The Renaissance Festival
Last weekend, my brother and aunt drove from Michigan down to Ohio to attend the Great Lakes Medieval Festival. Matt and I had borrowed my brother's daughter about a week and a half prior. The Festival seemed a great way to end the visit and return my nice. My brother wore a kilt, my niece was a Cat Princess, and I was (according to her) Lamb Face.
We had wandered around the Festival for several hours, stopping to eat apple cobbler a la mode, chit chat with vendors in our best Old English, and watch bawdy washer wenches heckle passersby. All in all, it was a great time. Cat Princess wanted all the things, but she eventually settled on a lovely pair of earrings.
As the afternoon wore on, I spotted a wad of cash on the ground. I checked the scene; no one was near - no one was looking like they were looking.
I scooped it up.
Checked the scene again.
No one was looking like they were looking.
I knew chances were slim anyone would come looking for the $6.00 I had just found. But I also knew that it was possible. So I took that $6.00 to the nearest vendor, a lovely Indian woman selling potions and essential oils. She had an ornate metal jewelry tree on the counter, prominently displaying her handcrafted jewels for sale.
"Excuse me," I said, "I just found this money outside of your shop. I wanted to leave it here in case anyone comes looking for it."
She looks at me, takes the money from my outstretched hand, and with a practiced hand quickly slips it under the jewelry tree.
"Ok," she replies, "If no one comes for it, I'll donate it to charity."
I'd like to think that a small child, discovering the money had fallen from her pocket, retraced her steps to that very booth and recovered her missing $6.00 so that she too could buy herself a lovely pair of earrings. But even if that didn't happen, I'm happy knowing that the vendor with the beautiful soul will go out of her way to donate that $6.00 to a good cause.
Lambface at the Ren Fair