Labor Day weekend, Children’s Fantasy Weekend, a basket of sunscreen and hand wipes, four adults (one costumed as lovely wench–me) and three very excited small humans in costumes, crowns and elf ears. That was our merry crew bound for the Pittsburgh Renaissance Festival in West Newton, Pennsylvania, but a forty-minute horsepowerd-coach read SUV) ride from Pittsburgh.
If you’ve never been, imagine a Tudor village tucked into Pennsylvania woods—then sprinkle in bubble-blowing faeries, lords and ladies, knights on horseback and the occasional dragon sighting. Turkey legs, troubadours and horridly delightful British accents.
This was my first visit to the Pittsburgh Ren Faire. I’m a veteran of the Bristol Rennaisance Faire, just north of the Illinois-Wisconsin border. I’d been a Bristol-goer since my misspent youth singing bawdy epic British ballads as I roamed the lanes. And my entire career has been steeped in covering fantasy television and writing novels set in those ancient times.
The Soundtrack of the Shire
Parade Magic
The Grand Parade is pure pageantry: the King and Queen, bannermen, jesters, guilds, and a river of color drifting through the village. My grandkids waved like they’d trained for court life. After, we trailed a bubble-blowing faerie who transformed an ordinary lane into a shimmering tunnel; the kids chased globes of rainbow light, and for five perfect minutes time paused.
Vendors, Makers, and the Joy of Browsing
We browsed hand-forged wares, leatherwork, candles, and sparkly treasures and fairy wings. The vendors are part of the show—half artisan, half actor—and the grandkiddos learned how chainmail links together and how a carver coaxes a face from wood.
But, “M’Lady, This Looks Like Pittsburgh!”
In a distant glen and down a hillside, we stumbled upon my favorite surprise: a Renaissance-faire-esque mini model of Pittsburgh—a whimsical mash-up of old-world facades and Steel City landmarks. The kids pointed out “castle bridges,” we debated where the Monongahela would flow, and I quietly thrilled at the way the festival winks at my adopted city of Yinzers.
Archery: Hitting the Bullseye (and the Wallet)
Then came archery. “Just one round,” I said. Famous last words…