Steampunk Morris

Day 281: It's either feast or famine. For the last couple of weeks, the weather has been typical of the Pacific Northwe't, i.e., on the gloomy and grey end of the spectrum, if only moderately damp. Those of us native to the state love it; it's what keeps us green. After all, we're the Evergreen State. However, all good things must come to an end (however much we might have been enjoying late lettuce), and as the time to today's gig grew close, the forecast edged toward a high in the upper 80s. Fortunately, our first performance of the day was at 10 AM at the Ballard Bell Tower, done before the heat could turn us into a Morris meltdown. The second set was at Hiram Chittenden Locks where a nice breeze and an abundance of shade trees made dancing much more pleasant. That said, we chose to wear our steampunk kit, and I can assure you that dancing in a corset on a hot day isn't for sissies. Then it was off to the pub we went, steamy steampunks the lot of us.

Postcard Tug

Day 298: Yesterday evening, Sound & Fury danced in performance at Seattle's Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, a site known to locals as the "Ballard Locks." This complex of locks allows ships passage from the salt waters of Puget Sound to Lake Union and Lake Washington. Salt water is prevented from intruding into the freshwaters of the two lakes by means of a dredged basin in which the heavier salt water settles and drains back into the Sound. According to official sources, the Ballard Locks see the most ship traffic of any lock in the United States. On the north side of the Locks, visitors may also stroll through the manicured grounds of Carl S. English Jr. Botanical Gardens, read about the project or shop at the visitor center, or on certain occasions, pause to enjoy the sight of Morris dancers clashing sticks and flagging handkerchiefs to the sound of bells.

I arrived early, having had some other business in Seattle, and took advantage of the time for photography and a little geocaching. As I walked across the foot-bridges spanning the locks, I recalled passing through them as a child in my father's little cabin cruiser. To a child of seven or eight years, the algae-coated concrete walls and looming machinery were somewhat intimidating, and the length of time it took for the water levels to be adjusted felt interminable. Even then, I wanted to be out on open water, angling for anything which would take a bait. For me, that usually meant a dogfish, Puget Sound's "mini-shark," even more frightening than the claustrophobic atmosphere of the locks. My dad would either gaff them and throw them back, or take the carcases home to plant under the fruit trees, a practice which he claimed prevented peach-leaf curl. On the other hand, my parents caught flounder, cod and (unintentionally) sea anemones and starfish, both of which intrigued me. Sometimes, we'd cross the sound and put into a small bay where the warmer water invited my folks to swim. I'd paddle around in the shallows wearing a life jacket, and on one memorable occasion, I panicked and had to be hoisted back into the boat when I saw a ray and thought it was pursuing me. The end of the day meant another tedious passage through the locks, one which usually found me sound asleep in the cabin, thoroughly worn out from the seafaring adventures headed up by the captain I adored.