I have a lot of my friends from the SCA who read this blog who have mentioned a notable lack of posts on the SCA here.  For the uninitiated the SCA is the acronym for the Society for Creative Anachronism, a medieval-renaissance history group that has been described as the 800-lb gorilla of living history groups.  And I use the term living history loosely.  Because of their time span (roughly 600-1600 CE), and scope of membership (35,000 official members, and probably an equal number of unpaid members worldwide), there is considerably more “anachronism” than in more focused, true Living History groups.  But, despite it being primarily a social organization, I have learned and developed a deeper love and understanding of history over my life than I would have in any other structure. 

The love of history is not why I have stayed an active member for 26 years.  My interests come with a desire to bring a little authenticity to it’s representation that is probably more conducive to pursuing in other groups.  I stay, not for the history, but for the relationships.  More than any other group hobby that borders on passion, there are deep relationships formed in the SCA that substitute for the disrupted neighborhoods, villages and parishes of earlier, less mobile times.  In short, I stay for the people.  And the fighting.  I came because the call of the tournament field was too strong to resist, and it is my first and truest link to the SCA.

In any small, inbred community, there are times when the closeness is stifling and the interpersonal relationships turn petty and small.   Sometimes you just have to take a breath of fresh air, walk away and slow down.  It’s the only way you can really pursue any passion for the long haul without crossing the border into obsession. 

Plus, we have had an attack of life over the last year that our previous commitments did not allow us time to dwell on.  An attack that we pushed through outwardly well, in fact, a little too well.  I think while we were so busy putting a smile on the face of our tragedy that people forgot the profundity of the changes that we found ourselves in the middle of.  I think we forgot it ourselves.  In this way, the SCA was our saving grace – we had no choice but to suck it up and move forward.  Duty calls, and all that – it’s an almost military dedication to “doing what must be done.”   This dovetailed well with my upbringing.  The British have NOTHING on New Englanders when it comes to having a stiff upper lip.  No tears allowed. 

But now that we are allowed out of the fishbowl, we are taking a bit of time to inhale, reorient, and take the luxury of a bit of personal time.  We have a house to make a home, salvage to sort, baby books to update and lives to reclaim.  When we show up at an event we want the luxury of coming in our own clothes.

But (in a rare personal appearance, only because I am in a helmet) this:

 

 Is what brought me into the SCA, and this is what will bring me back.  The pure thrill of combat. 

Gotta go.  Got armour to fix.