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FAIRE MEMORIES: PRELUDE TO
OPENING DAY
Hot dusk powdered the windshield of Jeff's blue Falcon as it coughed along the winding dirt road. My anticipation mounted and escaped through my pores in the form of glistening sweat. I was amazed by the sudden sense of belonging that I felt as I traveled further into the temporary village that would be our home for the next six weekends. Colorful dots of wooden shacks and cotton tents filled my vision. Laughing people with long hair and flowing clothes waved at us as we drove by. We at last entered the shade of a drooping oak tree and Jeff allowed the exhausted vehicle to rest in the coolness. The four of us weary travelers tumbled out of the overstuffed vehicle and stretched our achy limbs. We were surrounded by dry hills swollen with pride and relieved with gracious old oaks. It was the kind of natural beauty that has always made me feel reverent. Perhaps because the beauty was not found in overwhelming lushness, but was evident in the stark serenity of its simple purity. My curiosity was pricked by the stiff blonde wood nailed together in such a way as to form a temporary dwelling. The sign dangling from a tiny chain link secured to each side read boldly in rusty tones: "Wooden Boxes And Hairpins". The massive trunk of the shady old oak nudged against the side of the intruding dwelling in a friendly gesture. The tree seemed almost pleased to have the company of our booth. Jeff and Jenny nudged me out of my wanderings of the mind and insisted that I help them unpack. Bill, Jack's assistant, had already unloaded the glass display cases and was mounting them on the outside of the booth. Soon the sharp edged glass would nestle the artistic creations of Jeff and Jenny. We all began to practice our English accents by making lewd jokes while we unpacked our supplies. Our laughter blocked out the sound of booted feet on the gravel path beyond our booth. Jenny noticed the booted woman first, and motioned for us to still our revelry. The woman wore new shiny jeans above her boots, and a blazer that looked sweaty with sophistication. The woman's arrogance conveniently ignored Bill and me as she spoke in condescending tones to Jeff and Jenny. She informed them that their booth was bland, boring, completely wrong. She walked away with an irritated air, but she stopped not more than two boot scratches later. She turned around with an electric light in her eye. She insisted that Jeff and Jenny "procure" some of Black Jack's strong coffee and grinds with which we could enhance our booth. Suddenly after that moment she seemed to just disappear as quietly as she had arrived. Only a subtle scratching marked her departure. The silence whistled amongst us four for a brief moment as we looked at each other with raised brows. Jeff laughed first, then Jenny, and Bill and I followed in sequence. Jenny explained to Bill and me that the "booted woman" owned the faire, and it was probably wisest to do as she instructed. Jenny then grabbed my arm and whisked me down the same winding dirt path that we had driven up. Black Jack's coffeehouse was an ingenuous and delightful two story dwelling filled with intense smiling faces that greeted me as if they had known me for years. Everyone seemed thoroughly amused with our "coffee and grinds mission", except for Black Jack, who made a big show of being offended by the obscene use of his coffee. However, he managed to part with a bucket of the tiny ebony granules, which he eventually gave to us with a hearty buccaneer grin. Jenny and I finally lazed back to our own booth. We found Jeff and Bill lounging against the booth sipping on beer. They demanded the reason for our lengthy visit when there was so much work to be done. We simply ignored their questions and showed off our wonderful black treasure. Jenny scooped a handful of the cool moist grounds and came up with a mound of earthy looking stuff. She smeared it against the side of the booth and most of it just crumbled off. Jeff snickered at her as her grabbed the cold coffee I was holding in two large plastic mugs. He tossed a few sloshes of the dark liquid against the booth and it dripped down like melting chocolate ice cream. He then tossed some grinds which now like twinkling black diamonds. Jenny, Bill, and I watched Jeff in awe and inspiration. Jenny grabbed the other cup of coffee from my hand and began to imitate Jeff, adding a few moves of her own. Bill and I stood back for a few more moments until the infection attacked us as well. Our creative juices flowed through beads of spent coffee as we decorated our booth in spontaneity The coffee and grinds were soon gone. Without forethought we continued on painting our booth with beer and the dry Agoura Hills dust and dirt. Time elapsed in wordless understanding of the need to do this. When sunset brushed the sky lightly with desert rose and silver gray we traveler's were glued with dirt, coffee, Black Jack's grinds, and we were extremely exhausted. The four of us leaned against the coolness of the well rested Falcon and shared the last dregs of beer. We all nodded in silent approval of our accomplishment. The mood was simply, "content", as a strange stray wisp of cooling Agoura breeze teased my senses and whispered softly to me. It whispered, "welcome to the Renaissance Pleasure Faire". KMM 1985 FAIR |
