Bluemont was last weekend, and exciting as always. It’s the Morris ale in this part of the country, about three hours away just across the Maryland border. It was at a church campground on the top of a ridge so you could see the sun rise and set in the valleys on both sides. We stood there and looked out over the mountains and the river below and Dad pointed out the three states. At the foot of the mountain was Maryland, across the river was Virginia, and the mountains on the horizon were in West Virginia. At night you could look down and watch the lights of Fredrick come on one by one. I love the mountains.

The first stand was fun - it was on a little sidestreet next to a street fair and a parade. There were various small disasters, including a wind that kept blowing papers into the street. The street was very wet due to some fire trucks that came to put out a fire in a nearby restaurant. I had never seen firefighters at work before, so it was scary and exciting both. They plugged in the hose to the fire hydrant and put up the big cherry-picker thing they have on the truck. They didn’t seem to use it, though, because no one ever climbed it and they put it down as soon as it was extended. I’m not sure if they ever used the hose, either. There was some sort of leak where the hose attached to the truck, which was why the street was all wet. In any case, the fire got put out and we got to dance for all the people who had been moved off the street so the trucks could get in.

Then we met up with some other teams to have lunch in a park. The Morris team from Sherburne, England was there, which was very exciting. They were all older men, it not being a mixed team, and we discussed the ethics of the Morris Ring and under what circumstances women should dance, if any. Most of them seemed rather humorless but they did have fun putting their hats and someone’s border coat on a statue of some Civil War guy in the park. After the dancing was over most people went to a pub stop, but Mom and Patricia and I found this neat little vintage clothing store across the street and rummaged around in there instead. I got a record of Fiddler on the Roof and a denim skirt. Mom and Patricia didn’t actually get anything, but had a good time looking and things and exclaiming, “Look at this blouse!” and “Now you see why this collar went out of style,” and “I had a skirt like this! What was I thinking?”

Then we went to the camp and had show dancing. All the teams got together around what I think was a volleyball court and each team did a dance. There were several teenagers there, and two of the girls had great fun drawing cat whiskers on everyone’s faces with pink and green markers. They had trouble with some people, as a lot of the men had beards, but most of us got markered at one point or another. At one point I saw Adaire and Owen talking very earnestly with an English accordion player, and the next time I saw him he had whiskers. Mom and I found this very amusing. It was cold, so I stole her vest and we spent a lot of time huddling together.

On the western side of the ridge there was a sort of outdoor chapel with benches and a wooden cross and a little podium for a pulpit. About fifteen of us went down there and watched the sun set over the Potomac. Somebody started singing “I Went Down to the River to Pray,” and we ended up singing all the songs about rivers we could think of. “The Water is Wide” and “Oh, Shenandoah” and are all I remember now. (I was proud. I knew all the verses to “The Water is Wide.”) Finally we got more hungry than musical and went to have dinner.

There were skits and a contra, as always, so after dinner we all changed clothes. I tried to wash my whiskers off, but forgot to bring soap and thus the marker only smeared and turned my face green. Eventually I found some soap and all was well. I got there before the skits started, so I ended up talking to Claire Morrison and a bunch of other teenagers. I’d been hearing about Claire for years but never met her, and for some reason I had always thought she would be rather snobbish. I was happily surprised to find her a very nice person. She introduced me to the others and we chattered happily about Christmas School until she and the other girls left to change into their skirts for the dance. Only one was left behind, a German exchange student about my age who was staying with one of the dancers. She remarked that she wished she had brought a skirt, and I remembered the one I had just bought in the vintage store. We dashed back to my cabin to get it and she borrowed it for the night. It was fun. We got back in time for some of the skits, one of which was a strange but extremely funny one involving Jim Morrison and a pair of Superman underpants. (He was fully dressed, though.)

The contra! I think I must have learned three or four new steps and swings and things, although I despair of ever mastering the box step. I don’t know why; it’s not that complicated. And though I had been working up my nerve for about six months to ask Owen Morrison to dance, I was surprised to find that I didn’t really want to. I did dance the first one with his mother, though, which was amusing and probably more enjoyable. There was a lot of that, as there were a good deal more women than men. I think I only had two male partners the entire night, one of which was my father. After I got too tired to dance much I sat around and discussed the Renaissance Faire and SATs with one of the Shepherdstown dancers. The explanation behind this is so confusing that I will tell you about it much later, or, more likely, never.

Then George berated me for sitting down. His logic was that I was sixteen and therefore obligated to dance all night, since all the adults present had delusions that at my age they could do the same. By not dancing I was crushing their visions of themselves as slightly aged athletic champions. “And anyway,” he finished, “why aren’t you over there hitting on Owen with all the other girls?” I looked over. Sure enough, there they all were, like bees around honey. I wasn’t sure of the answer to that one myself, so I didn’t try to answer. Last Easter I got all fluttery just thinking about him, but this time I actually spoke to him and didn’t even care. I don’t know why. Mom and I did have a good time watching the antics of the other girls, though. At one point he was playing guitar with the band while trying to beat off Adaire, who was putting rubber bands in his hair. (This was a form of entertainment she and I started three years ago at our ale. We got bored and started braiding people’s hair in little braids. When we ran out of people with enough hair to braid we started putting people’s hair in little bunches with rubber bands.) Finally he realized he couldn’t play and fend her off at the same time, so she got her way. Meanwhile another girl was attempting unsuccessfully to teach her boyfriend to waltz. He was fine in contras, but for some reason waltzing eluded him completely. A couple of men stepped in and tried to show him what he was supposed to do, but after about an hour of practice he still wasn’t getting it. Eventually she gave up and they just sort of smiled and hung on to each other and shuffled around.

We went to bed around midnight. We were lying on the cabin floor in our sleeping bags with the lights off when I heard Patricia’s sleepy voice coming from across the room. “Oh, it’s crawling! What is it?” (pause) “Weirdcricket!” (smack. Pause) “Oh, I didn’t mean to kill it.” (pause.) “Hey, it’s not dead. It’s a weird cricket that plays dead. Oh well.” I knew just what she meant, too. It must have been one of those scary pale crickets with the too-long legs that hang out in dark places. There was one watching me from the bathroom wall as I tried to get the green off my face.

I don’t remember that much happened the next day. We had to leave after breakfast because two of us had to be in Richmond that afternoon. I don’t think I’ve ever danced so much in twenty-four hours! Morris all day and contras and squaredances and hambos and waltzes until late. But overall I think the team did really well. We didn’t drop any sticks or run into each other or go the wrong way on heys or sprain any ankles, which has got to be some kind of a record for us. We still don’t have a musician, but the other teams were so willing to help out that at some points we had a fiddle, two squeezeboxes, a pipe and tabor, and probably somebody else. Two of the Albemarle guys said we did well, which was surprising because Steven always says something nice, but this time Brad did too. They both used to dance with us so we all knew that Brad doesn’t say good things if they’re not true. And one of the ancient Englishmen told me “you’re a very good dancer and if you keep at it you will be even better. And you needn’t blush, because it’s true.” I think that was the highlight of this month.

September 21
October 18