forest adventure

by Bill Tiepelman

Woodland Wonder Twins: Nutorious Mischief

The Branch of Bad Decisions In the heart of the ancient Windlewood Forest, where the moss grows thick and secrets grow thicker, there lived two chipmunk twins infamous across the treetops — Pip and Pea Nutters. Identical in fur but ferociously different in attitude, Pip was a hyper-charged storm of bad ideas and Pea was the sarcastic, eye-rolling accomplice who somehow always followed anyway. Their current perch? A fragile branch known in local rodent legend as "The Branch of Bad Decisions" — a spindly limb high above the forest floor where only fools or heroes dared balance. "Pea! Look at me! I'm King of the Forest!" Pip screeched dramatically, arms flung wide like an unhinged woodland messiah. His tail twitched with the energy of a creature who had absolutely never considered consequences. Below him, Pea sighed in a way only a twin brother could — equal parts fondness and fury. "You're not king of anything, Pip. You're king of future splats." Leaves swirled around them like slow-motion confetti. Pip wobbled dramatically. Pea casually dug his claws into the bark. "We should be gathering acorns like normal rodents," Pea grumbled. "BORING. Acorns wait for no chipmunk, but adventure? Adventure is like... the wind beneath my fuzzy butt!" Pip declared with wild-eyed sincerity. Somewhere below them, the elderly owl Mortimer muttered from his hollow: "Those blasted Nutters are gonna be the death of me." But Pip wasn't done. He had that dangerous glint in his eye — the one that meant a bad idea was being born at maximum speed. "You know what we should do next, Pea?" Pip asked, waggling his eyebrows. "Regret everything?" Pea deadpanned. "Even better," Pip grinned devilishly. "Branch surfing." Pea's little rodent heart sank. "Oh acorn crumbs..." Nutorious Mayhem Unleashed Branch surfing, as Pip explained (poorly), was a sport entirely invented by creatures with too much energy and not enough supervision. The idea was simple — terrifyingly simple — and, of course, incredibly stupid. "You run real fast. You jump on the branch. You ride it like a wave. Nature provides the adrenaline, and gravity does the rest," Pip said proudly, as if quoting ancient chipmunk wisdom. Pea blinked slowly. "Nature provides the broken bones too, you acorn-brained maniac." But resistance was futile. With a wild whoop that echoed through the forest like a squirrelian war cry, Pip launched himself down the sloping branch. His tiny claws skittered against the bark. His tail whipped like a streamer caught in a tornado. "WOOOOOOO!" Leaves exploded into the air. Nearby beetles abandoned their homes. A mother bird shielded her chicks' eyes. For one perfect second, Pip looked magnificent — a furry streak of chaotic joy hurtling toward disaster at impressive speed. Then physics arrived. The branch dipped under his weight. Then flexed. Then, with a noise that would forever haunt Pea's dreams, it snapped clean off — catapulting Pip skyward in a spinning, screaming blur of limbs. Pea watched his twin ascend into legend. "Heck," Pea muttered. The Aftermath Pip crashed — not into the ground, because fortune favored fools — but directly into Mortimer the Owl's laundry line. An elaborate series of bark-cloth tunics (Mortimer was an eccentric sort) wrapped around Pip like an accidental toga. He swung gently in the breeze, upside-down, looking far too pleased with himself for someone freshly ejected from a tree. "Did you see that, Pea?!" he hollered joyously. "I am unstoppable!" Mortimer poked his beak out of his hollow, unimpressed. "You're unhousebroken." Pea casually strolled down the tree, tail flicking in that older-sibling-I-told-you-so rhythm. He paused beneath his dangling brother. "Stuck again, huh?" Pea asked. "Temporarily suspended in victory," Pip corrected, upside-down grin wide as ever. And Then The Forest Watched News traveled fast in Windlewood. By the time Pea cut Pip down (with no small amount of commentary), a small crowd had gathered — squirrels, birds, a fox cub or two. They all knew the Nutters. They all knew this was far from over. "What did we learn today?" Pea asked, already regretting the question. Pip stood proudly, adjusting his laundry-tunic like royalty. "That I am a pioneer. An innovator. The future of recreational stupidity." Pea rubbed his temples. "We're going to be banned from the forest." Pip threw an arm around his brother. "Pea, my brother in bad decisions... If we get banned from one forest — there's always another." Leaves swirled. The crowd laughed. Mortimer sighed. And deep in the woods, a new branch wobbled ominously... waiting for its next terrible idea.     Epilogue: Legends in the Leaves In the weeks that followed, the legend of Pip and Pea Nutters grew like a particularly obnoxious vine — twisting through every hollow, burrow, and tavern log in the Windlewood Forest. Chipmunk kits whispered about "The Great Branch Surfing Incident" as if it were a grand historic event. Mortimer the Owl? He doubled the strength of his laundry line. Reinforced it with spider silk. Posted tiny warning signs. ("Absolutely No Nutters.") Pea found a new hobby: apologizing on behalf of his twin to literally everyone. Forest Council? Apology. The acorn vendor whose stash Pip "accidentally" converted into a slingshot experiment? Apology. The frogs who woke up wearing tiny laundry-togas? Big apology. But Pip? Oh, Pip thrived. He strutted through the woods with the chaotic energy of a squirrel-shaped celebrity. Small creatures asked for autographs (usually scratched into bark). He hosted storytelling nights where every detail grew more ridiculous. "Did I jump the entire river? Yes. Was it full of crocodiles? Obviously. Did I land on a cloud shaped like a heroic fist? Don't question my truth, Pea." And Late At Night... When the forest quieted and the wind rustled through the leaves like whispered laughter, Pea would glance at his twin — curled up in their cozy little den — and smile despite himself. Because maybe, just maybe, the world needed a little Nutters-level nonsense now and then. Besides — he was pretty sure Pip was already planning their next terrible adventure. And heaven help them all... Pea would be right there beside him. End of Mischief (For Now)     Bring the Nutters Home Love the wild energy of Pip and Pea Nutters? You're not alone — and now you can bring a little Woodland Wonder Twins mischief into your own space. Whether you're decorating a cozy reading nook, gifting a fellow chaos enthusiast, or simply want to remember that life is better with a bit of joyful nonsense — we’ve got you covered. Available Now from Unfocussed Metal Print — For bold souls who want their wall art to shine (literally). Framed Print — Class up your chaos with gallery-ready style. Tote Bag — Carry your mischief wherever you roam. Sticker — Perfect for laptops, water bottles, or anywhere that needs extra attitude. Fleece Blanket — For curling up after a long day of causing (or surviving) chaos. Each item features the whimsical charm and vibrant detail of Woodland Wonder Twins by Bill & Linda Tiepelman — ready to spark smiles wherever they land. Browse the full collection: Shop Woodland Wonder Twins

by Bill Tiepelman

Moonshroom Mischief: A Gnome’s Night Out

There are few things in life Clyde the Gnome loved more than a bottle of Shroomy Moonshine. Tonight, he had several. The potent brew, made from God-knows-what fungi and who-knows-where ingredients, was a staple in Clyde's life, especially during these lonely, booze-fueled treks into the woods. The night was cool, the moon hung low, and Clyde was ready for trouble. His vision was already swimming, but it didn't stop him from popping open another bottle with a loud crack, spilling a bit of the liquid gold onto his dirt-covered boots. "Ah, who needs fancy boots anyway," Clyde muttered, waving his bottle dismissively at his own feet as he tilted his head back and took a long gulp. The stars above spun lazily, almost as if they were having a private joke at his expense. "To the Woods, Let’s Go Ride!" "To the woods!" he slurred triumphantly, raising his bottle in the air like some deranged conqueror. "Let’s go ride!" Ride what? He had no idea. But it didn’t matter. His alcohol-soaked brain was convinced that something, anything, was waiting out there for him to tame. Maybe a squirrel, maybe a badger. Maybe even a tree stump if it came down to it. Tonight, he was on a mission. He stumbled forward, swaying between trees, his oversized red hat flopping around like a flag in the wind. The forest floor was a mix of fallen leaves, mushrooms, and roots waiting to trip him up. Clyde had no concern for any of that though. No, he was lost in a world of his own—where everything was a little too bright, a little too blurry, and everything definitely felt funnier than it actually was. His boots thudded against the forest floor, scuffed and worn from countless nights of gnome-sized debauchery. The soles were so thin that each step felt like a direct conversation with the earth. "Damn dirt," he growled, shaking his foot out as if that would get rid of the clumps of mud building up around his toes. His foot caught on a large mushroom, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. The Fall For a moment, all was quiet. Clyde’s face was planted firmly in the ground, his bottle rolled off to the side, now just a sad casualty of his inebriation. And then—laughter. Deep, booming, gnomish laughter echoed through the trees. Clyde rolled over, wiping the dirt from his bushy white beard, his eyes wide and glistening with mischief. "Ha! Tripped on a shroom! Ain’t that poetic!" he bellowed into the night. The forest remained silent, indifferent to his mirth. But Clyde didn’t need anyone to appreciate his joke. He laughed harder, clutching his sides as he lay flat on his back, staring up at the moon. His hat had fallen off somewhere in his tumble, but he wasn’t in the mood to look for it. Hats were overrated anyway. "Nature’s my friend...and dessert!" he giggled to himself, reaching out and grabbing a handful of nearby mushrooms. He sniffed one suspiciously, squinting at it under the dim light. Then, with a shrug, he popped it into his mouth. "Tastes like dirt. But dirt’s good! Good for the soul, right?" he mumbled between mouthfuls. A Gnome’s Late-Night Philosophy Eventually, Clyde picked himself up and continued his aimless journey through the woods. His bottle of Shroomy was half-empty now, but the night was young, and he still had plenty of stumbling left to do. His steps were more staggered than before, though, as if the forest floor had suddenly turned into a trampoline designed to make fools out of the drunken and clumsy. At some point—maybe minutes later, maybe hours—Clyde plopped himself down on a fallen log. His tiny gnome legs dangled off the edge, boots caked in mud, his pants torn at the knees from yet another fall he didn’t remember. But Clyde didn’t care. He sat there, swinging his legs like a child, staring into the gloom of the woods, where the trees loomed like giant shadows. He took another swig of his Shroomy Moonshine, the liquid burning its way down his throat, and sighed deeply. "Y’know…," he started, talking to no one in particular, "life ain’t so bad when ya got a bottle of this stuff, some good ol' mushrooms underfoot, and the whole forest to yourself." He paused, burping loudly. "Except for the damn squirrels. They’re little shits." As the night wore on, Clyde’s drunken musings grew more philosophical—or at least, what he thought was philosophical. "Maybe the trees are alive," he whispered conspiratorially, eyes darting to the nearest oak. "Maybe they’re listening. Maybe they’re just waiting to get revenge on us gnomes for all the times we’ve pissed on 'em." He blinked slowly, swaying in his seat. "But...eh. Who cares? A tree can’t hold a grudge... right?" The Final Stumble After another hour—or was it two?—Clyde had enough. He stood up shakily, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His bottle was empty, his body aching from all the falls he could vaguely recall. The forest, once his playground, now seemed like a giant, looming creature ready to swallow him whole. But Clyde was undeterred. With one last, triumphant yell, he declared, "The woods may have won this round, but I’ll be back! You can’t keep a gnome down!" Then, without much ceremony, he promptly tripped over another mushroom and collapsed into a heap. And there he stayed, fast asleep, snoring loudly, a content smile on his dirt-smeared face. The bottle of Shroomy Moonshine lay beside him, and the forest, indifferent as always, carried on around him.     There once was a gnome named Clyde, Who drank ‘til his eyes opened wide. With Shroomy in hand, He could barely stand, But yelled, "To the woods! Let’s go ride!"   His boots were all scuffed from the dirt, And his brain was too fogged to assert. He tripped on a shroom, Then laughed in the gloom, Saying, “Nature’s my friend… and dessert!”         If you're interested in prints, art downloads, or licensing options for this image, you can find more details at archive.unfocussed.com.