At my campsite in Perrysburg, OH, I met a lovely couple named John and Deb. They were very friendly, despite John’s serious biker look. Never judge a book by the cover. John and Deb were camping out for an extended period to reconnect with each other and disconnect from the world a bit. We talked about a whole lot of stuff in a short period of time, but one thing John mentioned was the mama raccoon that was hanging around. He was pretty sure she had kits nearby, as she was sporting some terribly swollen teats.

I got a glance at her as she was climbing a tree, but spooked her when I grabbed the camera with the birding lens on it to try and get a shot. I got one frame off before she ducked into the brush, and this is it.

She’s a cutie, isn’t she?

One thing I forgot to mention about Ontario. The night I was there, I woke up about midnight to some rustling around the front of the tent. There was just enough light out in the campground to see the silhouette of a raccoon nosing around. I yelled at it and chased it off, then went back to sleep. It happened again a few hours later. The third time I woke up, I could clearly hear some sniffing going on, and then a long, protracted “zzzzzziiiiiiipppppppp”… I grabbed a light and shone it down at the bottom of the tent door. 

Sure as shit, staring right at me, was Rocco the Raccoon, who’d articulated the zipper on the tent and had his head inside. Yep, didn’t claw or bite his way in, actually unzipped the tent. I yelled at him, and that’s the last I saw of him. 

I don’t usually keep any food whatsoever in the tent, but in the morning I realized I’d left the Country Time lemonade mix (the very same) in the tent, and forgot to store it back in Gypsy. Welp, sorry Rocco. That was as much my fault as yours, and seriously, respect about the zipper thing. You get on with your bad self.