many of the dances were nautically themed (Pelorus Jack, Jolly Tars, lots of hornpipes), and the main dance pavilion was quite thoroughly decorated with Jolly Rogers and nooses and treasure maps. People said "Arrr!" a lot. For the Thursday costume ball, I braided a few braids into my hair, put on eyeliner and a red checked kerchief, and attached a small penguin to my shoulder. (Yes, you all missed it. But there may be pictures.) That's what I wore for my ceilidh act: the theme song from Miss Milligan's Island, which tells the tale of the fateful trip where the grande dame of Scottish Country Dancing was marooned by pirates. Bet you didn't know about that.
Musically, it was a pretty successful week, despite not being miked for most of my time on stage—I was on stage, which is the point of the thing. Terry Traub very generously invited the camper musicians to play with the band for about half of each night's ball, and I (and only I!) took full advantage. The other musicians were very welcoming and encouraging, and when I saw Terry on Saturday morning he suggested I should play for the dance classes sometime, so I have to say it went well. Nothing is more energizing than really flying through a good reel set in A. I experimented with a felt pick for the strathspeys, which provided more of a "fthub" than a "fthang"; I think it worked.
Beyond that, I ate a lot of excellent food and ice cream, almost fell off the dock laughing while reading On the Origins of PC's, paid $40 for a candy bar in the Pinewoods auction, traded the candy bar for canned haggis (contains 72% lamb lungs!), skinnydipped in Round Pond, canoed across Long Pond, and did a little dancing. A few times, walking back to the cabin at night, I turned off my flashlight and stood alone in the blackness, and it was so dark beneath the trees that I might've been wrapped up in velvet—except that all the small night sounds of the forest, the tippit-tipping of things pattering down through the leaves and the rustling of creatures nosing through the underbrush, were heightened rather than muffled. Over the course of the week, I felt myself uncurl and unclench; I really needed that, it seems, after the shock of moving to the Big City.
Pictures will follow.
We're back from a week of dancing and music in the tall pines, aka Scottish Session II at Pinewoods. I spent much of the first half being antisocial, lying flat on my belly in the needles taking pictures of mushrooms, or holed up in the cabin scribbling lyrics for my ceilidh act. Even so, I managed to meet some nifty people: Ian and Guenevere, the thoughtful rocket scientist who married the German free spirit. Friendly crewperson Emma, who agreed with me about the hotness of the kitchen crew, with the steam and the kerchiefs on their hair and the no-nonsense kick-yer-ass attitude. The adorable moppet child of Elke Baker, who hid a starfish behind her back and ordered us to "Wonder!" when we asked where it went.
The session's theme was "pirates and mariners" (read: "really just pirates") so many of the dances were nautically themed (Pelorus Jack, Jolly Tars, lots of hornpipes), and the main dance pavilion was quite thoroughly decorated with Jolly Rogers and nooses and treasure maps. People said "Arrr!" a lot. For the Thursday costume ball, I braided a few braids into my hair, put on eyeliner and a red checked kerchief, and attached a small penguin to my shoulder. (Yes, you all missed it. But there may be pictures.) That's what I wore for my ceilidh act: the theme song from Miss Milligan's Island, which tells the tale of the fateful trip where the grande dame of Scottish Country Dancing was marooned by pirates. Bet you didn't know about that.
Musically, it was a pretty successful week, despite not being miked for most of my time on stage—I was on stage, which is the point of the thing. Terry Traub very generously invited the camper musicians to play with the band for about half of each night's ball, and I (and only I!) took full advantage. The other musicians were very welcoming and encouraging, and when I saw Terry on Saturday morning he suggested I should play for the dance classes sometime, so I have to say it went well. Nothing is more energizing than really flying through a good reel set in A. I experimented with a felt pick for the strathspeys, which provided more of a "fthub" than a "fthang"; I think it worked.
Beyond that, I ate a lot of excellent food and ice cream, almost fell off the dock laughing while reading On the Origins of PC's, paid $40 for a candy bar in the Pinewoods auction, traded the candy bar for canned haggis (contains 72% lamb lungs!), skinnydipped in Round Pond, canoed across Long Pond, and did a little dancing. A few times, walking back to the cabin at night, I turned off my flashlight and stood alone in the blackness, and it was so dark beneath the trees that I might've been wrapped up in velvet—except that all the small night sounds of the forest, the tippit-tipping of things pattering down through the leaves and the rustling of creatures nosing through the underbrush, were heightened rather than muffled. Over the course of the week, I felt myself uncurl and unclench; I really needed that, it seems, after the shock of moving to the Big City.
Pictures will follow.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 06:44 am (UTC)There was a man named Terry Traub who I never met, but he was friends with my uncle, and there was a song that went:
"What do you want for breakfast? What do you want for breakfast? What do you want for breakfast? I'm Terry Traub."
It was a catchy song, and my mom used to sing it when I was a kid and she was offering me breakfast. It actually made be freak out because I was four years old and concerned that my mother thought she was Terry Traub.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 06:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 04:08 pm (UTC)Camp near Doylestown - light around the horizon all night.
NW coast of Martha's Vineyard - Dark, dark, DARK.
I'm looking forward to it.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 01:55 pm (UTC)Glad you had fun!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-16 04:07 pm (UTC)NEED MORE NAVY.
Sounds like a fun week.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-17 09:41 pm (UTC)But mostly this comment is to demand photos of you as Capta7in Ja?ck, with the penguin.
(Apologies if this comment posts twice -- I ran into network trouble mid-post.)