Pip's Field Guide to Camp

Editor’s note: The following was found tucked under a fern near the garden shed. We’ve published it unedited, at Pip’s insistence.

Hello. I’m Pip. I’m a raccoon. I’ve lived at Iola Gardens since before they started calling it Iola Gardens. I’ve watched a lot of humans come and go. Most of them are fine. Some of them leave snacks unattended, which I appreciate.

Apparently, there’s a “camp” now. On my property. Nobody asked me, but I’ve decided to be supportive. Here’s what you should know.

On arrival

The ferry is slow. This is not a flaw. It’s a feature. The water does something to humans - you start to unclench. By the time you drive off the boat, you’re already 15% more tolerable. I need you at 100%, so the ferry helps.

When you get to Iola, take a walk before you do anything else. Don’t check in. Don’t look at your phone. Just walk. The garden is my favorite place, and I’m sharing it with you. The least you can do is notice it.

On the food

Heidi is cooking. I’ve been eating scraps from her kitchen for long enough to tell you: the bread is extraordinary. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve eaten bread from dumpsters in four counties. Hers is better.

The dinners are long. This is correct. Dinner should be an event, not a transaction. Sit. Eat slowly. Talk to the human next to you. If you run out of conversation, you can talk about me. I’m fascinating.

On the workshops

You’re going to make things. You might be terrible at it. This is fine. I once tried to open a jar of peanut butter for forty-five minutes. Persistence is its own reward. The instructors are kind and patient and they will not judge you. I, however, will be watching from a respectful distance, and I will have opinions.

On the campfire

The campfire is the best part, and I will not elaborate further. If you bring marshmallows, leave one at the edge of the circle. This is not a request.

On the sauna

There is apparently a sauna now. I have mixed feelings. On one hand, warm. On the other hand, I don’t understand why humans voluntarily sit in a hot box. But you do you. I’ll be outside.

On leaving

You’ll leave on Sunday. You’ll have things in your bag that you made with your hands. You’ll smell like campfire. You’ll have a new friend or five. You’ll catch the ferry and watch the island get smaller, and you’ll think: I should come back.

You should come back.

- Pip

Resident Raccoon, Iola Gardens

Self-appointed Spirit Guide, Mischief & Makers Camp