We've Always Been Here

Armed with a copious stash of snacks, a still-kicking iPod Shuffle, and a mystery playlist straight out of 2008, we The Venture Out Project (TVOP), set off toward the put-in at the Allagash Lake. The original plan was to traverse the Allagash River, but a relentless New England drought forced us to shift course. For me—a queer, pretty new camper-canoer—the whole venture was equally terrifying and thrilling. Gazing out at Mt Katahdin’s blue-grey silhouette sans laptop, I felt like a woodsy Carrie Bradshaw. I couldn't help but wonder: would I forge new friendships, or would I tip a canoe? Hopefully one, not the other. Luckily though, nothing builds camaraderie quite like a six-hour bus ride through rural Maine without Wi-Fi. 

While on Allagash Lake, there was a slowness.  The expansiveness of the great north woods was unparalleled and the days were filled with so much light and crispness.  There was the joy of exploring new spaces as well as feeling more connected to the earth.  I made a conscious effort to not bring my phone in order to be present and honestly was the best decision. It goes without saying that nature has a lot to offer and sometimes we don’t stop to fully take it in. It's hard not to get caught up in the grind of the everyday. This was a chance to take a beat. To me, enjoying the quiet awe of the woods while embracing deep belly laughs with new friends was the most healing experience. 

Cozy evenings by the fire exuded whimsy and depth. One game, “Essence Of,” playfully asked us to distill a member of the group into an essence— rule-follower or experimenter? water or earth?  carousel or a roller coaster? The game became an exercise in seeing and being seen by our small community. It also sparked a revelation: queerness, like identity itself, doesn’t always fit the binary. If a carousel doesn’t feel quite right, but a roller coaster feels like too much, maybe you’re something in between—a wholly unique, nonbinary ride that’s unique to you.

As the trip unfolded, it became clear that this trip was more than just outdoor education or ecological engagement. This felt like the queer summer camp so many of us never had—an intergenerational space filled with connection and care. In a world still reeling from COVID-19, where so much connection happens through screens, this was a rare chance to meet each other face-to-face, to move through space together, to feel safe in our visibility. Traveling as a queer group in rural Maine gave me a kind of collective courage: rest stops became lighter, not heavy with dread; the presence of allies made space feel safer, more expansive. Forming these friendships and relationships highlighted how important this is given our political climate and aggressive attacks on so many marginalized communities.

On the last day of the trip, we were all met with a serendipitous surprise. Through the misty morning and eyes crusty from sleep, appeared a moose (at first we thought it was a prank folks were using to get us up because we aren’t early risers). It seemed fitting to see a moose at the end of the trip, a perfect endcap.  To me, the moose was a metaphor for queerness in the woods. We can take up some space & be gentle at the same time.  The two aren’t mutually exclusive.

As we packed up our tents and loaded the canoes, I knew this trip wasn’t just about j-strokes or campfire embers. It was about carving out space—for laughter, for safety, for queerness to thrive in the woods. Nature heals, community heals, and woven together they remind us: we’ve always been here, and we will keep returning, making space and reclaiming joy. 

(To all those wondering,  so many friends were made and no canoes were tipped in the making of this blog post. Special thanks to Zemora Tevah for their water color rendering, Carl for your brilliant “essence of” game, TVOP as well as Tucker & Emily our fearless guides)