A cool, pleasant breeze across the blue lake soon turned to a blustery gale. I looked on stunned as my tent was picked up and thrown against the wire fence behind me. Fellow vendors ran out, grabbed my tent, pulled it back to the ground, and re-staked it. I have my own theory of why that happened to me. Dressed in Bronze Age attire, torque and all, I think the goddess of the lake for whom two millenniums seems little more than a day, what is time to a goddess, saw me in my ancient garb and assumed a devotee had returned. When I didn’t go down to greet the lake and throw in my offering, she sought vengeance by taking my tent. But by Sunday the goddess of the lake was appeased and had quieted down.

On the other side of the fence, which held back my flying tent, demonstrations of ancient trails were held, both sheep herding and the highland games. Always a favorite with children, I think the best part of the sheep trials is watching the longhaired sheltie dogs stare down the sheep, forcing them to obey with just a look. In grammar school, I knew some teachers who also used that trick on kids.

The competitors soon changed from cute and fluffy to big and brawn, as the highland games got underway. These feats of strength and skill have their roots in competitions held by ancient Celtic chiefs to choose the strongest warriors for battle. With a great heave of their muscular arms, the athletes in kilts compete in throwing stones, balls and chains, as well as long poles in the caber toss. These 18ft long, 150 lb wood poles are thrown for style not distance. One athlete had to slap the caber a couple of times to kill some stubborn ants before heaving it off of the ground. With a quick flick, he moved his hands under the narrow end and ran forward, he stopped and threw the pole upward. When the large end hit the ground, it toppled over with loud, dirt kicking thud just inches from the fence.

Later in the day on the same grassy field, other athletes demonstrated their skills in Hurling, an ancient Celtic ball and stick game and the national pastime of Ireland. Many festival bystanders mistook it for either lacrosse or cricket, but this hard, fast field game goes back to time out of mind.

In Irish mythology Cuchulainn, known as the hound of Culainn, hit his silver ball with the hurley, leapt forward, and hit it a second time before it touched the ground. By the time Cuchulainn reached the palace of Emain Macha he had beat 150 boys at hurling.

Rather than a silver one, most players use a rubber ball covered with horsehide.  It’s hit with the hurley, which is a 3 ft. long, broad-bladed, curved wooden stick made of ash wood. The ash is one of the five magical trees which protect Ireland. In Hurling, goalposts 16 ft high by 21 ft wide and a crossbar eight feet above the ground are used for scoring, 3 points for driving the ball into the net under the bar, and one point for hitting the ball over the bar. There are no extra points for hitting the ball over the fence, which happened several times causing the vendors next to me to duck and dodge the soaring ball. One wayward hurling ball headed straight for the mirror at the Utilikilt booth, but before damage was done the vendor reached down, scooped up the ball, and tossed it back to the players.

Yet my favorite event on this green field was the battle of the Bronze Age, Celtic Coritani tribe and the Roman soldiers who conquered Britannia. Roman soldiers approached the Celts and offered peace if they would pay Rome its tribute and accept all the good Rome had to offer such as roads and laws. But the Coritani wanted their freedom and fought back enlisting the audience’s help. A young Celtic maiden passed out rocks to the crowd, (beanbags) to pelt the Roman soldiers. The Coritani were victorious and only one Roman was left standing. The chief left the fate of their captive up to the crowd who unanimously demanded death to the Roman. With wooden swords and spears the entire tribe feigned jabs and stabs at the Roman until he lay down.

As in ancient times Celts celebrate after wining a great battle with music and dance. I joined the Ceili (kay-lee) Dance workshop held by The Irish Dance Center. Three steps forward and back, seven short steps across, then six twirls with my partner brought me face to face with a different couple each time. Even with my two left feet, in just minutes I was showing off my newly learned steps in a Ceili dance with a long line of other first-time, high-stepping Celtic dancers.

In between sports, dancing, and adventure, I met some great people as I signed my Celtic Romance books featuring Scottish and Welsh heroes with warrior women of old. As the sun set over beautiful blue Townlake on Sunday evening, it was time to leave the festival behind and take Hwy 290 back to Houston until next year when the clans gather on the hills of Austin once more.