Hail and Well Met, Tirned Tinnu.
* bows a greeting *
Please allow me to commend you on an excellent first topic. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
In another realm, I am one of those infamous furriers of whom Bilbo speaks. I volunteer as a Native American fur trader for a living history program dealing with the life of the French Voyageur. What keeps me going back year after year is exactly what you've found in your medieval encampments ... the shared fellowship, camp coffee, and split pea soup cooked over an open fire, the smell of smoke and deerskin leather and beaver pelts, the cameraderie of singing traditional songs in French and Native American languages, the adventure of rescuing people who've fallen from their boats into the lake, or splashing with our oars as we pass those who are safe and sound. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]
The playing pranks on each other, ranging from crabapple wars (this handy fruit doubles as both a missile weapon and can also be used to stuff unattended shoes) ... to unexpectedly producing as if by magic, a skunk pelt offered to trade with a straight face right after having jumped out at the canoe unawares with a formidable war cry.
The time one man mistakenly thought that the beaver pelt hanging from my belt was a human scalp ..., the time a wide-eyed child crept up to me where I was laying in wait for the canoe in the forest and asked, "Are you the Indian of the Woods?"
All I've described ... isn't it a far more real and rewarding an experience than watching tv?
I'd say you're in good company, Tirned Tinnu, ... indeed, I'd venture to put you in the company of Tolkien himself when it comes to the feelings you relate. * bows *
At your Service,
Gandalf the Grey
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