Bristol Renaissance Faire 2003 Photos

It's often said that a picture is worth a thousand words. That's true enough, so far as it goes, but it doesn't mean that the essence of a moment can be captured in a photograph. I like the images that follow. They are a few of many that I took while visiting the Bristol Renaissance Faire during the summer of 2003. While they may not convey the essence of each moment, they at least provide me with a set of quick sketches, and also serve as visual index cards within the library of my memory.

We will begin near the end of one of those visits, because I prefer these days to end with beginnings...

Above and below: Master Falconer Ray Pena and Chula, a female Saker falcon, at the Bristol Renaissance Faire on Saturday, July 19, 2003.

It is late on a Saturday, not long before closing. The drumming and dancing have just ended, and folk are milling around on the green at the end of Farnham Way, tired but happy, reluctant to let go of what has been a perfect summer day. Suddenly something swoops close by, drops a wing, silently banks in a tight and graceful turn beneath sky and oak boughs, then lands with a flurry of flapping wings upon an upheld gauntlet. Ray Pena is standing on the little platform near Fountainside Gazeebo, a falcon perched upon his hand.

The next few minutes are pure magic: The falcon is on the wing, maneuvering swiftly and certainly through open air and tight spaces, perching now upon a rooftop, now pirouetting against the slanting sunlight, swooping close now past upturned faces, first startling then bringing widening smiles, now landing briefly upon the Master Falconer's glove, then taking once again to her natural element. One cannot help but smile, witnessing this close up. It is not so much a contest of wills between falconer and falcon, where one prevails and one submits, but some sort of spiritual synthesis and balance. When the Master Falconer's eyes are on the falcon, there is love in his eyes, and respect, and joy. When the Master Falconer speaks to the falcon there is love in his voice, and the crowd of watchers are of little consequence to either. Falconer and falcon are in their own momentarily perfect world, and those standing just outside of it, who have been honored with an invitation to witness, feel their joy.

Had I experienced nothing else at the Faire that day, those last moments of themselves would have made the trip worthwhile. There is something deeply reassuring about watching the Master Falconer and his falcon. Their interaction is a profound affirmation.

Driving back through northwest Indiana later that evening toward a newly risen and nearly full moon, I was thinking about what I had seen earlier, and thinking about a poem by T. S. Elliot. In a moment of sudden elation, I realized that the hopelessness of one of its central images had been effectively refuted:

At the Bristol Renaissance Faire