I have seen things you people wouldn't believe. Warships on fire at the mouth of the Elbe. I watched villas smolder in the dark near the Limes Germanicus. All those moments will be lost in time, like swords in bogs. Cattle die, kinsmen die.
I don't really do much living history anymore. I don't have the time nor money to keep up, and the scene here in the US is anything but inspiring. But at the Brute Norse lair in Norway this summer I couldn't resist the temptation to slip into my old kit and stroll around my tick infested jungle of a kingdom. I know it makes me sound like some kind of fetishist, and maybe I am in some way, but it's something quite different to be dressed in wool and linen from top to toe. It feels archaic and organic in ways most modern clothing simply doesn't. Cool in summer, warm in winter. I take care not to wash this kit too often (overwashing is a top 5 reenactment mistake IMO), and sure enough my prachtmantel and tunic had that authentic smoked sausage stank. Neglect or dedication, think whatever you want.