As medievalists and scholars who spend our days reading, researching, and teaching the Middle Ages, it is easy to take for granted the vibrancy, intrigue, and importance of the period. But how can we help audiences outside the academy connect to people and cultures so distant from themselves? My own work offers me a readymade solution: animals. For several years, including in my current position as the Public Humanities Postdoctoral Fellow at Notre Dame’s Medieval Institute, I have had the privilege of speaking to many different groups of children and adults across multiple countries about the Middle Ages and its animals. It is always such a great joy to introduce them to the weird and wonderful world of medieval animal riddles and poetry, facts from bestiaries and other encyclopedias, and of course manuscript illuminations.
I usually start these talks with a series of strange animal illustrations from medieval manuscripts, asking the audience simply to guess what the animals are. A recent event for kids at the St Joe County Public Library thus began with these four pictures and more:
Then comes the reveal that all of the wildly different illustrations are meant to be the same animal: a crocodile. What follows are usually cries of incredulity and laughter over how inaccurate all the images are. They’re not all terrible, of course, and I do make it clear that I choose the silliest ones available.
The significant question, then, is why there are so many bad medieval animals out there. With animals like crocodiles, one straightforward answer is that the illustrators had never seen the creatures in real life, but were drawing them based on writings from other parts of the globe. This becomes a good opportunity to talk about the interconnectedness of the medieval world — an animal from the Nile gets written about by a bishop in Seville, whose words inspire a drawing in Peterborough. This can also lead to conversations about the nature of the writers and illustrators themselves, often monks and other holy men and women who are testament to the importance of medieval religious houses as centers of science and learning, thus challenging a popularly held stereotype about the “Dark Ages”.
With children (and their grown ups), there’s a silly drawing game I like to play to put them in the shoes of these medieval illustrators — how good can they be at drawing an animal they have never seen before? This can be done by making up an entirely new beast, but I prefer to defamiliarize an animal that the children already know, asking them to draw it one feature at a time, as with this example with information drawn from medieval accounts:
The animal is reddish in colour.
It has four feet and legs like those of a bull or a deer.
Its body is short at the back and tall at the front so it looks like it is always sitting down.
It has a long neck like a horse.
It has a head like a camel.
It is covered in white spots like a leopard.
By the time the kids figure out that they are drawing a giraffe, the results are usually already hilariously wonky, not far from the illustrations they were laughing at a few minutes ago!
Left: Activity sheets from the St Joe County Public Library event. Right: Manuscript illumination from British Library, Additional MS 11390, fol. 22v.
When giving these talks in the UK, often to school groups, I would generally begin with a different animal that they would be fairly familiar with, the badger. As with crocodiles, medieval illustrations of badgers could be ridiculously unrecognizable, as evident in the two images below.
Unlike crocodiles and giraffes, however, medieval Europeans should have been more familiar with badgers; literary, archaeological, and place-name evidence suggests that the animal was a common feature of the British landscape. What excuse, then, could medieval illustrators have in this case? In some instances, there was a method to their madness. According to the Third-Family Bestiary in the above Cambridge manuscript, the badger is called melo in Latin either because of its fondness for honey (mel) or because it is rotundissimo like a melon (melo). It’s safe to say that this particular illustrator was inspired by the notion of roundness.
The Cambridge illustration also to me recalls Thomas of Cantimpré, the thirteenth-century Flemish Dominican friar and preacher who in his natural encyclopedia, De natura rerum, wrote that the fatness of a badger increases when the moon waxes and diminishes when it wanes. As nocturnal animals, some badger behaviours (notably their mating patterns) are thought to be influenced by lunar cycles. Lunar influence on its rotundity may be more dubious, but did have significant practical implications. Thomas later stated that badger fat is a useful cure for fevers, which means that it was important to know when the animal would be at its fattest and most medicinally useful, and illustrations are a good way to get that lesson across. These may not be the most accurate illustrations, but they are undoubtedly memorable, which makes them extremely effective teaching and memorization tools.
This example thus becomes a good way to demonstrate to audiences beyond the academy that the so-called “Dark Ages” were really a time of curiosity, observation, experimentation, and innovation, when science and medicine were given great importance and there was a deep investment in understanding the world around us. Medieval animal texts are a testament to a love for learning and science and stories, and therefore a great way to help the public, children and adults alike, to connect with the Middle Ages.
Of course, it’s also very possible that many of these illustrators were simply bad at drawing animals and decided to lean into the absurdity of their creations. On this, I am sure we can all relate.
Ashley Castelino, DPhil Public Humanities Postdoctoral Fellow Medieval Institute University of Notre Dame
The subject line for the email was “Fwd: Fun Opportunity for Medievalists!” For a curious cat like me, that’s catnip. I want fun! I’m a medievalist! Whatever could this opportunity be? Clearly, the subject line grabbed my attention, which was waning over the course of that particular April afternoon after hours of poring over my own writing.
I immediately opened the email, which Christopher (Chris) Fletcher (Assistant Director of the Center for Renaissance Studies, Newberry Library) had written to be circulated to the medievalists at the University of Notre Dame. Chris shared news of a workshop taking place at the Newberry Library in early June 2025 called “Cartooning the Medieval.” See for yourself how Chris pitched the workshop:
This is going to be a very exciting event where scholars will have the opportunity to work with and learn from professional cartoonists and graphic artists, in the hopes that this collaboration will help them imagine ways to make their work more engaging, exciting, and valuable to audiences outside academia. In particular, medievalists who join us will get to learn from my co-organizer, Kristen Haas Curtis, how to be cartoonists themselves!
I could not pass up the opportunity to participate. Though I don’t currently work with cartoons, comics, zines, and other graphic media in my research, I have taught graphic novels like Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis and Art Spiegelman’s Maus in the past. I wanted to dive deeper into this visual world of fascinating interpretive and representational possibilities, and the chance to have it tie-in with my medieval interests was too good to pass up. The nod to audiences outside of academia also intrigued me since my time at Notre Dame has centered on public humanities and outreach. What use is what we do if it’s all sequestered in the ivory tower?
Illustrations done by Kristen Haas Curtis, one of the co-organizers, over Le miroir de humaine saluation, c. 1455 (VAULT Case MS 40).
Early June arrived, and I made the short journey from South Bend, IN to Chicago, IL. Chris and Kristen gave us all instructions to arrive early in the morning for registration in addition to coffee and doughnuts. I navigated to the Newberry Library’s Ruggles Hall. Large windows welcomed in ample light and gave us a view of Washington Square Park. A staff member greeted me and the other participants. There were two different name tags: ones with red borders (for the medievalists) and others with blue borders (for the cartoonists). I took a red bordered name tag and wrote my name and preferred pronouns on it. In the spirit of the event, I decided to draw a cat in one of the corners—but not just any cat! No, I was at a rare gathering of cartoonists and medievalists. I decided to give my cat a sword because, well, that was the only medieval accessory I could think of (and draw) at the time. My lack of drawing skills were immediately apparent, but I was willing to try.
Cropped photo of the author’s name tag, taken by Anne Le.
I saw a familiar face: that of my colleague Elizabeth (Liz) Hebbard, Assistant Professor in the Department of French and Italian at Indiana University Bloomington. We had no idea that the other would be there, so it was a pleasant surprise to see a fellow French medievalist among the crowd. She pointed out a long table at the far side of the room. There were zines, stickers, and even printed out academic articles carefully laid out on it. This was a space for us to swap the fruits of our labor. The cartoonists were prepared and had numerous materials to share. Liz, for her part, had sewn numerous chickens, which one of the cartoonists believed to be neat little fabric coasts. When I asked Liz about it, she smiled and explained that sewing the chickens was a great pedagogical tool in her classrooms. Sadly, I can’t remember everything she said about it all (I should have been taking notes!), but if you’d like to learn more then you’d have to ask her yourself. Anyway, I snapped a quick picture of the table and tried to get out of everyone’s way as they pored over the precious items.
Cropped photo of the table, taken by Anne Le
Before I knew it, Chris and Kristen instructed us all to take a seat and settle in for the day. They projected the schedule on the screen. While we would start the day together, there would be a point when the medievalists and cartoonists—who outnumbered the medievalists!—would go their separate ways to learn more about the workings of the other group. Later in the day, we’d all work together and combine our skills and newfound appreciation for one another’s areas of expertise.
Cropped photo of the schedule that Chris and Kristen projected on a large screen, taken by Anne Le.
After we got oriented, we immediately plunged into a rather involved icebreaker activity. Medievalists and cartoonists alike had to circulate throughout the large room, break into groups, and answer questions that Chris and Kristen had devised. With every question that popped up on the screen we had to find a new conversational group. Since there were more cartoonists than medievalists, I often found myself being the lone medievalist chatting with two to three cartoonists. At first, I felt intimidated; these people were professionals with a particularly cool skillset! Not only were they incredible artists, but they also thought deeply about how to craft and present a narrative. They knew how to tell stories and connect with people on various levels: visually, emotionally, and more. In comparison, my academic skillset felt too narrow, too bookish, too esoteric. But I quickly found out that we had plenty of overlapping interests, especially when it came to questions about representation. How do we responsibly tell stories? Who do we keep in mind when we present our work? What are the overarching stakes? The time allotted for the icebreaker activity passed quickly, and I found myself wanting to continue all the exciting conversations.
Chris and Kristen gave us all a short break before dividing us into groups. Kristen rounded up the medievalists and led us down to a conference room. We found seats along a long table and all faced the screen like dutiful students. Kristen was going to teach us a thing or two about cartooning! Some of my medievalist peers were antsy; they knew that the cartoonists were getting a crash course in medieval studies with Chris. This meant looking at some of the Newberry’s collections, and my fellow medievalists wanted to take a peek at those materials. They’d have to wait though! As I took my seat, I noticed an array of materials on the table: various pens, scissors, and some worksheets. We’d be doing some cartooning of our own!
Cropped photo of the title slide for Kristen Hass Curtis’s PowerPoint presentation featuring her cartoon version herself (on the left) and a cartoon version of Geoffrey Chaucer (on the right), taken by Anne Le.
Kristen did a fabulous job getting us to embrace cartooning. She encouraged us to take as little time as possible to draw — when it comes to cartoons, perhaps simpler is better! We came up with cartoon versions of ourselves that were inspired in large part by Kristen’s own cartoon-self. She pointed out her cartoon-self’s hair: not quite as detailed as her own hair but a distinguishing feature nonetheless that makes her cartoon, well, her. Once our creative juices were flowing, Kristen taught us some cartooning terms and taught us how to make our own zine using just a sheet of paper and a pair of scissors. Ever the prepared teacher, she shared her own zines as examples. The possibilities seemed endless!
Cropped photo of pages from one of the zines that Kristen Hass Curtis made and shared with participants, taken by Anne Le.
I particularly enjoyed how Kristen emphasized cartooning and making zines as great media for communicating with medievalists and non-medievalists alike. She wanted us to feel empowered to share visually the crux of our research in ways that were fun and approachable. One of the zines she made and shared with us laid out her research in such a vibrant manner: her cartoon-self got to interact with Chaucer and the various iterations of the wife of Bath that have sprung forth from adaptations of The Canterbury Tales. Who said discussions about research had to be stuffy and adhere to any particular scripts/modes of communication?
The later part of the day involved the medievalists and cartoonists joining forces. There wasn’t much time to debrief about what each group learned about the other’s world; we were immediately tasked with interpreting pieces from the Newberry’s extensive collection. What awaited us at each table with a colorful photocopy of a folio—anything from a book of hours to Syriac literature!—and various markers, pens, crayons, and more. We worked in groups to bring the piece to life. Some groups imagined backstories as to how the Newberry came to acquire the piece. Others, like my group, tried to expand upon the visual story we saw in the piece itself. We imagined the people depicted in some miniatures as characters in a bigger story, and the cartoonists immediately began storyboarding. As a medievalist, I was out of my element. I’m not used to engaging with my objects of study in such a speculative and imaginative manner. I’m a close reader, so I deal with what’s in front of me. I don’t often dare to think beyond that, to envision what other stories and possibilities characters could encounter. It was incredible to watch the cartoonists sketch out scenes and ideas as we all discussed possible stories and how to depict various actions and events. I honestly enjoyed feeling like a novice and letting those with much more experience in these things take the lead. I was caught up in the unfamiliarity of it all. It was exciting, fun, and collaborative. As the cartoonists finished their scenes, another medievalist and I were entrusted with coloring. We fell into this rhythm of specialized tasks, not too dissimilar from what it would have been like for artists who illuminated manuscripts.
Before we knew it, time was up! We all could’ve used much more time to continue working on our little projects; an hour was clearly not enough. But we had all sufficiently whet our appetites for cartooning and collaboration, so it put us in the right mindset for listening to some of the cartoonists talk about their work and processes. Everyone was incredibly inspiring and advocated for putting our ideas and creativity into the world, even when it can seem like a cold and difficult place. Cartoonists and medievalists and other people who create (and yes, medievalists create with their writing!) don’t work in a vacuum. Our work does not exist to be kept away from others. We all do what we do to share, to enrich, to inform, to educate, to tell stories about what we find important and interesting. We do it for our audiences, whoever those people may be.
***
As I was preparing this blog post, I reached out to Chris and Kristen with several questions. I wanted to get their perspectives on how the event went. Part of it has to do with my gratitude for their efforts: I gained so much joy and inspiration from “Cartooning the Medieval,” and I wanted to share it with the world. It felt important to me to include their voices so that this blog post would be less about my own experiences and more about broader stakes and hopes and dreams. Chris and Kristen were kind enough to reply to my questions via email. I have included my questions and their answers below. Please think of this as an informal interview and a behind-the-scenes bonus that you get read if you’ve gotten this far into the post!:
What were some of the major goals of the workshop and symposium?
KHC: As we truly had no idea what to expect from the symposium, given its highly experimental nature, the biggest goal, I think, was to make sure both discipline groups felt welcome and comfortable and able to enter into conversation with each other. We anticipated a degree of discomfort and anxiety on the part of attendees (and, of course, some excitement and curiosity!) and we took a number of steps intended to dispel these negative sensations, including an extended ice breaker activity (which took over an hour, as opposed to the traditional 5-10 minutes one might expect at these sorts of events) specifically designed to encourage cross-disciplinary mixing right from the outset.
With these conversations started, another important consideration for us was allowing each group to develop a deeper understanding of how the other discipline worked via hands-on exercises. The cartoonists were offered a workshop in book history and how one might work with manuscripts while the medievalists participated in a zine-making workshop. Each workshop gave the participants a basic understanding of approaches and vocabulary used by the other discipline, setting them up to better explore the possibilities of cross-disciplinary collaboration in our later sessions.
CDF: This event was a bit exceptional compared to the programs I’ve done at the Newberry, in that I truly had no idea what was going to happen. From the beginning, my elevator pitch for the conference was always “We want to put medievalists and cartoonists in the same room and just see what happens.” The uncertainty of what would actually come out of that mixture was, unusually for me, kind of a selling point. After all, people seem to always expect the same things out of whatever their professional conferences are, so bringing folks into a space where no one knew what would come out of it added to the excitement dramatically increased the impact.
Like Kristen said, we did have some more concrete ideas in mind of what we expected. Ultimately, we wanted each group to understand how the other side lived, as it were. If medievalists and cartoonists had a better sense of how each group did their work, we thought, that could lay a foundation for these two fields to come together and make things, which would help them develop new, enthusiastic audiences. As Kristen has already proven, cartooning can be a great way to not only effectively share the Middle Ages with communities outside the academy, but also to express aspects of medieval culture that don’t come across well in traditional scholarly publications, so we wanted to make it more possible for medievalists to do that work. At the same time, we also wanted cartoonists to realize that there was an incredible amount of raw material—narratives, visual imagery, mindsets, and so on—that they could use in their art. Just as importantly, we wanted cartoonists to know that there were experts in that raw material who were ready and willing to help them understand it as well.
How do you think medievalists and cartoonists could be more mindful of non-specialist audiences?
KHC: One of the things I find most valuable about discussing my work with non-specialist audiences (whether I am talking about making comics with medievalists or talking about studying Chaucer with cartoonists) is the way these conversations change the way I pay attention to the work I am doing. In a comparison that I have been known to overuse, it’s similar to when a guest visits you in your hometown and suddenly, while showing them around, you are able to appreciate your surroundings anew through the interactions you share as an unofficial tour guide.
I am aware that both of my disciplines (which I love deeply) are often surrounded by misinformation, can be viewed as inscrutable or unwelcoming to the novice, and are sometimes subject to dismissal by those of a more ‘serious’ (traditional) bent. I am also aware, by dint of knowing a large number of professional medievalists and professional cartoonists alike, that those seriously practicing these disciplines tend to be knowledgeable and dedicated to their work, but also endlessly curious and excited to share their expertise. Simply having these conversations with specialists outside of our discipline teaches us how to be mindful in sharing our own work while also showing how enjoyable and valuable these interactions can be.
CDF: When it comes to reaching non-specialists, I feel like cartoonists already do this pretty well, so I don’t feel like I have any advice for them on this score! Medievalists, however, have a much more difficult time. Also, as a bit of a shameless plug, I say a lot more about this in my forthcoming book, so you can check out more of my thoughts when it gets published in September. I think the first step in changing that is to start with the undeniable fact that people outside the academy wantto learn about the Middle Ages. The traditional academic system has a way of slowly but surely convincing its members that “no one cares” about the specialist expertise they have, which is why we scholars have so much trouble connecting with anyone who isn’t an academic. So, I would encourage any medievalist working on literally anything to always ask themselves, “How might other people find this interesting/important/fun?” I guarantee you, there are lots of people out there that absolutely do; the trick is convincing yourself that they want to hear from you. And, I suppose, that goes for cartoonists as well; that is, they should also be confident that people want to hear from them about how and why they create their wonderful art, so they shouldn’t hesitate to talk about it!
Storytelling was a motif that popped up throughout the workshop. What do you mean by framing the work that cartoonists and medievalists do as a sort of storytelling?
KHC: I thought of storytelling in the frame of our event as serving a sort of ‘language’ that both of our groups of participants shared. The concept of storytelling, of crafting narrative, serves a critical function for both groups. The best research, when presented in a dry manner, will have difficulty communicating its findings: it makes the reader work so much harder than perhaps they need to. And in comics, the most beautiful art, when lacking the anchor of a solid narrative, will also struggle to connect with an audience. Storytelling highlights an awareness of and sensitivity to the audience that is key for both groups of participants, so it felt like fertile soil in which to plant our conversations.
CDF: For me, the storytelling frame was a way for us to break away from the “scientific” identity of medieval studies that developed in the nineteenth century and is, in my view, doing us a lot of harm. Compared to a word like “research,” storytelling is a much more accessible—and, I suspect, exciting—way to talk about the work that we actually do. I’m a historian by training, and I’ve long felt that what I actually do professionally is tell the stories of real people in the past, stories that are now hidden away in the surviving cultural and material record of the Middle Ages. Because of that, those stories aren’t visible to most people. So, my job as a medievalist is to use the skills I’ve developed (paleography, languages, context, etc.) to make those stories come alive again so people can enjoy and learn from them. At the same time, it’s also my job to teach people how to recover those stories themselves. Thinking about my work that way, I think, allows me to take pride in the academic expertise I have while also preserving the sense of wonder and excitement that the “scientific” medievalists in the 19th century tried (successfully) to drive out of the field. The latter, though, is what gets people outside the academy excited and interested in what we’re doing, and it’s what we need to lean into to going forward.
How do you see the workshop and symposium as bringing fields in dialogue? What are your hopes for the future of collaboration, be it between cartoonists and medievalists or other groups interfacing?
KHC: I have both small-scale hopes and much larger ambitions for this project (we both do)! I’ve been making comics in tandem with and responding to my academic work for years now and the response to this work has been so gratifying. Those teaching this material, in particular, seem to feel drawn to my work as a way to communicate differently with students and to present medieval texts in a surprising way. This makes me so happy! My problem is that making comics is slow and I am just one person. I would love to see more graphic novel adaptations of medieval texts and one of my hopes for this conference is that some of the connections made between participants will result in comics related to medieval studies that I can read and teach in the coming years.
On a grander scale, I am hoping this conference will lead to more experimental events in this vein, encouraging thinking through and working with people and groups beyond our field to enrich the work we are doing with new perspectives. This big-picture question, I think, is best left to Chris and “Sad Ovid.”
CDF: Thank you for the book plug, Kristen! I’ll get to Sad Ovid in a second. I think the most important part of this was giving each group some practical experience doing a (very condensed and simplified) version of the work the other group did. Almost from the beginning, Kristen and I wanted to force medievalists to do some drawing, and cartoonists to do some close looking at medieval sources. That practical knowledge, we thought, would help make dialogue and collaboration much easier, since they would have a better idea of how those collaborations would actually work. I feel like that certainly happened at the conference, and my hope is that these communities will continue to talk, scheme, and actually make things together.
That, as Kristen said, brings us to Sad Ovid. This is an image that I talk about at some length in my forthcoming book, but the short version is this: I think the best illustration of the field of medieval studies right now is an intelligent and successful, yet lonely scholar sitting all alone in a room, wondering why no one pays attention to them. Broadly speaking, this conference was an attempt to help scholars change that identity, both by giving them new ideas about how to share their work and by introducing them to an audience outside the academy that truly wants to know about and use their expertise. I think the same can be done with other audiences as well, and I hope that this conference can be a model for helping other communities find each other, as well.
What are some of your thoughts and reflections about the event? Is there anything you’d like to comment upon, share, etc.?
KHC: Being something of an extrovert, I generally tend to enjoy myself at academic events. I love the excuse to talk to people about their niche passions and ideas. For me, a good conference has vibes a bit reminiscent of attending summer camp as a kid: you spend a packed week making friends and talking about everything under the sun and then you part ways for a year or two. Soon enough, though, you are back to reconnect with old friends and make new ones and it’s like no time has passed. The joy and excitement on the opening days of a good conference feel that same way for me. This event, though, magically felt like that from the very first moment. Despite the fact that 90% of our planning happened over zoom and email, I feel like I have known Chris and our artists my entire life. The excitement and enthusiasm expressed by everyone from artists to attendees, from the wonderful Newberry staff to my incredible co-organizer, was what made this event truly magical. To have been entrusted with a project and with emotions on this scale has been life-changing for me.
For anyone who was not at the event but is eager for a sense of how it felt to be there, I highly encourage a read of cartoonist Marnie Galloway’s post on the event which includes her stunning artist talk. I still get chills every time I read it. https://marniegalloway.substack.com/p/cartooning-the-medieval-artist-talk
CDF: I always knew this program was going to be a fun experience, but I was not prepared for it to be as inspiring and deeply meaningful as it turned out to be. I think both groups came into the event feeling like a niche and unappreciated community within their larger fields (art and academia, respectively), but when we brought them together, they each found out that they were, in fact, “the cool kids,” to use Kristen’s term. I think everyone left with an understanding that people outside their field felt that what they were doing was interesting, important, and really valuable, and that translated into the immense energy and enthusiasm in the room. I think we all felt that exploring this collaboration gave us a lot of hope about the future of our respective fields, especially when we thought of them working together in trying times like these.
Anne Le, Ph.D. Public Humanities Postdoctoral Fellow Medieval Institute University of Notre Dame
Recently, I composed a blog on my role as playwright, academic consultant and creative & theatrical director of two recent Renaissance faires, and I then followed up with a blog centered on the community spirit that imbued our first faire, Wyndonshire Renaissance Faire. This blog will take the second of our inaugural 2024 spring faires, Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, as the topic of discussion, and continue discussion of the community efforts that went into putting this event together at warp speed. In addition, I will discuss the educational and agricultural focus of this faire, which brought regional tourism to North Central Massachusetts and offered the opportunity to create a story that explores issues specific to local and sustainable farming. This year, Enchanted Orchard will commence in just a few weeks, on May 3rd and 4th 2025.
The Gate Leading to the Fantasy Realm of Enchanted Orchard at our inaugural Renaissance Faire, 2024.
As I mention in my previous blog, after building the creative team at Wyndonshire, because of some uncertainty with respect to funding the project by the town of Winchendon, my wife, Rajuli, and I reached out to a local farm and festival venue, Red Apple Farm, owned by Al and Nancy Rose, to see if they might be open to bringing a Renaissance Faire to their business in the event that we needed a change of venue. After pitching the project, the whole team at Red Apple Farm was excited for the prospect, and once Winchendon determined they were able to move forward with the project, we agreed to produce a second “sister” faire with Red Apple Farm, with characters and plot lines intersecting with those at Wyndonshire. I began to conceive of a second fantasy realm, the agrarian kingdom of Enchanted Orchard.
Rajuli and the Nagashri Dancers at Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
Rajuli’s and my ability to produce a second large-scale Renaissance Faire was only possible with the help of our team, what became FaeGuild Wonders, and Red Apple Farm, our incredible partnering venue. Red Apple Farm embraced our vision and helped shape and grow Enchanted Orchard into the fabulous event that it was, ranked by a popular vlogger, Chelle Belle, as one of the best Renaissance Faires in New England last year (2024). Al and Nancy Rose, the entrepreneurial owners behind the blooming success of Red Apple Farm, are some of the kindest and most collaborative people I’ve personally had the chance to partner with, and without their leadership, there would be no Enchanted Orchard (and for that matter, no NorthFolk Nightmarket). They partner with local businesses, and are committed to growing regional tourism and community, which is deeply embedded in their mission and the way they run their business.
Orchard Wizard (Richard Fahey) with the Stewards of the Orchard (Al & Nancy Rose) at Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
In addition to Al and Nancy Rose, our Orchard Stewards, Enchanted Orchard thrived because of many other members of the Red Apple Farm team, including Sarah McLennan (who coordinated vendors and helped organize the event), Kirsten Killay (who manages the Red Apple Farm Cidery), Loryn Killay (who spearheads marketing and promotion necessary to advertise the event), Aaron Rose (who redesigned the webpage) and the Sams—Samuel Miller and Samuel Dosset—who constructed the picturesque towering gate that leads into the fantasy kingdom of Enchanted Orchard. The latter Samuel updated the event’s map to account for the faire’s expansion this year, and has become Enchanted Orchard’s royal cartographer.
Kristin Killay and Alicia Pelkey at the Red Apple Cidery also known as the “Toadstool Tavern” at Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
To further highlight the level of Red Apple Farm’s integration into the event, their Cidery—transformed into the Toadstool Tavern for Enchanted Orchard—featured all the different flavors made specifically for the faire. Many of these ciders developed for the event are now standard or seasonal options available throughout the year at Red Apple Farm’s Cidery. Moreover, the cider is a connecting point for our events, as it is one of the main economic exports of the Enchanted Orchard kingdom, and it was available at Wyndonshire as well as an imported drink from their neighboring kingdom.
Mt. Witchusett Witches gather outside the Brew Barn at Red Apple Farm during Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
Red Apple Farm also collaborates with a local restaurant, the Gardner Ale House, which manages the Brew Barn at Red Apple Farm. The Brew Barn is a cozy, tavernesque restaurant on the farm, which serves food and drink, and was crucial for the success of Enchanted Orchard’s second day (Sunday, May 5th, 2024) when the rain threatened to drown out the event. Because of the Brew Barn’s openness to collaborating, we were able to pivot and move many performance acts inside and out of the inclement weather. Although this required a major reworking of the schedule, we did our best to make sure each performer or group had at least one indoor show in case they were rained out during their showtime. While the rain did put a damper on some performances, the event was sustained by adding outdoor fires throughout the faire and bringing many of the performances indoors and the event was a success. Despite the weather, the turnout and experience from patrons on the second day was extremely positive and this gave us the added benefit of a learning opportunity with respect to what to plan for in the case of inclement weather in future.
May Queen (Tammy Dykstra), Knight of the Tree (Quinne Richards) and the Orchard King (Paul Taft), Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
I wrote an entirely new script for this faire, and last year’s story, “Seeds of Wonder,” was a prologue to the first act, “The Romance of the Orchard,” which will commence this year. Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire highlights sustainable farming which was the foundation of agrarian life in the medieval world. The major conflict in this faire centers on the issue of conservation versus preservation. This takes the form of a heated debate between the Enchant Orchard nobility with the May Queen (played by Tammy Dykstra and Siobhan Doherty) and Duke of Thorns (played by Dave Fournier) arguing for the protection of the Thornwood and the creatures that live there, who are part of the kingdom’s broader ecosystem. Alternatively, the Orchard King (played by Paul Taft and Gary Joiner) and Blossom Baroness (played by Jen Knight) contend that expanding the orchard would better provide for the people of the kingdom and foster economic growth for the realm while at the same time minimizing food insecurity throughout the kingdom. This tension is played out in both staged theatrical scenes and numerous immersive skits and side conversations had between members of the Enchanted Orchard nobility throughout the event.
Blueberry Princess (Melanie “Melegie” Long) and Prince of Leaves (Michael Barboza-McLean) reunite at Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
Toward this end, the Orchard King takes advantage of his royal authority to press upon the newly returned Prince of Leaves (played by Michael Barboza-McLean and Vajra Spring), advocating for the virtues of his proposed expansion of the orchard. Because the Prince of Leaves seems somewhat amenable to his ideas and influence, and seizing an opportunity to undercut the wishes of his rival, the May Queen, the Orchard King announces at the end of Enchanted Orchard’s annual Beltane Banquet, that he is betrothing his daughter, Blueberry Princess (Melanie “Melegie” Long), much to her sorrow and surprise, to his rival’s son, the Prince of Leaves, in an effort to “weave peace” in the realm and as a means to press his advantage on the young prince now enfianced to the heiress of the realm.
Knights of Lord Talbot’s Frank Walker and Cameron Hardy battle at the tournament melee in celebration of the Beltane Banquet at Enchanted Orchard, 2024.
However, because of the fast production of this faire, the script was centered primarily on the nobility, leaving many of the other characters to participate in a highly immersive and interactive character scavenger hunt, which invited patrons to find and receive specific items from cast members in order to earn a small prize. This encouraged frequent interaction between character actors and patrons, and the activity was a huge success, especially with the kinderfolk who attend. The scavenger hunt was coupled with a “knight’s quest”, which asked patrons to find a noble from each house and resulted in a knighting ceremony, conducted by the royal champions from the The Knights of Lord Talbot. Moreover, the Sheriff of Thornwood (played by Jennifer MacLean), gave out citations through the day to fairgoers for various offenses and Sir John Fastolf (Frank Walker) held a baronial court to deal out justice for crimes cited by the Sheriff, which might sometimes involve a short stay in the stockades.
Viking Jarl (Jason Sumrall) takes the Sheriff of Thornwood (Jennifer McLean) into custody at Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
As with Wyndonshire, The Green Sash marauders raided Orchard Toward, while the The Mt. Wichusett Witches made secret bargains and brewed magic potions for a number of the Enchanted Orchard nobles, ending with a flash mob dance that led patrons to the final event at the faire, the community Maypole dance which brought performers, cast members and patrons together for a final celebration of spring and the planting season.
May Pole Dance and celebration at the inaugural Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire, 2024.
Skeleton Crew Theater’s trolls wander through the Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire. Image by Kit Catlett (May 4th, 2024).
The Orchard King made a surprise wedding pronouncement arranging the union of his daughter, the Blueberry Princess, and the Prince of Leaves, the son of his rival, the May Queen, at the end of last year’s faire. Enchanted Orchard’s second annual event picks up where last year left off, and this year features “The Romance of the Orchard,” in which a love triangle blooms and whispers of revolution and news of “The Wyndonshire Wedding” and the fall of Wyndonshire spreads to all of high and low estate. If you came last year to experience the magic of our inaugural faire, we hope that you return for more wonders and delights. f you didn’t make it last year, and you enjoy immersive storytelling and modern medievalism, we hope you join us this year for Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire 2025—which brings together the local performing art and farming communities in North Central Massachusetts—and combines theater, music, comedy, performance art, interactive activities, family fun and an artisan vendor market.
Master of Arms (Keith Fisher) at the Knights of Lord Talbot Camp during Enchanted Orchard Renaissance Faire. Image by Kit Catlett, May 4th, 2024.
Fairegoers will be able to learn how to sword fight, try their skill at axe-throwing, ride a unicorn or catch a goblin hayride, watch a joust and medieval melee combat in both European and Middle Eastern traditions. This year, Enchanted Orchard will commence on the first weekend in May, so consider saving the date, and I hope to see you there—just look for the wandering wizard!
Richard Fahey PhD in English Medieval Institute University of Notre Dame
