Jon Evans

People who go to the White Hart alone know this sad refrain: if you're by yourself and it's almost pub sing time, it's darn near impossible to get a seat inside unless you know somebody. After watching me wander around, repeatedly finding out that groups were holding seats for individuals more fortunate than myself, a couple of guys offered me a seat with them. I was skeptical, but they gave me my privacy space bubble and sang along with the songs, both good signs. I saw them there the next weekend, and we repeated the bench-sharing experience. And that's how I met Jon and Mark, both of whom are allowed inside the space bubble now. ("Wait wait. I have an idea. When we wake up tomorrow morning, let's make golfers play through our Kodak moment." But you have to admit they were great photos, guys. You'd never guess Scotland was right outside of Houston.) Anyhow. Enough of that. On with Jon:

Once upon a time, a boy who was brought up on tales of King Arthur and Robin Hood thought he could find that wonderful beauty still living in the world. He took fencing as a sport in high school. He played Dungeons and Dragons. But something still lacked ... the imagination was overpowered by reality. The fencing bouts -- no matter how exciting and successful -- were still fencing bouts. There was no magical sword (every fencer knows that all equipment breaks sooner or later), and the RPGs didn't really give one the physical satisfaction of slaying the dragon.

By the time this boy became a man, he had given up hope of finding this paradise. There were no damsels in distress. There were no dragons, mystical gods, wizards, dueling champions vying for a lady's honor and affections ... there was no beauty in the world. He might as well take his degree in English Literature and head on south to DC, where he would work as a technical writer and weep at the destruction of his childhood illusions. He was moving south with his friend Steve, whom he didn't know all that well. Steve suggested that before they end up sharing an apartment somewhere, they should spend some social time together to see if they could keep from killing each other. It seemed like a good idea.

Steve said, "I know you like medieval stuff, and there's a renaissance faire in Sterling ... why don't we go there?
"What's this?" Jon asked.
"A renaissance faire," Steve said. "You'll like it."

Jon told his friend Patrick he was going, and Pat had practically spent his youth there. Pat insisted Jon wear at least a shirt that was "period", which he loaned to Jon despite Jon thinking it was silly. And off Jon went, expecting a boring, half-assed attempt at medievalism, with plastic, shiney costumes and really bad acting. Instead, Jon found a piece of the childhood illusion he'd always dreamed about. A place where people were actually nice to each other, instead of grubbing over money and cutting off drivers on the highway. A place where knights jousted in tournament, wenches flirted with rogues, and kings and queens ruled with compassion and wisdom. And the day ended in song, with all the village attending and singing. It was everything he had hoped ... but, he was already committed to moving south, and couldn't get out of it. He visited the faire three more times that summer, soaking in all he could and restoring the mysticism and beauty in his life. He "married" a washer wench named Abigail. He brought his friends Brian, Mark, Scott, and Ken, and they all had a wonderful time. Frank and Paul came up from CT. It was a magical summer, though short-lived.

The next summer came, and Jon was able to visit Sterling once ... just once. His "wife" Abigail had moved on to CA as a professional actress. The enjoyment was still there, but he knew he was unable to attend on a regular basis. It was like getting a taste of very good chocolate, only to know you could only have it once a year. Jon actually considered moving back to Upstate New York, despite hating the cold.

And one day, Steve said, "Hey, there's a renaissance faire in Maryland."
"What's this?" Jon asked.
"In Maryland. It's about an hour away. Want to check it out?"

The rest, as they say, is history. One visit to Revel Grove and I was hooked again, only this time more deeply than before. It was bigger! And there were such fantastic acts! The Pyrates Royale, Shakespeare's Skum, Johnny Fox ... plus the Ax Throw (one of my favorite activities), and wenches, and the Rogues of Scotland! I had baggy pants (that an ex-girlfriend had made me); I had a pirate shirt; I bought a belt with pouches. I was "fully garbed" for fair. In 1993, I spent two days in that world, being mocked by some friends (who just don't "get" faire) but regaled by others. In 1994, I spent three weekends there, and in 1995 I bought my first Fairever Pass to the Maryland Renaissance Festival. It has become a part of my life, an integral source of beauty and mysticism, flirtation and revelry, excitement and drama, comedy ... and comedy. :)

[Mark and Jon's Ren. Crew ad pose -- Jon's the one on the right]

With more new friends, old songs, and a common ground for other people like me to share and enjoy the environment, I escape in the illusion for eight weekends a year, my two-day vacation at the end of the week. I can usually be found at the White Hart Tavern or the Dragon Inn, listening to music and flirting with wenches. Come say hello if you see me!

Check out Jon's Web page, too.