Come for the Renaissance Faire. Stay for the Free Beheadings.

I know. I KNOW. I said we were going to the St. Louis Renaissance Faire, and then…radio silence. No photos. No updates. No adorable little “Look where Kim went!” posts.

Then Nothing. Whyyyyyyyy?

Because I’m tired.

That’s it. That’s the mystery. I am currently experiencing the portion of the school year where my calendar has become less of an organizational tool and more of a written record of crimes committed against me. I’m a theatre teacher who has just cast a show with 39 kids while simultaneously wrangling seven weeks of Renaissance Faire performances with teenagers who are discovering that performing outdoors means being outside.

For hours. In weather. With costumes on. And, most terrifying of all: ACK! THE PUBLIC!

Then Monday morning rolls around and I still have to show up at school and attempt to convince teenagers and pre-teens that human civilization has advanced far enough that we can occasionally look another person in the face instead of communicating exclusively through TikTok, Snapchat, and whatever series of grunts has replaced punctuation.

I teach middle school for half the day, people. Have you met middle school? I am part teacher, part mom, part psychologist, part Mean Girl Interruption Device, part conflict negotiator, part lost-and-found attendant, and part wildlife researcher observing creatures whose frontal lobes are still under construction. Sixth and seventh grade occasionally make me threaten detention, while eighth grade requires frequent discussions about Main Character Energy. Although, to be fair, Main Character Energy is extremely useful when teaching stage pictures.

“YES! You are the most important person in the room! FINALLY! USE IT! NOW CHEAT OUT TO THE AUDIENCE!”

But I digress. Renaissance Faire!

The first two weekends have been HOT. Not “Gosh, it’s a little warm today” hot. Not “Maybe I should have worn shorts” hot. Not even “I appear to be perspiring in places that should not perspire” hot. No. This has been HYDRATE! FIND SHADE! REMOVE A LAYER! WHY ARE YOU WEARING A CLOAK?! DRINK MORE WATER! HAS ANYONE SEEN BOB?! hot. Heat-exhaustion-is-a-legitimate-concern hot. Or, as my daughter would have said when she was in middle school: HAWT.

Apparently there is a difference. I did not know this. I have been schooled in the mysterious linguistic traditions of the twelve-year-old.

Our first weekend at Faire was particularly strange because we actually missed opening day. Instead of frolicking through the Renaissance with crocheted spiders and questionable historical accuracy, we took our student leadership team to Lake of the Ozarks for a leadership conference. There are no pictures. There is no whimsical Kim Goes Somewhere travelogue. We went to a conference. IYKYK.

We entered a hotel. We sat in rooms. We attended sessions. We ate conference food. We left. Nothing to see here, folks. Keep moving.

Meanwhile, the Richard the Spider booth was OPEN because our parents are magnificent lunatics. They held down Richard’s Web in 91-degree weather under a heat advisory while their own children were several hours away sitting comfortably inside an air-conditioned hotel.

There is a special place in heaven for theatre parents. It is air-conditioned. There are comfortable chairs. Nobody asks them to sell raffle tickets.

Day Two wasn’t much better. We have established in several previous episodes of Kim Goes Somewhere and Makes Questionable Choices that heat and I do not always get along. Which is ridiculous because I grew up in California, where strings of 100-degree days were long enough to get their own weather graphics entitled “DAY 11 OF EVERYONE LIVING ON THE SURFACE OF THE SUN“.

But Missouri heat is different. Missouri heat has texture. You can chew it. The air gets thick and heavy until you become fairly certain you could slice yourself a serving with a spatula. Hot. Humid. Swampy. Gross. You don’t breathe Missouri summer air. You wear it.

The only place we’ve ever lived that was worse was Malaysia, where stepping outside sometimes felt like being slapped in the face with a warm wet washcloth. But that’s another story.

Last weekend brought Faire Days Three and Four. It wasn’t as hot, which is not the same thing as pleasant. The problem with extreme heat at festivals is that people make the completely rational decision to stay home.

This is terrible for me because one of my favorite Faire activities is people watching, and Renaissance Faire people watching is an Olympic-level sport. But fewer people also means fewer people wandering past our booth.

Fortunately, we have discovered an extremely effective marketing strategy: Public executions.

Specifically: free beheadings.

Allow me to explain. Actually, I’m not sure explaining will improve the situation.

We own a six-foot-tall crocheted guillotine. His name is Sir Slicington the Third. He has googly eyes and a mustache. Because apparently somewhere along the way in my career as a theatre educator, I made a series of choices that resulted in the sentence, “Tim, where did we put the six-foot crocheted guillotine?” And nobody in my family thinks this is unusual anymore.

Sir Slicington the Third was created for last year’s Renaissance Faire show, Miracle Mel’s Magical Mayhem. Miracle Mel was a well-meaning but catastrophically incompetent sorcerer/sorceress (depending on who played them that week) whose crochet-hook wand had an unfortunate habit of turning inanimate objects sentient. Usually weapons. Mel’s long-suffering assistant, Zelda, suffered the consequences. Frequently. Poor Zelda was decapitated more times than I can count. Don’t worry. He regenerated.

Theatre for children! Yay!

The inspiration for some of our crochet arsenal came from Steven Borzachillo, crocheter, writer, producer, certified pun slinger, and creator of Brochet. Steven graciously gave us permission to use some of his patterns and crochet-weaponry ideas in our shows. He also sent our students a wonderful Break a Leg message for our crochet-infested production of Into the Woods. And yes, I only love him because he told the kids to give me things and buy me stuff.

But seriously, check out his instagram and his crochet book on Amazon: Brochet: 30 Easy Patterns for Crochet Weaponry and Ami-gore-rumi

As for “Into the Woods” – Yes. We crocheted Sondheim. We had hobby horses, weapons, scarves, props, and basically anything else we could attack with yarn.

If we looked at something and thought, “Could that possibly be crocheted?” somebody grabbed a hook and said, “Hold my skein.”

This is what happens when theatre people are left unsupervised near craft supplies.

Back to the beheadings! (I have a serious case of topic ADHD today).

This year we decided to embrace one of the fundamental principles of educational theatre: use your resources.

We had costumes. We had Richard. We had teenagers. We had a six-foot crocheted guillotine with googly eyes and a mustache. What were we supposed to do? Leave it in storage?

Absolutely not.

So now we offer free beheadings. Regeneration included. Tips appreciated. All proceeds support the theatre program.

And people LOVE IT.

Children get beheaded. Parents get beheaded. Couples get beheaded. Entire families wander over and apparently decide, “You know what would really commemorate this lovely family outing? Execution.”

We have also discovered that Sir Slicington the Third is an excellent parenting tool. Our sales pitch includes, “Behead your children! They’ll never do it again!” We don’t specify what it is. That’s between you and your child. We also offer the Royal Experience: “Be treated like royalty! It might be Louis XVI or Marie Antoinette, but you’re still royalty!” Historical accuracy is apparently optional when your execution equipment is made from yarn.

People take pictures. People take videos. People laugh. People tip the theatre kids. And somewhere in the vast digital wilderness, videos of my husband operating a crocheted guillotine have apparently begun circulating on TikTok.

Tim is now a TikTok star.

I did not have this on my 2026 bingo card. Actually, I didn’t have “six-foot crocheted guillotine becomes successful fundraising strategy” on there either, so clearly I need better bingo cards.

This is my life now. I have accepted it. Mostly.

We still have several weeks of Renaissance Faire ahead of us, which means more Richard, more Oddbottom Chronicles, more teenagers learning the ancient theatrical art of projecting over turkey legs, more questionable historical references, more crocheted weaponry, and apparently more public executions.

Stay tuned. Because I have absolutely no idea what we’re going to do next, which historically is when things around here get interesting.

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Sir Slicington the Third grew out of the ridiculous little theatrical universe surrounding Richard the Spider and Miracle Mel’s Magical Mayhem. And because apparently producing live theatre, teaching full time, running a Renaissance Faire booth, crocheting an arsenal, and publicly executing strangers wasn’t enough, I wrote children’s books.

Because I make excellent decisions.

Richard’s adventures are written by me, K.E. Harrison, and illustrated by Natalie Martin (@natalie.martin.art on Instagram), one of my former students and the artist responsible for giving our fuzzy little theatrical overlord his illustrated life. You can find Richard the Spider and the Monster in the Dark, Richard the Spider and Miracle Mel’s Magical Mayhem, and our newest adventure, Richard the Spider and the Seven-Legged Shuffle, on Amazon.

And if you want to come see this nonsense in person, come find us at the St. Louis Renaissance Faire! Richard’s Web is just down the hill from Mermaid Cove and across the path from the dragons.

Seriously.

Those are actual directions.

“Down the hill from the mermaids. Across from the dragons. Look for the giant crocheted spider and the occasional public execution.”

Richard is waiting for you.

Tickets and Faire information are available at St. Louis Renaissance Festival.

Bring your friends, your boyfriend, your boyfriend’s girlfriend, your boyfriend’s boyfriend – we don’t discriminate. We’ll behead them for free.

Regeneration included.

Obviously.

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