[Steppes] Looking for Susanna the Herbalist

[Julie Cunningham]

Thank you - she found me.
 
Kathryn

wjwakefield at juno.com wrote:
Actually you probably need to contact the senechal of our Canton of
Lindenwoos, Lady Sunnifa Eriksdottir, at sunnifa at housewhiteshark.org. 
She will have more details about our planned lunch tavern, including
menu, requested location, etc.

Thanks
HL Suzanna, herbalist

On Fri, 16 Apr 2004 09:14:44 -0500 "Julie Cunningham" 
writes:
> Happy Friday all!
> 
> Could Susanna (sp?) the Herbalist please contact me about the Tavern 
> at Warlord. 214-284-8855.
> 
> Thank you
> Kathryn
> 
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Ciard49 at aol.com [mailto:Ciard49 at aol.com]
> Sent: Friday, April 09, 2004 6:47 AM
> To: steppes at ansteorra.org
> Subject: [Steppes] SCA Darwin Award
> 
> 
> 
> http://www.darwinawards.com/slush/
> 
> Darwin Awards
> 
> Medieval fire torture 
> 
> 2004 Reader Submission
> Pending Acceptance
> 
> 
> I'm happy to report that this story will only qualify for an 
> honorable 
> mention, since the subject is a good friend of mine. To avoid 
> embarrassing him, I'll 
> call him Adam. 
> 
> It was a warm spring night in Bowling Green, Ky., and the SCA was in 
> town. 
> That's the Society for Creative Anachronism, the medieval-life 
> reenactment 
> group. They were having a weekend event at Beech Bend Park, nestled 
> in a woody 
> curve of the Barren River. 
> 
> Two of my friends were heavily into the SCA, and had pitched their 
> tents with 
> the other sword-wielding and baggy-pants-wearing celebrants. They 
> invited me 
> and my friend Adam to join them for one evening's campout. Since 
> both were 
> lovely blondes (as well as charming friends), we readily agreed. 
> They provided us 
> with "garb," faux-medieval clothes that would enable us to blend 
> into the 
> crowd. A tabard and baggy pants were enough for me, but Adam wanted 
> something 
> more. 
> 
> Every SCAdian, as they are known, practices some sort of skill, 
> whether 
> cooking or singing or some craft, or just energetically whacking 
> each other with 
> duct-tape-covered fake swords. Adam wanted to go all the way. He can 
> juggle, 
> which was a start, but still not quite enough. He wanted to be 
> impressive. He 
> decided to breathe fire. 
> 
> Adam had seen this stunt performed before, with pure grain alcohol. 
> But he'd 
> never done it, and being under 21 at the time, couldn't buy pga 
> himself. 
> 
> He wanted me to buy it for him, and I was willing; but I didn't get 
> off from 
> my waiter's job until after 11 p.m., which is when liquor stores 
> close in our 
> town. And he hadn't thought ahead to ask me the day before the 
> event. So, 
> still determined to blaze with glory, he went looking for a 
> substitute. 
> 
> Let's see ... what flammable liquids can an incautious young man buy 
> in a 
> Kentucky Wal-mart at 11:30 at night? There were several choices, 
> none good. But 
> Adam settled on Coleman stove fuel. 
> 
> It was clear, didn't smell that strong, and he could pour it into an 
> empty 
> wine bottle for "period" accuracy. I wasn't sure about this, but 
> Adam decided it 
> was close enough. 
> 
> Once at the event – called "Border Raids" – I stood talking to 
> one friend 
> while Adam said, "C'mere, I've got something to show you," and led 
> the other 
> behind a large cloth tent. About 20 feet away stood half a dozen 
> guys in chain 
> mail armor, warming themselves around a fire. They could see him 
> directly, but I 
> couldn't. 
> 
> Seconds later, a deep "WHOOOM!" burst from behind the tent, 
> accompanied by a 
> gout of orange flame. "Whoa!" cried all the guys around the 
> campfire, turning 
> to applaud. But their applause died, as even through a double layer 
> of tent 
> fabric I could see this ... afterglow. 
> 
> "Holy shit! He's on fire!" the mail-clad men yelled, and ran over to 
> pound 
> out the flames wreathing Adam's head. 
> 
> What he hadn't realized was that stove fuel gave off fumes very 
> unlike pga. 
> As he swigged the fuel, some of it trickled down his chin – 
> fortunately, he'd 
> shaved off his goatee the day before. As it was, fumes wreathed his 
> head and 
> spread down his throat. In the ensuing conflagration, he managed to 
> burn the 
> hair off the BACK of his head, while hardly touching that on top. 
> His eyebrows, 
> however, were scorched too. Rivulets of flame ran down his neck, and 
> he 
> suffered chemical burns in his throat. 
> 
> Adam was still standing, and at first didn't think he was seriously 
> hurt. But 
> the burns started to sting in a few minutes, and I led him to the 
> chirurgeon's tent. They quickly saw that neither medieval technology 
> nor modern first aid 
> would suffice, and I drove Adam to the hospital. 
> 
> He stayed there several days and became quite an object of interest 
> on that 
> floor. The burns on his neck healed without serious scarring, his 
> hair regrew, 
> and the octave he lost off his voice came back in about six months. 
> 
> Perhaps five years later I went to another Border Raids gathering in 
> 
> different city, accompanying the same female friends but sans Adam. 
> It had been a long 
> and entertaining day, and was concluding with an energetic 
> belly-dancing 
> demonstration around a bonfire, accompanied by throbbing drums. I 
> turned to the 
> stranger standing next to me and commented on how exciting the event 
> was. 
> 
> "Aw, this is nothin', man," he replied. "If you think this is 
> exciting, you 
> shoulda' been here about five years ago. This crazy dude set his 
> head on fire!"
> 
> Submitted on 03/18/2004
> 
> 
> 
> 
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