gnome

by Bill Tiepelman

Riding the Rainbow Hummingbird

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the sunlight filtered through the dense canopy like golden syrup and the air was thick with the hum of unseen magic, a certain gnome named Grimble Fizzwhistle was up to no good. Again. “Hold still, you sparkling chicken!” Grimble hollered, clutching at the reins of his highly questionable steed, a giant, iridescent hummingbird named Zuzu. Zuzu, for her part, was not thrilled to have a gnome-sized jockey attempting to direct her aerial maneuvers. She buzzed furiously, her wings a glittering blur, threatening to eject Grimble from her feathery back. “I swear, Zuzu,” Grimble muttered under his breath, “if you dump me in another patch of those stinging nettles, I’ll—well, I’ll…probably just cry again.” Despite his grumbling, Grimble held on tight, his tiny hands gripping the braided spider-silk reins with surprising tenacity. The Plan (Or Lack Thereof) Grimble was on a mission. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was, he had very little idea where he was going or why. All he knew was that he had made a slightly drunken wager with his old frenemy, Tibbles Nockbottom, at the Giggling Toadstool Tavern the night before. Tibbles had bet him a month’s worth of honey-mead that Grimble couldn’t find the mythical Golden Nectar—a legendary elixir said to grant the drinker eternal youth and an impeccable singing voice. Grimble had, naturally, accepted the challenge without hesitation. Mostly because he was already three pints in and thought eternal youth sounded like a great way to avoid paying his back taxes. Now, as he soared above the forest, clutching Zuzu’s reins and trying not to look down at the dizzying drop below, he was starting to question his life choices. “All right, Zuzu,” he said, patting her neck with a trembling hand. “Let’s just find this Golden Nectar quickly, and then we can both go home and pretend none of this ever happened. Deal?” Zuzu chirped in response, which Grimble chose to interpret as a begrudging agreement. In reality, Zuzu was plotting the fastest route to the nearest patch of wild orchids, where she could throw Grimble off and snack on some nectar in peace. Enter the Feathered Bandits Just as Grimble was beginning to feel slightly more secure in the saddle, a screeching caw shattered the tranquility of the forest. He looked up to see a gang of magpies swooping toward them, their beady eyes glinting with malice. The leader, a particularly large and scruffy specimen with a missing tail feather, squawked loudly. “Oi! Fancy bird you got there, gnome! Hand her over, and we might let you keep your hat!” “Over my dead body!” Grimble yelled, shaking a tiny fist. “This hat cost me a week’s worth of turnip farming!” The magpies didn’t look impressed. They dove toward him en masse, their wings flapping like a thousand pieces of angry parchment. Zuzu, sensing trouble, let out an indignant chirp and banked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the dive-bombing birds. Grimble clung on for dear life, his hat flying off in the process. “Not the hat!” he screamed, watching it flutter down into the forest below. “That was my lucky hat!” “Looks like you’re out of luck, short stuff!” the magpie leader cackled, snatching the hat mid-air. “Now scram, or we’ll pluck you bald!” Zuzu, clearly offended by the magpies’ lack of decorum, decided to take matters into her own wings. With a sudden burst of speed, she shot straight up into the sky, leaving the magpies floundering in her wake. Grimble let out a whoop of exhilaration—and then promptly swallowed a bug. “Blasted forest,” he coughed. “Why is everything here out to get me?” The Golden Nectar (Sort Of) After what felt like hours of frantic flying and several near-death experiences, Zuzu finally brought them to a halt in a secluded glade. At the center of the glade stood a single, ancient tree with shimmering golden leaves. At its base was a pool of honey-like liquid that sparkled in the sunlight. “The Golden Nectar!” Grimble exclaimed, sliding off Zuzu’s back and sprinting toward the pool. He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful of the liquid, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Tibbles is going to eat his stupid hat when he sees this!” He raised the nectar to his lips—but before he could take a sip, a deep, rumbling voice echoed through the glade. “Who dares disturb my sacred pool?” Grimble froze. Slowly, he turned to see a massive, grumpy-looking toad sitting on a nearby rock. The toad’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and his warty skin shimmered with flecks of gold. “Uh…hello there,” Grimble said, hiding the handful of nectar behind his back. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Leave,” the toad intoned, “or face my wrath.” “Right, right, of course,” Grimble said, inching backward. “No need for wrath. I’ll just, uh, be on my way…” Before the toad could respond, Zuzu swooped down, grabbed Grimble by the back of his tunic, and hauled him into the air. “Hey!” Grimble protested. “I wasn’t done groveling yet!” The Aftermath By the time they returned to the Giggling Toadstool Tavern, Grimble was exhausted, hatless, and completely nectar-less. Tibbles took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Well, well, well,” he said, clinking his mug of mead against Grimble’s empty one. “Looks like someone owes me a month’s worth of drinks!” Grimble groaned. “Next time,” he muttered, “I’m betting on something sensible. Like a snail race.” But as he glanced at Zuzu, who was perched on the bar and happily sipping a thimbleful of nectar, he couldn’t help but smile. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to ride a rainbow hummingbird.    Bring the Magic Home If Grimble’s mischievous adventure and Zuzu’s dazzling wings brought a little wonder to your day, why not make it a permanent part of your space? Explore our collection of high-quality prints featuring this magical moment: Canvas Prints: Perfect for bringing warmth and whimsy to your walls. Metal Prints: For a sleek, modern display of vibrant color and detail. Acrylic Prints: A glossy finish to make Zuzu’s iridescence truly pop. Tapestries: Add a cozy, magical touch to any room. Start your collection today and let Grimble and Zuzu’s tale inspire your own adventures!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Starbearer of Holiday Joy

The Legend of the Starbearer In the heart of the winter solstice, when the nights were long and the world seemed cloaked in an endless blanket of snow, there lived a peculiar gnome known as Jorvick Starbearer. Jorvick wasn’t your average gnome tending to gardens or tinkering with mushrooms; he was the guardian of joy, the keeper of laughter, and the deliverer of light to even the darkest corners of the land. But his tale is not all sparkling cheer. It begins, as most good tales do, with a terrible mistake. A Gnome with an Unlikely Destiny Jorvick hadn’t always been destined for greatness. In fact, for much of his life, he was what his peers referred to as a “decorator gnome.” While others busied themselves crafting tools or herding forest animals, Jorvick spent his time obsessively embroidering his robes and polishing his oversized star-topped staff. “The village doesn’t need fancy hats, Jorvick!” his elder once barked. “We need firewood!” But Jorvick had always believed that a touch of beauty could warm the soul more than fire ever could. One fateful winter, however, things took a turn. As the village prepared for their annual Festival of Lights, a tradition meant to stave off the dreaded spirits of gloom, Jorvick accidentally knocked the ceremonial torch into the river. The flame was extinguished, and with it, so was the village’s hope. Without the light, they believed the spirits would descend, bringing misery and endless winter. “This is it,” Jorvick muttered, watching the villagers glare at him in horror. “They’re going to make me herd squirrels for eternity.” But instead of banishing him, the village elder handed him a small, unlit lantern. “If you think beauty can save us,” the elder said with a smirk, “then you will find the light to reignite our hope.” The Quest for the Light With little more than his elaborately embroidered coat, his beloved hat, and the golden staff he’d carved from an old tree, Jorvick trudged into the night. He didn’t have a plan, but he knew one thing: if he didn’t find the light, the village—and his reputation—was doomed. As he wandered through the forest, the snow falling thicker and thicker, Jorvick began to hear whispers. They weren’t the friendly kind of whispers, either. These were the Gloom Sprites, mischief-makers who fed on doubt and despair. “You’ll never find it, you ridiculous little gnome!” one hissed. “Your fancy coat won’t save you now!” Jorvick, to his credit, was far too stubborn to be intimidated by a voice that couldn’t even bother to show itself. “Oh, hush,” he said, waving his staff as though shooing away flies. “I’m on a mission, and frankly, you’re distracting me.” After hours of wandering, he stumbled into a clearing where an enormous pine tree stood. Its branches sparkled with frost, and at its tip was a single, glowing star. It was unlike anything Jorvick had ever seen—brighter than fire, warmer than sunlight, and pulsing with an energy that seemed to hum with laughter. “That’ll do,” Jorvick whispered, adjusting his hat. A Very Gnomish Solution The star, however, had no intention of being taken. As Jorvick climbed the tree, it began to taunt him. “You, a gnome, think you’re worthy of my light?” it scoffed. “You couldn’t even keep a torch lit!” “Listen here, you luminous ornament,” Jorvick grunted, slipping on a branch. “I’ve had a long night, and frankly, I’m not leaving without you. So, we can do this the easy way, or the gnome way.” “The gnome way?” the star asked, intrigued. “The gnome way,” Jorvick said, smiling. “It involves embroidery and stubbornness.” Somehow, his absurd confidence amused the star. “Fine,” it said, “but only if you promise to share my light with more than just your village. The world could use a bit of joy, don’t you think?” “Deal,” Jorvick said, wrapping the star in his coat like a precious jewel. The Birth of a Tradition When Jorvick returned to the village, the star’s light illuminated the entire valley, melting snow and banishing the Gloom Sprites. The villagers cheered, but Jorvick wasn’t done. He placed the star atop the tallest pine tree, declaring that its light belonged to everyone. “Beauty,” he said, “is a fire that no river can quench.” From that day on, Jorvick became known as the Starbearer, a gnome whose legacy wasn’t one of tools or firewood but of joy, laughter, and the belief that even the smallest among us can bring light to the darkest places. And so, every winter, when the nights grow long, people decorate their trees with stars, not to keep the spirits away but to remind themselves of a stubborn little gnome who proved that a touch of beauty and a pinch of humor could save the world. The End... or the Beginning? And if you’re ever wandering in the woods on a snowy night, don’t be surprised if you hear the faint jingling of a gnome’s hat or catch a glimpse of a glowing star. After all, Jorvick is still out there, reminding everyone that even in the coldest winters, joy is never out of reach.    Bring the Starbearer Home Inspired by the whimsical tale of Jorvick Starbearer, you can bring the magic and joy of this festive gnome into your own home. Explore our collection of exclusive products featuring "The Starbearer of Holiday Joy" to add a touch of holiday enchantment to your space: Tapestry – Perfect for creating a warm and festive backdrop in your home. Canvas Print – A timeless piece of art to showcase the magic of the Starbearer. Puzzle – Bring the family together with this delightful holiday activity. Greeting Card – Share the joy with loved ones through this beautifully illustrated card. Each product is thoughtfully designed to capture the spirit of Jorvick's tale, spreading light, laughter, and a bit of festive mischief wherever they go. Explore the full collection here.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Gnome and the Harvest Crown Stag

Deep in the Emberwood Forest, where the air shimmered with golden sunlight and the crunch of leaves filled the air, a gnome named Wimble Leafwhistle was up to no good. Wimble, known as the “Acorn Ace,” had a reputation for turning the most serene woodland events into chaotic spectacles. His partner in these escapades? A regal stag named Chestnut, whose magnificent antlers were draped with garlands of acorns, autumn leaves, and berries. “All right, Chestnut,” Wimble said, perched on the stag’s back and adjusting his oversized red hat. “Today, we’re going to show this forest what true artistry looks like. Forget your boring autumn traditions—this year’s Harvest Festival will go down in history!” Chestnut gave a skeptical snort, his breath puffing in the crisp autumn air. But Wimble, as always, ignored him. He had plans. Big, ridiculous plans. The Festival Scene The Harvest Festival was the grandest event in Emberwood. Woodland creatures gathered under the Great Oak to showcase their finest acorns, pies, and decorations. Squirrels chattered excitedly as they displayed acorn sculptures. Hedgehogs offered steaming mugs of mulled cider. Even the ever-grumpy badgers had baked pumpkin tarts for the occasion. Wimble and Chestnut made their entrance with all the subtlety of a falling oak tree. The gnome had tied tiny bells to the stag’s antlers, which jingled loudly as they trotted into the clearing. Chestnut’s antlers sparkled with dew, and Wimble had even strapped a lantern to his saddle for dramatic effect. “Make way!” Wimble called, waving dramatically. “The Harvest Crown Stag and his loyal squire have arrived!” The crowd turned to stare, their chatter dying down. Elder Maple, the no-nonsense squirrel who presided over the festival, narrowed her eyes. “Wimble,” she said slowly, “what are you up to?” “Up to? Me?” Wimble asked, feigning innocence. “I’m simply here to add a touch of class to your humble gathering.” He tugged on Chestnut’s reins, and the stag reluctantly pranced forward, shaking his decorated antlers. The acorns dangling from the garlands clinked together like tiny bells. The Acorn Contest Wimble’s first target was the Great Acorn Contest, a competition where squirrels showcased their most impressive acorn collections. The entries were neatly arranged on a long table, each acorn polished to a glossy shine. Wimble leaned over to inspect them, his beard twitching with mischief. “Very nice, very nice,” he said, picking up a particularly large acorn. “But wouldn’t it be more... exciting if they moved?” Before anyone could stop him, he sprinkled a handful of enchanted “Jitter Dust” over the table. The acorns quivered, then sprouted tiny legs and began scuttling around like frantic beetles. The squirrels shrieked, diving after their runaway acorns. Elder Maple glared at Wimble. “Really?” she demanded. “What?” Wimble said, grinning. “They’re more fun this way!” The Pie Tasting Next up was the Pie Tasting Competition, a highlight of the festival. Hedgehogs, foxes, and even a family of otters had brought their finest baked goods to be judged. Wimble, of course, had no intention of letting this go smoothly. As the judges began sampling the pies, Wimble leaned over to Chestnut. “Watch this,” he whispered, pulling a tiny vial from his pocket. The label read: “Peppery Pop Powder.” With a flick of his wrist, he sprinkled the powder over the pies. Moments later, the judges took their next bites—and immediately began hiccuping tiny flames. The fox judge yelped, fanning his tongue, while the hedgehog rolled on the ground, sending sparks flying. “Fiery flavor!” Wimble declared, clapping his hands. “A bold choice!” Chestnut groaned, shaking his head as the chaos unfolded. The Antler Parade The grand finale of the festival was the Antler Parade, where the forest’s deer displayed their elaborately decorated antlers. Chestnut, with his dazzling crown of acorns and leaves, was a clear favorite—until Wimble decided to “enhance” the competition. “Hold still,” Wimble said, climbing onto Chestnut’s head and sprinkling a few enchanted berries onto the garlands. The berries began to glow, casting a shimmering red light that lit up the entire clearing. “Behold!” Wimble cried as Chestnut stepped into the parade ring. The crowd gasped in awe—but their admiration quickly turned to confusion as the berries began to pop like fireworks. Bright sparks shot into the air, startling the other deer. One buck bolted, scattering ribbons everywhere, while a doe tripped over her own garland. “WIMBLE!” Elder Maple shouted, shaking her tiny fists. “You’ve gone too far this time!” “Too far?” Wimble said, feigning shock. “This is art!” The Escape Realizing he was about to be chased out of the festival (again), Wimble tugged on Chestnut’s reins. “Time to go, buddy!” he said. The stag snorted, clearly unimpressed, but took off at a gallop, his glowing antlers lighting their path through the forest. Behind them, Elder Maple shouted, “You’re banned from the festival for life, Wimble!” “Promises, promises!” Wimble called over his shoulder, laughing. The Aftermath Later that evening, as they rested under a golden maple tree, Wimble patted Chestnut’s side. “You’ve got to admit, we stole the show,” he said, grinning. The stag rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. “Next year,” Wimble continued, “we’ll need to go even bigger. Maybe... enchanted pumpkins? What do you think?” Chestnut let out a long, weary sigh, but Wimble took it as agreement. “Knew you’d be on board,” he said, leaning back against the tree. As the golden leaves drifted down around them, Wimble smiled to himself. Chaos, laughter, and a touch of magic—just another perfect day in the Emberwood Forest.    Bring the Magic of Autumn Home Love Wimble and Chestnut’s mischievous autumn adventure? Capture the vibrant charm and whimsy of their story with our exclusive collection of products inspired by this enchanting tale: Wood Prints: Add a rustic touch to your home decor with this beautifully vibrant scene on wood. Tapestries: Transform your walls into an autumn wonderland with this magical design. Puzzles: Enjoy piecing together the fun of Wimble and Chestnut’s whimsical adventure. Tote Bags: Carry the charm of this magical woodland ride with you wherever you go. Start your collection today and let Wimble and Chestnut bring the beauty and mischief of autumn into your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Riding the Flamewing Through Fall

In the heart of the Emberwood Forest, where the leaves burned brighter than the sunset and the air smelled of cinnamon and mischief, there lived a gnome named Bramble Knickerbocker. Known as the “Rascal of the Redwoods,” Bramble’s favorite pastime was finding new ways to spice up the already chaotic forest. Today, however, he wasn’t working alone. He had a secret weapon—a small but fiery leaf dragon named Flamewing. “All right, Flamey,” Bramble said, adjusting his spectacles as he clambered onto the dragon’s back. “Today, we’re going to turn this forest upside down. Imagine it: squirrels scrambling, acorns flying, and me, the undisputed king of autumn pranks!” Flamewing snorted, a puff of golden sparks escaping from his nostrils. He flicked his tail, scattering a flurry of maple leaves behind him. Bramble took that as a yes. “Good lad,” he said, patting the dragon’s glowing, leaf-like scales. “Now, let’s get to work!” The Plan The first stop on Bramble’s list was the Acorn Harvest Festival, a beloved event where woodland creatures competed to see who could gather the most acorns. It was a serious affair—too serious for Bramble’s liking. “Let’s liven things up, shall we?” he said, steering Flamewing toward the clearing where the competition was in full swing. Squirrels darted between the trees, stuffing their cheeks with acorns, while badgers and foxes dragged baskets overflowing with the nutty bounty. Bramble reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of enchanted acorns he’d “borrowed” from a particularly gullible wizard. “These babies will sprout dancing mushrooms when they hit the ground,” he explained to Flamewing. “Hilarious, right?” Before the dragon could protest, Bramble hurled the acorns into the clearing. They landed with soft thuds, and within seconds, bright orange mushrooms popped up, swaying and twirling to an invisible tune. The squirrels froze mid-chew, their eyes wide. Then the mushrooms started singing—badly. “🎵 Acorns, acorns, tasty and round, plant us here and we’ll dance on the ground! 🎵” Chaos erupted. Squirrels screeched and abandoned their hoards. A badger tripped over his basket, scattering acorns everywhere, while a fox attempted to bite one of the mushrooms, only to recoil in horror as it belted out an off-key solo. “This is gold!” Bramble cackled, holding onto Flamewing’s neck as the dragon hovered above the scene. “Let’s see the council top that for entertainment!” The Autumn Blaze The next stop was the Leaf Carving Contest, a tradition where woodland artists transformed fallen leaves into intricate works of art. Bramble had always found it a bit dull—too much concentration, not enough pandemonium. Naturally, he had a plan to fix that. Flamewing landed softly near the contest, his wings scattering a shower of glowing leaves. The contestants looked up, briefly distracted by the dragon’s radiant entrance. “Don’t mind us,” Bramble called, tipping his hat. “Just passing through!” As the carvers returned to their work, Bramble reached into his satchel again and pulled out a small vial of “Whirlwind Dust.” With a wicked grin, he uncorked the vial and tossed the contents into the air. A gust of wind whooshed through the clearing, sending leaves—and half-finished carvings—spiraling into the sky. “My masterpiece!” a hedgehog cried, leaping after a particularly elaborate oak leaf. A raccoon clung to his table, trying to shield his work from the mini tornado, while a deer watched in resigned silence as her entire collection was carried away. “This might be my best work yet,” Bramble said, watching the chaos unfold. Flamewing, however, was less impressed. He swatted Bramble with his tail, nearly knocking him off the saddle. “All right, all right,” Bramble muttered, rubbing his side. “I’ll dial it back. Happy now?” The Grand Finale The final stop on their tour of mayhem was the Emberwood Great Feast, a grand picnic where every creature brought their finest autumn delicacies. Bramble had no intention of ruining the feast—he wasn’t a monster—but he couldn’t resist adding a little flair. “Watch and learn, Flamey,” he said, pulling out a jar of “Sparkling Spice,” a harmless (but highly dramatic) seasoning that made food glow and emit tiny fireworks. He sprinkled it over the pies, soups, and roasted nuts while the feast-goers were distracted by a singing troupe of chipmunks. When the first fox took a bite of glowing pumpkin pie, his eyes widened in surprise. A burst of tiny fireworks exploded from his mouth, lighting up the table. Soon, the entire feast was a sparkling, crackling spectacle. Laughter filled the clearing as creatures sampled the enchanted dishes, delighted by the unexpected display. “Now this,” Bramble said, leaning back in the saddle, “is how you end a day of mischief.” The Aftermath As the sun set over Emberwood, Bramble and Flamewing lounged on a mossy hill, watching the golden light fade into twilight. “You’ve got to admit,” Bramble said, tossing Flamewing a candied acorn, “that was a pretty spectacular day.” The dragon crunched the acorn thoughtfully, then let out a puff of smoke that Bramble chose to interpret as approval. “See?” Bramble said, grinning. “You’re starting to appreciate my genius.” Just then, a familiar voice echoed through the forest. “BRAMBLE KNICKERBOCKER!” It was Elder Maple, head of the forest council, and she did not sound pleased. “Time to go!” Bramble said, leaping onto Flamewing’s back. The dragon took off, his fiery wings scattering leaves in every direction. As they soared into the night, Bramble couldn’t help but laugh. Mischief, magic, and a touch of chaos—what more could a gnome ask for?    Bring the Magic of Autumn Home Love Bramble and Flamewing’s mischievous autumn adventure? Bring the vibrant spirit of their tale into your home with our exclusive collection of stunning products: Tapestries: Add warmth and whimsy to your walls with this radiant autumn design. Metal Prints: Perfect for showcasing the brilliance of Bramble and Flamewing in sleek, modern style. Puzzles: Piece together the magic of this autumn escapade with a fun, family-friendly puzzle. Fleece Blankets: Cozy up this fall with a soft, vibrant blanket inspired by this enchanting scene. Start your collection today and let Bramble and Flamewing’s fiery adventure bring a touch of magic to your space!

by Bill Tiepelman

Petals, Pranks, and Tiny Adventures

In the heart of the Wildflower Woods, where the air shimmered with golden pollen and the mushrooms grew as plump as pillows, there lived a gnome named Wibble Thistlewhisker. Known as the forest’s resident troublemaker, Wibble was always up to something—usually something ridiculous. Today, however, he had surpassed himself. He’d recruited a fawn named Petal, whose dainty steps and flower-crowned antlers made her the picture of woodland elegance. Wibble, of course, had other plans. “All right, Petal,” Wibble said, adjusting his red hat and climbing onto her back. “Today, we’re going to prank the forest council and prove that mischief and flowers can coexist beautifully!” Petal blinked her enormous eyes, as if to ask, “Are you sure about this?” But Wibble was already busy tying a garland of wildflowers to her tail, giggling to himself. “Just wait until they see this masterpiece,” he said. “It’s going to be legendary!” The Plan The forest council, a stern group of rabbits, badgers, and a very grumpy owl named Hoarfrost, had gathered in their usual spot under the Great Oak. They were in the middle of their annual meeting, discussing serious matters like squirrel thefts and the mushroom tax. Wibble had overheard their plans earlier and decided it was the perfect opportunity for some “creative intervention.” “We’ll make our entrance during the ‘important announcements,’” Wibble explained to Petal as they approached the meeting. “I’ll deliver my ‘surprise speech,’ and you… you’ll dazzle them with your flower power.” Petal flicked her ears, unconvinced. “Don’t worry,” Wibble said. “I’ve got it all figured out.” The Entrance As Hoarfrost droned on about moss shortages, a burst of petals suddenly filled the clearing. The council looked up in confusion as Wibble and Petal emerged from the underbrush, her antlers crowned with roses and her tail trailing a garland of daisies. “Behold!” Wibble shouted, standing proudly on Petal’s back. “The Flower King has arrived to grace you with his wisdom!” The council stared in stunned silence. Hoarfrost narrowed his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” he hooted. “We’re in the middle of a serious discussion!” “Serious discussions are overrated,” Wibble replied, grinning. “What this forest needs is a little whimsy! A little… excitement!” He clapped his hands, and the garland tied to Petal’s tail released a flurry of enchanted pollen into the air. Within moments, the rabbits began sneezing uncontrollably, and the badgers’ fur turned bright pink. “WIBBLE!” Hoarfrost bellowed, flapping his wings. “What have you done?!” The Chaos Petal, spooked by the sudden commotion, bolted. Wibble clung to her back as she leapt over mushrooms and wove through the trees, scattering petals and pollen in her wake. Behind them, the council scrambled to regain order. The rabbits sneezed themselves into a pile of dandelions, and the badgers chased their pink reflections in a nearby stream. Hoarfrost took to the air, feathers ruffled and furious. “This is not what I meant by ‘dazzle,’ Petal!” Wibble shouted as they galloped through the forest. Petal ignored him, too busy fleeing the chaos she’d unwittingly caused. Behind them, Hoarfrost’s voice echoed through the trees. “Come back here, you meddling menace!” The Grand Finale Eventually, Petal skidded to a stop in a meadow filled with golden sunlight. Wibble slid off her back, dizzy but exhilarated. “Well,” he said, brushing petals off his tunic, “that could’ve gone better. But did you see the look on their faces? Priceless!” Petal gave him a withering look and flicked her garland-free tail at him. “Don’t be like that,” Wibble said, grinning. “You were the star of the show! Everyone will be talking about this for weeks!” Just then, Hoarfrost swooped down, his feathers still coated in glittery pollen. “You,” he growled, pointing a talon at Wibble, “are banned from all future council meetings!” “What a tragedy,” Wibble replied with mock sincerity. “I was really looking forward to next year’s moss inventory report.” Hoarfrost glared at him for a long moment before flapping back toward the Great Oak. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” he called over his shoulder. The Aftermath As the forest slowly returned to normal, Wibble and Petal lounged in the meadow, watching butterflies flit among the flowers. “You know,” Wibble said, “we make a pretty good team. Mischief and elegance—who would’ve thought?” Petal nibbled on a patch of clover, clearly unimpressed. “Fine, fine,” Wibble said. “Next time, I’ll let you pick the prank. Deal?” Petal flicked her ear in what Wibble chose to interpret as agreement. As they made their way back to the village, Wibble couldn’t help but smile. Life in the Wildflower Woods was never dull—especially when you had a partner as stylish as Petal.    Bring the Whimsy Home Love Wibble and Petal’s mischievous adventure? Bring the charm and magic of their story into your home with our exclusive collection of whimsical products: Tapestries: Add a splash of whimsy and color to your walls with this enchanting woodland design. Canvas Prints: Perfect for showcasing the magical duo in vibrant, high-quality detail. Puzzles: Piece together the fun and beauty of Wibble and Petal’s adventure with this delightful puzzle. Stickers: Add a whimsical touch to your favorite items with adorable, high-quality stickers. Start your collection today and let Wibble and Petal bring a little mischief and magic into your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Holiday Mischief with the Reindeer Rider

In the heart of the Snowdrop Forest, where icicles glittered like chandeliers and snowflakes fell as soft as whispers, the annual Festival of Antlers was underway. Every winter, the reindeer gathered to show off their most dazzling decorations, from gold garlands to glittering baubles. For the forest folk, it was the highlight of the season. For Burlap Tinseltoes, the gnome with a reputation for mischief, it was an irresistible opportunity. “This year,” Burlap announced, adjusting his oversized red hat dusted with snow, “I’m going to steal the spotlight—literally.” He stood in front of his trusty steed, a reindeer named Jinglehoof, who looked less than thrilled. “With your antlers and my genius, we’ll be the talk of the festival. All we need are a few... adjustments.” Jinglehoof let out a resigned snort as Burlap pulled a satchel from his sled. Inside was an assortment of ornaments, tinsel, and something ominously labeled “glow powder.” “Trust me,” Burlap said with a wink. “This is going to be spectacular.” The Decorating Disaster As the sun set, Burlap began his masterpiece. He wove strings of twinkling lights through Jinglehoof’s antlers, hung shiny red and gold ornaments at every available branch, and tied a glittery bell to the reindeer’s tail. For the grand finale, he sprinkled the glow powder over everything. “It’s enchanted,” Burlap explained as Jinglehoof shook glitter out of his fur. “When the moonlight hits it, you’ll sparkle like the Northern Lights!” The reindeer in the neighboring stalls looked on with a mix of admiration and secondhand embarrassment. “You’ll thank me later,” Burlap said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Jinglehoof now resembled a cross between a Christmas tree and a firework display. “Perfection!” Burlap declared. “Now, let’s make an entrance.” The Festival Begins The Festival of Antlers was held in a snowy clearing lit by glowing lanterns. Reindeer paraded through the crowd, their antlers adorned with ribbons, garlands, and other festive decorations. The forest folk clapped and cheered, marveling at the creativity on display. Then came Burlap and Jinglehoof. Or, more accurately, Burlap came riding in at full speed, waving like a maniac while Jinglehoof galloped reluctantly into the clearing. The reindeer’s antlers lit up like a disco ball, scattering beams of multicolored light across the snow. The crowd gasped, then burst into laughter and applause. “Ladies and gentle-creatures!” Burlap announced, standing on Jinglehoof’s back and nearly toppling off. “Behold the most dazzling display in Festival history! Feast your eyes on Jinglehoof, the Reindeer of Radiance!” The crowd roared with laughter and cheers, but not everyone was impressed. Elder Hollyhorn, the head judge of the Festival, stepped forward, her antlers dripping with icicles. “This is highly unconventional,” she sniffed, glaring at Burlap. “And... is that glitter?” “Not just glitter,” Burlap said with a grin. “Magically enhanced glitter.” He snapped his fingers, and the glow powder activated. Jinglehoof’s antlers sparkled so brightly they could be seen from the next village. The crowd “ooohed” and “aaahed” as Elder Hollyhorn squinted in disapproval. The Mishap As Burlap was basking in his triumph, a wayward squirrel, hypnotized by the glittering antlers, leapt onto Jinglehoof’s head. The reindeer reared in surprise, sending Burlap tumbling into a snowdrift. The squirrel, now clinging to the antlers, panicked and accidentally triggered the bell on Jinglehoof’s tail. The enchanted bell let out a loud, echoing chime that startled every reindeer in the clearing. Chaos erupted. Reindeer dashed in every direction, their ornaments flying off like festive shrapnel. A garland-wearing fox tried to calm the crowd but ended up tangled in a string of lights. Elder Hollyhorn was nearly trampled by a stampede of candy-cane-clad fawns. Burlap poked his head out of the snow just in time to see Jinglehoof racing toward the forest, still glowing like a meteor. “Come back!” Burlap shouted, scrambling to his feet. “We haven’t even taken our victory lap!” The Aftermath It took an hour to round up the runaway reindeer, and by the time Jinglehoof was retrieved, his decorations were askew, and Burlap was banned from entering the Festival “for the foreseeable future.” Elder Hollyhorn handed him a broom and pointed at the glitter-covered clearing. “Start sweeping,” she said sternly. Burlap sighed but couldn’t suppress a grin as he watched the crowd chatter excitedly about the night’s events. Sure, it hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but he’d succeeded in making the Festival unforgettable. “Not bad for a gnome with a bag of glitter,” he muttered, sweeping up a pile of glow powder. Jinglehoof nudged him with his nose, looking equally tired and amused. Burlap patted his glowing antlers. “Same time next year?” he asked. The reindeer snorted, which Burlap took as a yes. As he trudged home through the snow, Burlap was already scheming his next big idea. After all, the holidays weren’t about perfection—they were about fun, laughter, and just a little bit of chaos.    Bring the Holiday Magic Home Love Burlap and Jinglehoof’s festive mischief? Bring the joy and laughter of their holiday adventure into your home with our exclusive collection of whimsical products: Tapestries: Add a touch of festive charm to your walls with this magical winter scene. Throw Pillows: Cozy up with Burlap’s mischief and Jinglehoof’s glowing antlers on a comfy holiday pillow. Puzzles: Piece together the fun with a delightful puzzle featuring this whimsical duo. Greeting Cards: Share the laughter and festive spirit with friends and family through these charming holiday cards. Start your collection today and let Burlap and Jinglehoof bring the magic of the holidays to your home!

by Bill Tiepelman

Chilling Adventures with the Ice Dragon

Winter had arrived in the Enchanted North, blanketing the forest in sparkling frost and transforming even the grumpiest of gnomes into rosy-cheeked enthusiasts. Well, almost every gnome. Gusbert Frostwhisker, known locally as the “Blizzard Buffoon,” wasn’t interested in sledding, snowball fights, or sipping mulled cider by the fire. No, Gusbert had a reputation to uphold—a reputation for outrageous pranks and harebrained schemes. “This year,” Gusbert announced to no one in particular as he stood in his snow-dusted yard, “I’m going to pull off the ultimate winter trick. Something so magnificent, so ridiculous, they’ll never call me ‘Buffoon’ again!” At that moment, an enormous, crystalline shadow passed overhead. Gusbert looked up to see the Ice Dragon—a magnificent creature of glittering scales and frost-tipped wings—soaring through the pale winter sky. A wicked grin spread across his bearded face. “Perfect,” he whispered. “That dragon’s just the partner I need.” The Plan Gusbert didn’t have much in the way of charm, but he did have a knack for convincing creatures to join his schemes (usually with promises of snacks). Armed with a bag of frozen berries and his best persuasive smile, Gusbert trekked to Frostpeak Ridge, where the Ice Dragon made its lair. He found the great beast lounging on a glacier, munching on icicles. “Greetings, oh frosty one!” Gusbert began, bowing dramatically. The dragon blinked, shards of ice glinting in its brilliant blue eyes. “I come bearing a proposal! A partnership, if you will. Together, we shall unleash the greatest winter prank this forest has ever seen!” The dragon tilted its head, unimpressed. Gusbert held up the bag of berries and shook it enticingly. “There’s more where this came from,” he said. “Think about it—snowball chaos, frosted-over squirrel dens, maybe even a mid-air snowflake sculpting contest! The possibilities are endless!” The dragon snorted, sending a small flurry of snow into Gusbert’s face, but eventually extended a glittering claw. Gusbert shook it eagerly. “Excellent choice, my icy comrade. Now, let’s get to work!” The Execution Gusbert’s first target was the ever-annoying Jinglebell Foxes, who prided themselves on their perfectly synchronized caroling. Perched on the dragon’s back, Gusbert flew over their snowy den and unleashed his secret weapon: enchanted snowballs that, upon impact, made the recipient uncontrollably hiccup jingle sounds. By the time the foxes managed to regroup, their caroling sounded like a choir of malfunctioning music boxes. “Hic-jingle! Hic-jingle! Hic-jingle all the way!” one of them howled, to Gusbert’s delight. The next stop was the Winter Stag Parade, a dignified event where the local deer adorned themselves with holly and tinsel. Gusbert swooped in on the Ice Dragon and sprinkled the parade route with enchanted frost that caused the antlers to glow neon pink. The dignified stags were less than amused, but the spectators roared with laughter. “Oh, this is too good!” Gusbert cackled, steering the dragon toward their grand finale: the Gnome Elder Council’s annual snow sculpture competition. The council was infamous for taking their sculptures far too seriously, with their leader, Grimpus, once declaring a carrot nose on a snowman “an artistic abomination.” The Grand Finale Hovering over the competition, Gusbert surveyed the scene. Grimpus and his fellow elders were painstakingly crafting an elaborate ice castle. “Time to spice things up,” Gusbert said, tossing a handful of enchanted snowflakes over the sculpture. Moments later, the castle erupted into a cacophony of glitter and ice, transforming into a gigantic, frosty replica of Grimpus’ grumpy face. The crowd burst into applause, but Grimpus was less impressed. “Who dares tamper with my masterpiece?!” he bellowed, shaking his fist at the sky. Gusbert waved cheerfully as the Ice Dragon executed a graceful barrel roll, scattering more glitter over the competition. Unfortunately for Gusbert, Grimpus had a keen eye. “It’s that blasted Frostwhisker!” he roared. “Get him!” The Escape “Time to go!” Gusbert shouted, urging the dragon into a steep dive. The pair zipped through the snowy forest, pursued by an angry mob of foxes, deer, and gnomes wielding snowshoes. The Ice Dragon, however, was having the time of its life. With each powerful beat of its wings, it sent waves of glittering frost cascading over the pursuers, slowing them down just enough for Gusbert to escape. When they finally landed back at Frostpeak Ridge, Gusbert slid off the dragon’s back and collapsed into the snow, laughing uncontrollably. “Did you see their faces?” he wheezed. “Priceless!” The dragon let out a rumbling purr of agreement before curling up on its glacier. Gusbert tossed it the rest of the frozen berries as a thank-you. “You’re a true artist, my frosty friend,” he said. “Same time next year?” The dragon snorted softly, which Gusbert chose to interpret as a resounding yes. As he trudged back to his cottage, Gusbert couldn’t wait to start planning his next big prank. After all, winter was long—and the Enchanted North needed someone to keep things interesting.     Bring the Winter Magic Home Love Gusbert and the Ice Dragon's frosty mischief? Capture the magic and whimsy of their chilling adventures with our exclusive collection of stunning products: Tapestries: Add a touch of frosty charm to your walls with this enchanting design. Canvas Prints: Perfect for showcasing the magical winter ride in vibrant detail. Puzzles: Piece together the icy brilliance with a playful and dazzling puzzle. Greeting Cards: Share the frosty magic with loved ones through these delightful cards. Start your collection today and let Gusbert and his glittering dragon bring the spirit of winter wonder into your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Gnome and the Snail Express

The Enchanted Forest wasn’t known for its speed. Most of its residents were content to amble along mossy trails, admire glowing mushrooms, and take the occasional nap in a patch of sunlight. But none were slower—or more determined—than Gnorman the Gnome’s latest companion: an enormous snail named Whiskers. “This is it, Whiskers,” Gnorman said, adjusting his bright red hat as he perched on the snail’s glistening shell. “Our chance to make history! We’re going to win the Great Forest Derby and prove that slow and steady doesn’t just win races—it humiliates smug rabbits along the way!” Whiskers made no response, as he was preoccupied with nibbling on a particularly juicy patch of moss. Gnorman took this as a sign of agreement. “That’s the spirit!” he said, giving the snail’s shell a confident pat. “Now, let’s talk strategy.” The Great Forest Derby The Derby was an annual event, notorious for attracting all kinds of eccentric competitors. There were the squirrels, who cheated by launching themselves from tree to tree. There was a team of field mice with a cart pulled by a very confused hedgehog. And, of course, there was Gnorman’s arch-nemesis, Thistle the Hare, whose cocky grin and perfect teeth made Gnorman’s beard bristle with irritation. “What’s that, Gnorman?” Thistle called as he hopped over. “Trading in your boots for a snail? I’d tell you to try and keep up, but… well, we both know that’s not happening.” “Laugh it up, carrot-breath,” Gnorman snapped. “This snail is a precision-engineered racing machine. We’re going to wipe the mossy floor with you!” Thistle snorted. “I’ll save you a spot at the finish line—about three hours after I get there.” With that, the hare bounded away, leaving Gnorman seething. “Don’t listen to him, Whiskers,” he muttered. “We’ve got this in the bag. Probably.” The Race Begins The starting line was a chaotic mess of creatures, all jostling for position. Gnorman tightened his grip on the reins he’d fashioned out of vine and gave Whiskers an encouraging nod. “All right, buddy. Nice and steady. Let’s show these amateurs how it’s done.” The whistle blew, and the racers exploded into motion—or, in Whiskers’ case, a leisurely slide forward. Squirrels darted ahead. Mice squeaked commands to their hedgehog. Thistle the Hare was already a blur in the distance. Gnorman, however, remained calm. “Patience, Whiskers,” he said. “Let them tire themselves out. We’ll make our move when it counts.” By the time they reached the first checkpoint, Whiskers had managed to overtake a tortoise (who had paused for a snack) and a beetle (whose enthusiasm had been derailed by an ill-timed nap). Gnorman was feeling smug—until he noticed a familiar figure lounging on a rock up ahead. “What took you so long?” Thistle called, tossing a carrot in the air and catching it in his mouth. “Did you stop for sightseeing? Oh wait—you’re riding a snail. That’s sightseeing.” “Keep laughing, fuzzball,” Gnorman muttered under his breath. “You won’t be so smug when Whiskers and I pull off the upset of the century.” The Prank At the halfway point, Gnorman decided it was time for a little mischief. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a pouch of pixie dust he’d “borrowed” from a friendly sprite. “This ought to spice things up,” he said, sprinkling the glittering powder along Whiskers’ trail. Moments later, chaos erupted. The hedgehog pulling the mice’s cart sneezed violently, sending the cart careening off the trail. A flock of sparrows, mesmerized by the sparkling dust, began dive-bombing Thistle, who flailed wildly in an attempt to fend them off. “What the—?!” Thistle shouted as a particularly bold sparrow made off with his carrot. “Who’s responsible for this madness?!” Gnorman tried to look innocent, though his uncontrollable giggling didn’t help. “Just a bit of friendly competition!” he called out, clutching Whiskers’ reins as the snail glided serenely past the chaos. “You’re welcome!” The Final Stretch By the time they reached the final leg of the race, Thistle had recovered and was closing in fast. Gnorman could see the finish line up ahead, but Whiskers was beginning to slow down. “Come on, buddy,” he urged. “Just a little farther! Think of the glory! Think of the… uh… extra moss I’ll bring you if we win!” Whiskers perked up at the mention of moss and surged forward with surprising speed. Gnorman whooped as they crossed the finish line just ahead of Thistle, who skidded to a halt in disbelief. “What?! No!” the hare yelled. “That’s impossible! You cheated!” “Cheating?” Gnorman said, feigning outrage. “That’s a serious accusation, Thistle. I’ll have you know this victory was entirely due to Whiskers’ superior athleticism and my expert coaching.” The crowd erupted in applause and laughter as Gnorman accepted his prize: a golden acorn trophy and a year’s worth of bragging rights. “Slow and steady wins the race,” he said with a wink, holding the trophy aloft. “And never underestimate a gnome with a good sense of humor—and a big bag of pixie dust.” Whiskers, now happily munching on a fresh patch of moss, seemed entirely uninterested in the glory. But Gnorman didn’t mind. He had a trophy, a story for the ages, and the satisfaction of wiping the smug grin off Thistle’s face. Life in the Enchanted Forest didn’t get much better than that.     Bring the Whimsy Home Love Gnorman and Whiskers’ hilarious journey? Bring their delightful adventure into your home with these magical products, inspired by the whimsical world of the Enchanted Forest: Tapestries: Add a touch of fantasy to your walls with this vibrant and enchanting design. Canvas Prints: Perfect for bringing Gnorman and Whiskers’ adventure to life in your favorite space. Puzzles: Piece together the fun with a playful and charming puzzle featuring this whimsical duo. Tote Bags: Take the magic on the go with a stylish tote bag perfect for daily adventures. Start your collection today and let Gnorman and Whiskers bring a bit of mischief and magic to your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Frog Rodeo: Gnome Style

In the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where mushrooms glowed like tiny disco balls and the rivers gurgled with laughter, a gnome named Blimble Puddleflap was preparing for his greatest—and most ridiculous—feat yet: a frog rodeo. Blimble wasn’t known for his practicality or restraint. No, his reputation was built on an endless string of outrageous stunts and pranks that left the forest’s inhabitants either chuckling or plotting revenge. Today’s prank, however, was destined to become legendary. The Plan It all started in the Giggling Lily Tavern the night before, when Blimble overheard a particularly smug chipmunk boasting about his "record-setting" acorn collection. "I could ride a frog across the stream and still gather more acorns than you!" the chipmunk had declared. Blimble, fueled by three mushroom ales and an overabundance of confidence, had leapt onto the table and shouted, "Ride a frog? I’ll ride one so fast it’ll look like a green lightning bolt streaking through the forest!" By morning, the entire forest had heard about Blimble’s bold claim. To back out now would be social suicide. Fortunately, Blimble had a plan. Unfortunately, it was a terrible one. "All right, Ribsy," Blimble said, addressing the enormous, lime-green frog he’d “borrowed” from a lily pad in Tadpole Cove. Ribsy, whose idea of excitement involved sitting very still and occasionally catching a bug, was less than thrilled about the arrangement. “We’re going to make history!” Blimble continued, oblivious to Ribsy’s expression of froggy dread. “I’ll ride you like the wind, and you’ll become the fastest frog this forest has ever seen!” The Ride Begins The clearing by the stream was packed with forest creatures, all eager to witness Blimble’s latest shenanigan. Rabbits, squirrels, and even a few skeptical hedgehogs gathered at the water’s edge. The chipmunk from the tavern was front and center, munching on an acorn and smirking. "This should be good," he muttered. “Ladies and gentle-creatures!” Blimble announced, standing on Ribsy’s back like a pint-sized circus performer. “Prepare to witness the grandest, most daring frog rodeo in history!” Before anyone could respond, Ribsy let out a startled croak as Blimble tugged on the makeshift reins (woven from spider silk, because of course). The frog launched forward with a panicked leap, sending a spray of water across the cheering crowd. “Yeehaw!” Blimble hollered, throwing his arms in the air. “Look at us go, Ribsy! We’re unstoppable!” “Ribbit,” Ribsy croaked, which roughly translated to, “Please let this nightmare end.” The Chaos Unfolds As Ribsy bounded toward the stream, Blimble’s showmanship quickly devolved into chaos. A miscalculated leap sent them careening into a patch of glowing mushrooms, which exploded into a cloud of glittery spores. The crowd erupted in laughter as Blimble emerged from the sparkling haze, clinging to Ribsy’s back with one hand and waving a tiny cowboy hat with the other. “Still going strong!” Blimble shouted, though his grip was slipping and Ribsy looked ready to file a restraining order. Things took a turn for the worse when a dragonfly, apparently offended by the disturbance, decided to join the fray. It swooped down and began dive-bombing Blimble, who swatted at it wildly. “Back off, you oversized mosquito!” he yelled, inadvertently letting go of the reins. Now completely out of control, Ribsy veered toward the stream and leapt with all the grace of a cannonball. They landed in the water with a colossal splash, soaking the front row of spectators and dislodging a nearby family of ducks. Blimble resurfaced moments later, sputtering and still clinging to Ribsy, whose expression now read as “utter resignation.” The Aftermath By the time Ribsy paddled to the far side of the stream, the crowd was in stitches. Even the smug chipmunk was laughing so hard he dropped his acorn. Blimble, dripping wet and covered in glittery mushroom spores, climbed off Ribsy and took a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you!” he said, ignoring the fact that Ribsy was already hopping away as fast as his froggy legs could carry him. “And that, my friends, is how you ride a frog like a champion!” The chipmunk approached, still chuckling. “I’ll admit, Puddleflap, that was…impressive. Ridiculous, but impressive.” Blimble grinned. “Ridiculous is my middle name! Well, technically it’s ‘Ezekiel,’ but you get the idea.” The crowd dispersed, still laughing and chattering about the spectacle. Blimble, now alone by the stream, looked around for Ribsy, only to realize the frog had vanished. “Eh, can’t blame him,” Blimble said with a shrug. “I’d probably hop away too.” As he wrung out his hat and started the soggy walk back to his mushroom cottage, Blimble couldn’t help but smile. Sure, he was wet, exhausted, and slightly traumatized by the dragonfly, but he’d done it. He’d turned a ridiculous boast into an even more ridiculous reality—and had the glittery mushroom spores to prove it. “Next time,” he muttered to himself, “I’m riding a squirrel.”    Bring the Fun Home Love the hilarity of Blimble and Ribsy’s wild ride? Bring their whimsical adventure into your life with our exclusive collection of high-quality products featuring this unforgettable scene: Tapestries: Transform your space with the vibrant energy of this whimsical artwork. Wood Prints: Add a rustic touch to your decor while showcasing Blimble’s froggy antics. Puzzles: Relive the fun piece by piece with a challenging and delightful puzzle. Greeting Cards: Share a laugh with friends and family with these charming cards. Start your collection today and let Blimble and Ribsy bring a splash of humor and magic to your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Streamside Shenanigans with the Gnome and Frog

Deep in the heart of the Goldenwood Forest, where the mushrooms glowed like lanterns and butterflies flitted with wings dusted in starlight, a gnome named Gimble Tinklestump was busy planning his next great prank. Known far and wide among the forest folk as the “Giggling Menace,” Gimble had a reputation for creating chaos—and today, his target was none other than Old Tadwick, the grumpiest toad this side of the babbling brook. Perched atop his trusty steed—a massive, lime-green frog named Blep—Gimble adjusted his red hat and grinned. “All right, Blep,” he said, patting the frog’s broad, slippery head. “Let’s give Tadwick something to croak about!” Blep let out a deep, resonant “RIBBIT” and leapt forward, bounding through the forest with the grace of a wet potato. Gimble, clutching the frog’s reins, laughed maniacally as they approached the stream where Old Tadwick held court. The toad, infamous for his booming voice and no-nonsense attitude, was sunbathing on a mossy rock, his warty face set in a permanent scowl. The Setup Gimble and Blep stopped a few paces away, hiding behind a clump of oversized mushrooms. “All right, here’s the plan,” Gimble whispered, leaning down to Blep. “We’re going to convince Tadwick that the forest council voted to make me the new ‘Stream Keeper.’ He’ll lose his warts when he hears that!” Blep blinked slowly, which Gimble interpreted as enthusiastic agreement. Pulling a makeshift “crown” out of his satchel (it was actually a very battered teacup), Gimble hopped off Blep’s back and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle. He then stepped into the clearing with an exaggerated bow. “Greetings, Tadwick the Mighty!” he called out, his voice dripping with mock reverence. Tadwick cracked one beady eye open. “What do you want, Tinklestump?” he growled. “And why are you wearing a teacup?” “Ah, I see you’ve noticed my regal headwear!” Gimble said, puffing out his chest. “I come bearing important news, old friend. The council has decided that I, Gimble Tinklestump, shall be the new Stream Keeper!” Tadwick snorted. “The Stream Keeper? You? Don’t make me laugh.” “It’s true!” Gimble insisted. “As Stream Keeper, it’s my duty to enforce all forest laws. And, uh…” He quickly improvised, “To collect taxes. Yes, taxes! Starting with you, Tadwick.” The Prank Unfolds Tadwick’s eyes narrowed. “Taxes? What nonsense are you spouting now?” “Oh, it’s not nonsense,” Gimble said, trying to keep a straight face. “Blep, bring forth the ‘Official Tax Ledger.’” From behind the mushrooms, Blep hopped into view carrying a large leaf in his mouth. Gimble had scrawled a series of illegible scribbles on it in berry juice, which he now brandished triumphantly. “Behold! The taxes you owe are listed right here. Let’s see… Ah yes, one dozen crickets, three dragonfly wings, and a bottle of swamp juice.” Tadwick sat up straighter, his warty brow furrowing. “This is absurd! I don’t owe you anything!” “Defiance of the Stream Keeper is a serious offense,” Gimble said gravely. “I could have you banished to the Mud Flats!” At this, Blep let out an enormous croak, which Gimble had trained him to do on cue. The sound was so loud it made the nearby butterflies scatter in panic. Tadwick flinched but quickly regained his composure. “You’re bluffing,” he said. “You’re always bluffing, Tinklestump.” “Am I?” Gimble asked, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Blep and said, “Plan B.” Without hesitation, Blep lunged forward, snatched Tadwick’s mossy rock with his sticky tongue, and yanked it into the stream. The sudden splash sent water cascading over Tadwick, drenching him from head to toe. “MY ROCK!” Tadwick bellowed, flailing in the shallow water. “You little pest! Give it back!” “Stream Keeper rules, I’m afraid!” Gimble called out, doubling over with laughter. “All rocks are property of the council now!” The Great Escape Realizing that an enraged Tadwick was now charging toward them, Gimble scrambled back onto Blep’s back. “Time to go!” he shouted, and Blep launched into the air with a mighty leap, clearing the stream in one bound. Tadwick skidded to a halt at the water’s edge, shaking his fist. “You’ll pay for this, Tinklestump!” the toad roared. “Just you wait!” “Add it to my tab!” Gimble yelled over his shoulder, tears of laughter streaming down his face. “And don’t forget to pay your taxes!” As Blep carried him deeper into the forest, Gimble couldn’t stop chuckling. Sure, Tadwick would probably try to retaliate in some hilariously ineffective way, but that was half the fun. For Gimble, life was all about finding the next laugh—and with Blep by his side, the possibilities were endless. “Good work today, Blep,” he said, patting the frog’s head. “Tomorrow, we prank the squirrels.” Blep croaked in agreement, and together, they disappeared into the glowing depths of the Goldenwood, leaving behind a very wet and very grumpy toad.    Bring the Whimsy Home Enjoyed Gimble and Blep's mischievous adventure? Let their antics brighten up your day with stunning products that showcase their hilarious escapade. Check out these magical options: Tapestries: Add a whimsical touch to your walls with this vibrant design. Puzzles: Piece together the laughter with a puzzle that captures the scene's playful spirit. Framed Prints: Perfect for framing Gimble and Blep’s hilarious adventure in your favorite space. Tote Bags: Take the fun wherever you go with a stylish and practical tote. Choose your favorite and let Gimble and Blep’s shenanigans become a part of your daily adventures!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Gnome and the Glittering Dragonfly

Deep in the heart of the enchanted Blackthorn Forest, where mushrooms glow and trees gossip louder than the village blacksmith, lived a gnome named Thimblewick Featherfoot—“Thim” to his friends, if he had any. Thim wasn’t your average gnome. He hated gardening, scoffed at baking pies, and, worst of all, despised mushrooms. Instead, he had a singular obsession: riding dragonflies. Now, riding dragonflies wasn’t exactly encouraged among gnomes. For one, dragonflies were notoriously difficult to saddle. They were also prone to fits of ego if you complimented their wings too much. But Thim had spent years perfecting his craft, whispering sweet nothings to the glimmering insects and bribing them with honeydew and compliments like, "Oh, you magnificent flitter-beast, your wings could shame the stars!" On one fateful morning, as the sunlight filtered through the forest canopy in golden beams, Thim stood at the edge of the babbling Brooklynn Stream. Clad in his finest red hat (with a jaunty tilt, thank you very much) and freshly polished boots, he whistled a jaunty tune. Moments later, his pride and joy descended from the treetops with a dramatic flourish. Her name was Glitterbug—a dragonfly the size of a corgi, with eyes that shimmered like disco balls and wings that refracted light into rainbows. "Ah, my glorious Glitterbug," Thim cooed, adjusting his glasses. "Ready for another daring escapade?" Glitterbug didn’t respond verbally—she wasn’t that kind of dragonfly—but the enthusiastic flap of her wings told him she was game. The Takeoff Strapping on a harness made of enchanted spider silk (don’t ask where he got it), Thim hopped onto Glitterbug’s back with the grace of a potato rolling off a table. “Onward, my majestic steed!” he cried, pointing dramatically toward the horizon. Glitterbug launched into the air, and Thim immediately regretted skipping breakfast. The rush of wind slapped his face, and his stomach did somersaults as they careened over the forest canopy. Below, squirrels paused mid-nut-chew to gawk, and a family of raccoons applauded politely. Thim waved back, feeling like the hero he always knew he was. The ride started smoothly—too smoothly, in fact. As they soared over the Whispering Pines, Thim spotted a flock of pixies having a tea party in the clouds. He tipped his hat to them, but they only glared back. "Oi, Glitterbug!" Thim shouted over the wind. "How about we show those snooty pixies some real aerobatics, eh?" Before Glitterbug could protest (or maybe she was just thrilled by the idea), Thim pulled the reins, and the dragonfly spiraled into a corkscrew maneuver that would have made a hawk jealous. The pixies gasped and spilled their tea. "Gnome!" one shouted. "You’ll pay for that!" "Put it on my tab!" Thim hollered back, laughing so hard he nearly fell off. The Trouble Begins As they soared over the shimmering Moonlit Marshes, things took a turn. A sudden gust of magical wind—likely stirred up by an annoyed wizard with bad aim—sent Glitterbug veering sideways. Thim clung to the reins for dear life, his hat flying off into the marsh below. "My hat!" he yelled, scandalized. "That was limited edition!" Worse still, the gust had brought unwanted company. A flock of Gremlock Crows, infamous for their love of shiny objects, spotted Glitterbug’s iridescent wings and decided they’d like to add her to their collection. "Shoo!" Thim shouted, waving his arms. "She’s not for sale!" But the crows cackled and dove after them like feathery missiles. "Glitterbug, evasive maneuvers!" Thim barked, and the dragonfly obeyed. They looped and zigzagged through the sky, narrowly avoiding the snapping beaks of the greedy birds. At one point, Thim grabbed a stale biscuit from his pocket and hurled it at the crows. "Fetch, you winged hooligans!" It worked, momentarily distracting the flock as they squabbled over the snack. But their relief was short-lived. Just as they escaped the crows, they entered the territory of the dreaded Fangtooth Fishers—giant, airborne fish with glowing eyes and a penchant for anything gnome-sized. The Great Escape "Oh, come on!" Thim groaned as one of the fish lunged at them, its mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. "Why does everything in this forest want to eat me? I’m mostly beard!" Glitterbug darted left, then right, dodging the snapping jaws of the fish with astonishing agility. Thim, meanwhile, rummaged through his bag of tricks. He pulled out a vial of Pixie Dust™ ("Guaranteed to Sparkle") and hurled it at their pursuers. The cloud of glittery powder exploded in a dazzling display, confusing the fish and sending them floundering back into the marsh below. As the dust settled, Glitterbug flew higher, carrying them above the chaos. Thim let out a triumphant laugh, patting his trusty dragonfly on the head. "That’s my girl! We make quite the team, don’t we?" Glitterbug buzzed in agreement—or maybe she was just hungry. A (Mostly) Happy Ending They eventually landed safely back at the Brooklynn Stream, where Thim collapsed onto the mossy ground, utterly exhausted but grinning from ear to ear. "What an adventure, Glitterbug!" he said, reaching for his bag. "Next time, we bring snacks and a helmet. And maybe a flamethrower." Glitterbug gave him a look that clearly said, "Next time? You’re kidding, right?" before fluttering off to rest on a nearby flower. As Thim lay there, staring up at the sky, a passing squirrel dropped his hat onto his chest. "Ah, you magnificent tree rat," Thim murmured. "You’re invited to the victory party." And thus, Thimblewick Featherfoot’s legend grew, cementing his reputation as the gnome who dared to dream big—and occasionally got chased by flying fish. Somewhere, deep in the forest, the pixies were still plotting their revenge. But that, dear reader, is a story for another day.    Bring the Magic Home Love the whimsical world of Thimblewick Featherfoot and Glitterbug? You can now capture the enchantment of their daring adventures with beautifully crafted products inspired by "The Gnome and the Glittering Dragonfly". Perfect as gifts or for adding a touch of fantasy to your daily life, these items are a must-have for any fan of magical tales! Tapestries – Transform any space into an enchanting forest scene with this stunning artwork. Puzzles – Piece together the magic, one puzzle at a time, and relive the adventure! Tote Bags – Carry a bit of whimsy with you wherever you go with these vibrant, practical bags. Metal Prints – Showcase the brilliance of this fantasy tale with high-quality metal prints that capture every dazzling detail. Explore the full collection and bring home a piece of the magic today! Click here to view all available products.

by Bill Tiepelman

Gnome in Chrome at Twilight

Meet Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn—a gnome with a taste for chrome, a heart for mischief, and an unbreakable loyalty to the open road. Grimble wasn’t your typical lawn gnome, no sir. While others spent their days smiling politely at passing squirrels, Grimble had a bigger agenda: causing mayhem across the highways and deserts of Gnomeland. With his black helmet, leather vest, and trademark smirk, he was ready to take on the world—or at least prank it to pieces. The Legend of The Twilight Ride The story begins one fateful evening when Grimble heard tales of an enchanted bar known as "The Toad's Last Sip." This was no ordinary watering hole; it was a place where gnomes went for drinks so strong they’d leave you thinking you could ride a unicorn bareback through a thunderstorm. But more importantly, it was rumored that on this particular night, the bar was hosting the “Twilight Rider’s Challenge,” a legendary bike rally where pranks weren’t just welcomed—they were expected. Grimble’s eyes sparkled under his helmet. “A place where chaos is encouraged? Well, don’t mind if I do!” he chuckled, revving up his chopper, Rusty Thunder, a bike with more chrome than good sense and a growl loud enough to make a cactus shiver. Prank Stop #1: The Cactus Cafe About halfway to the Toad's Last Sip, Grimble came across a small roadside café called the Cactus Cafe. A group of gnomes were sipping espresso and nibbling on tiny biscotti, looking way too calm for Grimble’s liking. He smirked and pulled over, deciding it was high time to “liven” things up. Grimble sauntered in, eyes gleaming with mischief, and ordered a cup of coffee. As the barista turned his back, Grimble casually reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a handful of jumping beans, and dumped them into the sugar jar. Within seconds, pandemonium erupted. Sugar containers hopped off tables, biscotti bounced out of hands, and bewildered gnomes tried (and failed) to catch their rogue coffee additions. Grimble took a slow, satisfied sip of his coffee, watching the chaos unfold with a grin. “Sweetener's got a real kick, huh?” he remarked to a flustered barista before casually strolling out, leaving the café in a state of hopping madness. Prank Stop #2: The Law Gets a Surprise Back on the road, Grimble spotted a familiar figure in his rearview mirror: Officer Bigfoot, the grumpiest gnome cop on the Gnomeland highway. Officer Bigfoot had been trying to catch Grimble in the act for years but had yet to succeed. And today, Grimble was feeling especially cheeky. With a smirk, Grimble reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial labeled "Mystic Smokescreen." He slowed down just enough for Officer Bigfoot to catch up, then cracked open the vial and tossed it behind him. Instantly, a cloud of sparkling purple smoke erupted from his bike, enveloping the road and obscuring everything in a dazzling haze. Officer Bigfoot, blinded by the swirling sparkles, veered off the road, right into a patch of prickly cacti. Grimble chuckled as he heard a faint shout of "MCTHORN!" from somewhere in the purple cloud. He sped up, whistling a merry tune. Another prank, another triumph. The Toad’s Last Sip: Where Pranks Are Made Legend Finally, Grimble arrived at The Toad’s Last Sip, where gnomes from all over had gathered to take part in the Twilight Rider’s Challenge. The bar was a raucous scene, filled with laughter, music, and the smell of questionable mushroom stew. Grimble strode in with a swagger, ready to make his mark. The first prank of the night? A little surprise for the bartenders. Grimble slipped behind the counter and switched out the normal bar snacks for his special “Flame Popcorn,” seasoned with gnome chili powder. Within minutes, unsuspecting patrons were dashing to the bar for water, faces red and eyes wide with shock. “What’s the matter?” Grimble asked with a grin. “Too hot to handle?” He tipped his helmet at the bartender, who was laughing too hard to care. One Last Ride As midnight approached, Grimble decided it was time for his grand finale. He’d heard whispers about the “Ancient Troll’s Tankard”—a massive stein that was said to bestow legendary strength on any gnome who dared to drink from it. Naturally, Grimble saw it as an opportunity to have a little fun. With a wink to the crowd, he climbed atop the bar, raised the tankard high, and poured the entire thing over himself, letting the mystical brew drench his helmet and jacket. For a moment, the crowd was silent, watching in awe. Then, with a bellow, Grimble flexed his tiny arms and roared, “I AM THE MIGHTIEST GNOME ALIVE!” The crowd erupted in laughter and applause as he flexed his “muscles” and struck ridiculous poses. Just as he was about to take his bow, he heard a familiar shout from the doorway. “GRIMBLE MCTHORN!” It was Officer Bigfoot, covered in cactus needles and looking madder than a troll with a stubbed toe. Grimble grinned, tossed the tankard to the bartender, and yelled, “Sorry, Officer! Looks like the road’s calling!” He hopped onto Rusty Thunder, revved the engine, and tore out of the bar, leaving a trail of laughter, cheers, and one very furious cop in his wake. The Legend Lives On As Grimble sped off into the sunrise, the patrons of The Toad’s Last Sip raised their glasses in a toast to the most mischievous gnome on the road. And thus, the legend of Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn grew—a tale of pranks, rebellion, and a gnome’s unquenchable thirst for chaos. The End (Or perhaps, just the beginning of another ride)    Bring Grimble’s Mischievous Spirit Home If you love Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn’s wild, prank-filled journey, bring a piece of his rebellious spirit to your space! The artwork "Gnome in Chrome at Twilight" by Bill and Linda Tiepelman is available in various formats that perfectly capture the humor and adventure of this gnome on the open road. Check out these exclusive options: Tapestry - Transform any wall into a backdrop of adventure with this vivid tapestry, perfect for bringing Grimble’s spirit into your home. Metal Print - Add a modern touch to your decor with this high-quality metal print, showcasing the gleaming chrome details of Grimble’s bike. Puzzle - Relive Grimble’s escapades piece by piece with this fun and challenging puzzle, perfect for fans of whimsy and adventure. Wood Print - Embrace a rustic look with this wood print, bringing warmth and character to your walls with Grimble’s unforgettable twilight ride. Let Grimble remind you every day that life is best lived with a little mischief and a whole lot of adventure!

by Bill Tiepelman

Gnome on a Chrome Crusade

In a world too small for his ambitions and too mundane for his taste, a gnome named Rufus "Rusty" Ironbeard decided to hit the open road. No longer content with the daily grind of garden duties and pond-watching, he strapped on his black helmet, threw on a worn leather vest over his plaid shirt, and revved up his custom chopper—an impressive chrome-adorned machine that sparkled in the sunset. Rusty was no ordinary garden gnome. No ceramic smile or fishing pole for this guy. He was a rebel, a wanderer, and, quite frankly, a bit of a troublemaker. Known in the gnome community as "that guy with the attitude," Rusty had a history of defying the norms. And now, with a sunset ablaze on the horizon, he was about to embark on his biggest escapade yet—a wild ride to the mythical bar known as "The Gnome's Last Call," said to serve brews potent enough to knock a dwarf off his stool. The Open Road (Or as Gnomes Call It, the "Tiny Highway") As Rusty sped down the highway, the desert stretching out on either side of him, he felt a thrill he'd never experienced before. With each mile, he grew bolder, flipping off cacti and honking his tiny horn at bewildered lizards sunbathing on the asphalt. A gang of fellow gnomes on bikes joined him along the way, their miniature motors roaring and their beards flying in the wind. “Alright, boys!” Rusty shouted over the sound of their engines, “Tonight, we drink like trolls and sing louder than banshees!” The other gnomes raised their fists, cheering in unison, their voices like a pint-sized thunder. A Slight Detour: The Law Gets Involved Of course, no good gnome adventure is complete without a little run-in with the law. As Rusty and his crew tore through the desert, they failed to notice the flicker of red and blue lights flashing in the distance. Soon, the shrill sound of a police siren filled the air. A human cop on a ridiculously oversized motorcycle pulled up beside Rusty, his face a mix of confusion and annoyance as he squinted down at the posse of tiny bikers zooming along the road. “You little…gnomes?!” the cop stammered, not quite believing his eyes. Rusty, never one to miss an opportunity for mischief, grinned up at the officer and gave him a thumbs-up. “Aye, Officer Big Pants, just a couple of gnomes out for a scenic ride. What’s the problem?” Rusty asked, as innocently as a leather-clad gnome could manage. The cop sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t even know where to start. But you’re going 20 in a 65. That’s not exactly…efficient.” Rusty cackled. “Efficiency is overrated, mate. It’s about the journey, not the speed!” With that, he revved his engine, spit out a wad of sunflower seed shells at the cop’s feet, and sped off, leaving the officer bewildered and probably wondering if he’d had too much coffee that day. The Gnome’s Last Call Eventually, after countless dusty miles and one particularly impressive detour involving a questionable roadside burrito stand, Rusty and his crew arrived at The Gnome’s Last Call. The bar was everything they’d dreamed it would be—a cozy, dimly lit hole in the wall, tucked into the shadow of a massive boulder and illuminated by the glow of neon mushrooms outside. Rusty kicked open the door (well, he tried—it was a heavy door for a gnome, and after a few tries, he managed to nudge it open enough to slip inside). The smell of ale, herbs, and grilled mushrooms filled the air, and the place was packed with rowdy gnomes, dwarves, and the occasional goblin. They strolled up to the bar, where a grizzled gnome bartender with a scar across one eye greeted them. “What’ll it be, boys?” he growled. Rusty grinned. “The strongest brew you’ve got. We’re here to drink ‘til we can’t tell an elf from a cactus!” The bartender chuckled, reaching below the bar and pulling out a dusty bottle labeled “Granny’s Doom Brew.” Rusty eyed the bottle suspiciously. “What’s in that?” “You don’t wanna know, kid. Let’s just say it’s got a kick,” the bartender replied, pouring the thick, bubbling liquid into shot glasses no bigger than thimbles. With a smirk, Rusty raised his glass. “To gnomes on the road! May our beards stay wild and our bikes stay shiny!” The gnomes clinked their tiny glasses together and downed the brew. Instantly, Rusty’s eyes went wide, and his vision blurred as the potent drink worked its magic. “That’s… that’s some strong stuff,” he gasped, holding onto the bar for support as the room started to spin. One Last Ride When the sun rose the next morning, Rusty and his gang stumbled out of The Gnome’s Last Call, clutching their aching heads but laughing at the wild night they’d survived. Stories were shared, exaggerated, and completely fabricated as they prepared for the ride home. “Reckon I might retire after this one,” Rusty joked, slapping one of his friends on the back. “Find myself a nice garden to settle down in. Maybe plant a few daisies, flirt with a mushroom or two.” But as they rode off into the sunrise, he knew that was a lie. The call of the open road was too strong, the thrill of the unknown too intoxicating. Rusty was a gnome on a chrome crusade, and nothing—not cops, cactus stings, or even Granny’s Doom Brew—was going to change that. The End (or, as Rusty would say, “Just another stop on the ride”).     Join the Chrome Crusade – Limited Edition Prints Available If Rusty Ironbeard's daring road adventure speaks to your rebellious spirit, you can bring a piece of his journey home! This image, "Gnome on a Chrome Crusade", is available in our archive as a limited edition print, perfect for adding a touch of humor and adventure to your space. Discover it along with other unique pieces in our Image Archive. From prints to high-quality downloads, let Rusty remind you that life’s greatest adventures start on the open road—whether you're a gnome or not!

by Bill Tiepelman

Tiny Rebel in a Big World

Once upon a time, in a desert much too big for his boots, there was a gnome who went by the name of Grog Thistlebeard. Grog wasn’t your average garden-variety gnome, happy to stand guard over tulips and wave at butterflies. Oh no—Grog had a leather jacket, a custom-painted motorcycle, and a serious thirst for adventure. One evening, as the sun sank behind the rolling desert dunes, casting the sky in hues of fiery orange and purple, Grog adjusted his belt, gave his mustache a final twirl, and revved up his ride—a gleaming motorcycle he lovingly called "Rustbucket." It was anything but rusty, but Grog thought the name gave it character. His mission? To ride from the sandy flats of Cactusville all the way to a mystical place known only as the Big Rock. No one was entirely sure what the Big Rock was, but Grog had heard whispers that it was actually a gigantic cheese wheel left behind by an ancient clan of desert mice. The Road Less Graveled Grog kicked his bike into gear and shot off across the desert, his beard streaming like a wild banner behind him. The desert critters—lizards, jackrabbits, and tumbleweeds—watched in awe as the tiny gnome rocketed past. He had barely hit top speed when he encountered his first obstacle: a cactus. Not just any cactus—this one was big, mean, and had a scowl on its face (or so Grog imagined). “Oi! Watch the spikes, mate!” Grog yelled as he swerved around the prickly beast. “Almost took my beard clean off!” The cactus didn’t respond (as cactuses generally don’t), but it stood as a silent reminder that the desert was full of surprises. As he sped off, Grog muttered, “This whole 'wide open spaces' thing is a bit overrated if you ask me.” A Gnome, a Hawk, and a Borrowed Hat About an hour into his journey, Grog noticed a shadow circling overhead. It was a hawk, and it didn’t look friendly. The bird, seemingly intrigued by Grog’s shiny ride and crimson hat, began to swoop lower and lower. “Back off, featherbrain!” Grog shouted, waving his fist at the sky. But the hawk wasn’t deterred. With a screech, it made a dive straight for him. In a heroic act of self-preservation, Grog took off his hat and threw it as a decoy. The hawk snatched the hat and soared off, leaving Grog safe but slightly miffed. “Great. Now I’ll be the only gnome in the land without a proper pointy hat,” he grumbled, vowing to retrieve it on the way back. “Or find an even pointier one. A rebel doesn’t follow fashion rules anyway.” The Mystery of the Big Rock As dusk settled over the desert, Grog spotted a shape on the horizon. It was the Big Rock—or, as the rumors had it, the Big Cheese. With newfound excitement, he pushed Rustbucket to its limits, the bike rattling and roaring across the sand. Finally, he skidded to a halt in front of his destination. There, standing magnificently against the twilight sky, was the Big Rock. And Grog had to admit, it did indeed look somewhat…cheesy. “Could it be?” he whispered to himself, licking his lips in hopeful anticipation. Clambering off his bike, Grog strode up to the massive boulder, pulled out his trusty knife, and gave it a tentative scratch-and-sniff. His nose wrinkled in disappointment. “Just a rock, not even a whiff of cheddar,” he sighed. “Blasted desert legends. I should’ve known.” Return of the Pointy Hat As he prepared for the long ride home, Grog’s keen eyes caught sight of a glint of red on a nearby cactus branch. There it was—his hat! The hawk had evidently decided it wasn’t as delicious as it looked and had dropped it en route. Grinning, Grog retrieved the hat, dusted it off, and plopped it back on his head. “Ah, much better,” he said, striking a victorious pose. “Now, let’s ride home and tell the gang about how I faced down hawks, cacti, and the legendary Big Rock.” Back to the Garden (With a Few Tall Tales) By the time Grog rolled back into Cactusville, the desert was bathed in moonlight, and his fellow garden gnomes had gathered to hear his story. Grog took a deep breath and began weaving a tale of peril, adventure, and bravery that grew more exaggerated with every word. “...and that’s when the hawk swooped down, eyes like fiery coals, talons as sharp as dragon’s teeth, and I wrestled it barehanded right out of the sky!” he boasted. His audience gasped in awe, even though most of them suspected that Grog’s stories were about as real as the Big Cheese. But that didn’t matter. Grog Thistlebeard was a tiny rebel in a big world, and every adventure—whether real or slightly embellished—was another badge of honor. As he finished his tale, Grog tipped his hat and took a bow, feeling every bit the hero he believed himself to be. The End (Or, as Grog would say, “Just the Beginning”)    Bring Grog’s Adventure Home If you’re inspired by Grog Thistlebeard’s epic journey and want to keep his adventurous spirit close by, check out our exclusive products featuring the artwork "Tiny Rebel in a Big World" by Bill and Linda Tiepelman. Perfect for anyone with a taste for adventure and a love for whimsical art, these pieces bring Grog’s daring escapades right into your home: Throw Pillow - Add a dash of rebel spirit to your sofa with this cozy and colorful pillow. Tapestry - Transform any wall into a statement of adventure with this stunning tapestry. Canvas Print - Bring Grog’s desert journey to life with a high-quality canvas print, perfect for any space in need of a little boldness. Puzzle - Piece together the gnome’s adventure with this fun and challenging puzzle, great for fans of both fantasy and games. Let Grog’s courage and charm remind you every day that life is one big adventure—just waiting to be explored.

by Bill Tiepelman

Tranquil Toadstool Tavern

Deep in the heart of the Old Widdershins Woods, where the cell service was nonexistent, and the mushrooms grew big enough to warrant their own zip code, there was a spot few humans had ever laid eyes on. It was neither a pub nor a picnic area but something far more mysterious and slightly questionable: the Tranquil Toadstool Tavern. Its bartender? A gnome named Garvin, though his friends called him "Garvin the Gnarly" due to his propensity for dispensing unsolicited advice with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Garvin didn’t much care for adventurers, and he really didn’t care for tourists who stumbled into the forest in search of “authentic gnome experiences.” He’d seen enough neon-t-shirted hikers poking at moss with selfie sticks to develop a permanent eye twitch. So, on the rare day a human stumbled upon his spot, Garvin usually hid in the bushes. But today, he was exhausted. A Sip of Solitude Wearing his favorite moss-lined hat (which doubled as camouflage for napping), Garvin settled onto his favorite mushroom stool, grabbed his Corona Extra, and sighed. Finally, he was alone. No bothersome trolls hawking “enchanted rock carvings.” No elves with their lute-playing and glitter-shedding. Just him, his beer, and the comforting smell of damp forest floor. “Here’s to peace and quiet,” he muttered, tipping his Corona in a toast to absolutely no one. The bottle was almost as tall as his torso, and it took both hands to keep it steady. But he didn’t mind—it was a small price to pay for tranquility. Enter the Unwanted Company Just as he took his first, refreshing swig, a loud rustling erupted from the undergrowth. He spat out a mouthful of beer. “Oh, for the love of fungus. Can’t a gnome get a moment to himself?” A squirrel the size of a large house cat—furry, overfed, and glaring—sauntered over, sniffing the air. It was Poppy, the unofficial tavern pest and a bit of a freeloader. She always knew when Garvin cracked open a beer, and she had the audacity to judge him for it. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” she chittered, nose twitching with disapproval. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Garvin shot back, rolling his eyes. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be hoarding acorns or whatever it is you oversized rodents do?” “First of all, I’m a squirrel, not a rodent,” Poppy said, standing on her hind legs, looking indignant. “Second, I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have the local humans thinking all forest creatures are lazy drunkards.” “You’re lecturing me on reputations?” Garvin scoffed, gesturing to Poppy’s expanding waistline. “Anyway, this is my break. Just me, my beer, and absolutely no small talk.” “You’re doing an excellent job at it,” she retorted, before scurrying off in a huff. The Arrival of the Toadstool Regulars As Garvin raised his bottle again, the usual cast of woodland misfits ambled into view. First, there was Cedric, the fox who considered himself a sommelier, though his idea of “fine wine” was any liquid that didn’t outright poison him. Then came Elowen, the owl who had convinced herself she was a poet despite her only two topics of expertise being night and rodents. “What’s that, Garv? Corona again?” Cedric asked with a smirk, sniffing the air. “I’d have thought a worldly gnome like you would go for something more refined.” “It’s a classic!” Garvin grumbled. “Not all of us are born with taste buds that can detect notes of oak and pretentiousness.” “You could at least squeeze a lime in it, dear,” Elowen cooed, perched on a low branch, feathers rustling with amusement. “A little citrus, a little panache, you know?” “Lime? This is beer, not some alchemist’s elixir!” Garvin grunted, taking another sip. “Besides, I don’t see either of you bringing anything to share.” They both looked at each other, slightly embarrassed. Cedric muttered something about a “wine shortage” while Elowen claimed she was “saving her inspiration” for a reading that night. The Buzzkill Bunny Just as Garvin thought his suffering was complete, yet another figure appeared: Bernie the Rabbit. A self-appointed health coach, Bernie’s entire personality could be summed up in two words: unsolicited advice. “Garvin!” Bernie hopped over, looking mortified at the beer. “You know alcohol isn’t good for you, right? It dehydrates and ages you.” Garvin stared at the bottle, then looked at Bernie, raising an eyebrow. “Bernie, I’m a hundred and fifty-seven years old and have been drinking since before you were a dust bunny. I think I’ll be fine.” Bernie frowned, twitching his nose with exaggerated concern. “Maybe switch to kombucha? I hear it’s all the rage with forest influencers.” Garvin gave him a withering look. “Let me make this clear, carrot-muncher: I’m not switching to kombucha. If I wanted to drink fermented swamp water, I’d visit the bog witch.” “Suit yourself,” Bernie shrugged, hopping away with an air of judgment so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. A Moment of (Finally) Peace At last, the critters dispersed, leaving Garvin alone once more. He took a final, savoring sip, enjoying the earthy quiet that enveloped him. The soft glow of the sun filtered through the leaves, casting an almost magical light over the forest floor. “Ahhh,” he sighed, content. “There’s nothing quite like a cold one and some quiet.” Then, from somewhere in the forest, he heard an unmistakable rustle, followed by a voice shouting, “Hey! I think I see a gnome! Quick, get the camera!” Garvin’s eyes widened as he pulled his hat low over his face, muttering, “Nope. I’m done. Forest’s closed. Everyone go home.” And with one swift motion, he slipped behind the largest toadstool, blending seamlessly into the mossy undergrowth, determined to preserve his peace—even if it meant playing hide-and-seek with every selfie-stick wielding intruder until winter. Some days, being a gnome wasn’t easy. But Garvin wouldn’t trade his little corner of the woods for all the kombucha in the kingdom.    Bring a Bit of Gnome Magic Home If Garvin's woodland sanctuary speaks to your heart, why not bring a little "Tranquil Toadstool Tavern" magic into your own space? We’ve got a cozy collection of products featuring this whimsical scene, perfect for gnome lovers and forest dreamers alike: Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Tapestry - Transform any wall into a gnome’s retreat with this vibrant tapestry that brings the forest right to your home. Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Puzzle - Piece together this cozy scene, one mushroom and mossy detail at a time. Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Wood Print - Add a rustic touch to your decor with this print on wood, perfect for any nature-inspired space. Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Beach Towel - Bring a bit of the forest with you to the beach or poolside! And for true gnome aficionados, don’t miss our brand new 2025 "My Gnomies" Calendar. It's packed with charming gnome scenes to keep you company all year long. After all, Garvin may need his peace and quiet, but your walls could use a bit of that gnome magic!

by Bill Tiepelman

Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon

Deep in the heart of the Widdershins Woods, where even the bravest adventurers dared not tread (mostly because the gnomes had lousy hygiene), lived a bearded gnome named Grimble Stumbletoe. Grimble was infamous for two things: his crass sense of humor and his inexplicably loyal companion, a pint-sized dragon named Sizzle. Together, they were the stuff of tavern tales, mostly told by those who’d had one too many and enjoyed a good laugh at Grimble's questionable antics. The Introduction of Sizzle Now, Sizzle wasn’t your average dragon. He was barely the size of a large cat and looked more like someone had stuck wings on a grumpy lizard. When Grimble first found him, curled up under a toadstool in the early hours of the morning, the gnome’s first words were, “Well, aren’t you an ugly little bugger?” To which Sizzle responded by promptly setting his beard on fire. “Ah, he’s got spirit,” Grimble cackled as he smothered the flames with a slap of his grubby hand. “I like ya already, you little menace.” And thus began the start of a beautiful, if somewhat volatile, friendship. Grimble’s Daily Routines (Or Lack Thereof) Each morning, Grimble would saunter out of his hollowed-out tree, scratch his beard, and take a deep, satisfied breath of the forest air. “Ah, smell that, Sizzle! Smells like freedom. And possibly a dead raccoon.” He’d then look down at Sizzle, who would nod with a solemn understanding, as if to say, “I too, smell the raccoon, Grimble.” For breakfast, Grimble favored a diet of mushrooms, stale bread, and whatever he could scrounge from the woodland creatures, who were less than willing to share. “Oi, squirrel, that’s mine!” he’d yell, occasionally hurling a pebble at a furry thief. Sizzle, meanwhile, would practice his fire-spitting skills, toasting bugs and once nearly incinerating Grimble’s hat. “Careful there, you fire-breathing gecko!” Grimble would say, shaking his finger. “You char my favorite hat again, and it’s roasted squirrel for dinner.” Encounters in the Forest One fine afternoon, as they strolled through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth, they encountered a lost adventurer—a young man in shiny armor, looking as fresh as a daisy and about as clueless as one, too. “Excuse me, sir,” the young man stammered, “have you seen the path to the Great Elven Temple?” Grimble eyed him with a wry grin, then leaned in close, a bit too close for comfort. “Elven Temple? Oh sure, it’s right over that hill. Just mind the goblin nests, the troll dung, and the occasional trap set by yours truly.” He winked. “Might take a while, though. So, unless you fancy an evening spent picking rocks out of yer backside, I’d suggest you turn around.” “I-I’ll keep that in mind,” the adventurer replied, pale and visibly unnerved as he backed away. Once he was out of earshot, Grimble chuckled, “Bloody do-gooders. Always thinkin’ they’re about to save the world or some such nonsense.” Sizzle let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Evening Shenanigans As dusk fell, Grimble and Sizzle would set up camp. Grimble, who prided himself on being “one with nature” (mostly because he was too lazy to build a proper shelter), would lie back on a patch of moss and settle in for the night, regaling Sizzle with tales of his “glorious past.” “I once held off an entire pack of wolves with nothing but a pointy stick!” he boasted, making grand gestures. “Mind you, they were about as big as yer average rabbit, but wolves is wolves, right?” Sizzle, unimpressed, would snort a little puff of flame. He had a habit of turning his head as if rolling his eyes, which only encouraged Grimble to embellish further. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. And anyway, you’re no saint, ya little fire-bellied troublemaker. Remember last week when you burnt down old Miss Frumpel’s toadstool cottage?” Sizzle looked away, feigning innocence, while Grimble chuckled. “Aye, she deserved it though, always waggin’ her finger at me, tellin’ me to ‘watch my language.’ If I wanted a lecture, I’d talk to the damn owls!” Grimble’s “Heroic” Deeds One night, a commotion arose from the nearby grove. There was shouting, the clash of metal, and the unmistakable thud of something heavy crashing into a tree. “Adventure calls, Sizzle!” Grimble whispered with an overly dramatic flair, pulling his rusted dagger from his belt. “Let’s see if there’s a few coins to be made out of this mess.” They slunk through the underbrush until they found the source: a band of goblins arguing over a pile of glittering loot. “Oi!” Grimble yelled, striding out from the bushes. “Didn’t yer mothers teach ya not to make such a racket?” The goblins froze, staring at the odd pair. Grimble’s unimpressive stature and Sizzle’s miniature size made for a ridiculous sight, but Grimble was undeterred. “Now, I’ll be takin’ that shiny stuff there, and if ya make it easy, I won’t set my dragon on ya. He’s a vicious beast, see?” At that, Sizzle let out a tiny roar, barely a squeak, which only made Grimble snicker. The goblins, however, weren’t amused. With a series of hisses and snarls, they lunged. The Grand Battle (Sort Of) It was pure chaos. Goblins shrieked, Sizzle spat tiny spurts of flame, and Grimble dodged like a drunken acrobat, yelling insults at anyone who came near. “You call that a swing, you sorry excuse for a potato!” he bellowed, ducking under a goblin’s club. “My gran fights better than you, and she’s been dead three decades!” In the end, Sizzle managed to ignite a few well-placed bushes, which startled the goblins into fleeing. Grimble, panting and looking far more triumphant than he had any right to, picked up a shiny coin and spat on it to polish it. “Aye, well fought, Sizzle,” he said with a nod. “They’ll be singin’ tales of this day for sure. ‘Grimble the Bold and his Mighty Dragon,’ they’ll call it!” Sizzle tilted his head, clearly skeptical, but Grimble ignored him, pocketing a handful of the goblins’ abandoned loot with a gleeful grin. The Journey Continues The next morning, Grimble and Sizzle set off once more, as they always did, with no particular destination in mind. “So, Sizzle,” Grimble mused, “what d’you reckon we’ll find today? Perhaps a damsel in distress? Or maybe some rich fool wanderin’ through the woods, just beggin’ to lose his purse?” Sizzle gave him a sideways glance, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils as if to say, “Or maybe you’ll just get us into more trouble.” Grimble chuckled, ruffling the little dragon’s scales. “Ah, trouble’s what keeps life interestin’, eh?” With a skip and a swagger, he strolled off into the forest, the laughter of a grumpy old gnome and the tiny roars of his loyal dragon echoing through the woods. And so they wandered on, the crassest, funniest, most mismatched duo in all of Widdershins Woods, much to the terror—and amusement—of everyone they met.    Bring Grimble and Sizzle Home If Grimble's antics and Sizzle's fiery spirit brought a smile to your face, why not bring a piece of their adventure home? This delightfully mischievous duo is available on a range of high-quality products that will add a dash of whimsical charm to any space. Check out these Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon products, perfect for fantasy lovers and humor enthusiasts alike: Jigsaw Puzzle - Get lost in Grimble’s world piece by piece. Tapestry - Transform your wall into the heart of Widdershins Woods with this vibrant tapestry. Canvas Print - Perfect for any room that could use a bit of fantasy flair. Throw Pillow - Cozy up with Grimble and Sizzle’s hilarious companionship. Whether you’re a fan of gnomish humor or just love the idea of a dragon the size of a cat, these products let you bring a little bit of Widdershins Woods into your everyday life. Because, after all, who couldn't use a bit more magic and mischief?

by Bill Tiepelman

Cheeky Forest Dwellers

Interview with the Cheeky Forest Dwellers Welcome to a very special (and chaotic) interview with two of the forest’s most infamous troublemakers. We sat down with the delightful duo, Hank and Gertie, to hear about life, love, and why they refuse to act their age. Warning: this interview contains snark, sass, and mushroom-infused moonshine. Interview Highlights Interviewer: So, Hank and Gertie, thanks for sitting down with us today! You two are quite the pair. How long have you been… uh, “together”? Hank: Together? Ha! She’s been stuck with me since the Summer of ’834. Just sorta latched on like a barnacle on a troll's backside. Gertie: Oh, please. If I’m a barnacle, then you’re the sea slug I’m stuck on. He wooed me with a wilted dandelion bouquet and the promise of free mushroom stew. Real charmer, this one. --- Interviewer: Wow, quite the romantic beginning! So, what’s kept you two together for… checks notes… over a thousand years? Gertie: It’s simple. I keep him around ‘cause he knows how to build a good fire and he’s got a high tolerance for my cooking. And because he’s too slow to run away. Hank: And I stick with her ‘cause she laughs at all my jokes, even the bad ones. Plus, she’s handy with a slingshot when the squirrels get cheeky. Gertie: True. Nothing says romance like warding off a squirrel invasion together. They don’t tell you that in fairy tales. --- Interviewer: Speaking of squirrels… you two have a bit of a reputation in the forest. Care to comment on all the mischief? Hank: Mischief? Us? Look, if we’re not keeping things lively, the place would be dull as dirt. Someone’s gotta keep these mushrooms on their toes. Gertie: Exactly. Life’s short, even for us gnomes. Might as well spend it playing tricks, throwing pine cones, and generally causing a ruckus. Keeps us young. Hank: Besides, we’re practically celebrities ‘round here. The pixies tell legends about us! "The Great Gnome Fart Fiasco of ’976”—ever heard of it? Gertie: *rolls eyes* Let’s not get into that one. We nearly got banished for a year after that stunt. --- Interviewer: I can’t believe I’m asking this, but any relationship advice for the young gnomes out there? Gertie: Sure. Find someone who doesn’t mind that you snore like a bear or that your idea of a bath is wading through a mud puddle once a month. Hank: And someone who can handle your… “unique talents.” Like her mushroom casserole. Tastes like dirt, but you won’t hear me complainin’—mostly because she’d whack me with her ladle. Gertie: That’s the spirit. Just remember, kids, love is all about tolerance. And sometimes a good dose of blindfolds and nose plugs. --- Interviewer: One last question—what’s the secret to staying so… lively? Hank: Easy! A nip of mossy moonshine every morning and a solid diet of insults. Keeps the blood pumpin’ and the heart rate high. Gertie: And don’t take life too seriously. If you can’t laugh at yourself, find someone else to laugh at. Like Hank here. He’s got a face only a blind troll could love. Hank: And she’s got a laugh that could wake the dead. But that’s love, ain’t it? Gertie: *grins* I guess so. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a mushroom hunt to get to. And a few squirrels who could use a good scare. With that, the Cheeky Forest Dwellers stomped off, arm in arm, leaving behind only the faint scent of mushroom stew and an echo of mischievous laughter. --- The Secret to Cheeky Love For all their crassness, Hank and Gertie’s long-lived love reminds us that a little snark, a lot of laughs, and a mutual appreciation for mischief may just be the recipe for happily-ever-after… in gnome years, anyway. The (Unlikely) Tale of How Hank and Gertie Met Long before they were the most infamous pranksters of the forest, Hank and Gertie were just two solitary gnomes with reputations for causing trouble in their own unique ways. Here’s the (mostly true) tale of how these two stubborn souls first crossed paths… The Festival of the Fungi It was during the annual Festival of the Fungi—a legendary event held in the deepest part of the enchanted forest. Gnomes, pixies, and critters from all over gathered to celebrate the wonders of wild mushrooms. There was food, music, mushroom-flavored moonshine, and, of course, plenty of mischief. Hank, already a well-known menace, was in his element. He’d spent the whole evening challenging other gnomes to drinking contests and trying to steal hats off the heads of every passing pixie. With his long beard and his wild laugh echoing through the forest, he was hard to miss. Gertie, meanwhile, had come for the mushrooms. She wasn’t interested in festivities or flirtations—she was there on a mission. She had a particular fondness for the rare Glowcap Shroom, which only appeared once a century. Unfortunately for her, the Glowcap patch was surrounded by rowdy gnomes, with none other than Hank smack in the middle, drunkenly challenging anyone who crossed his path. The (Not So) Meet-Cute Gertie rolled her eyes and waded through the chaos, determined to reach her prized mushrooms. Just as she stretched her hand toward a perfect Glowcap, Hank lurched forward and stepped on it, squashing the shroom under his big muddy boot. Gertie: Hey! You big oaf! That was the rarest shroom in the forest! Hank: *looks down, grinning* Whoops. Didn’t see it there. Maybe if you got a pair o’ spectacles, you’d find a shroom without trippin’ over your own feet. Gertie: Tripping over my own feet? I’ve half a mind to wallop you with my basket! Hank: Go ahead, sweetheart. Bet you couldn’t knock over a feather if you tried. And that was all it took. In an instant, Gertie had grabbed her basket, wound up, and whacked Hank squarely across the beard. The slap echoed through the forest, stopping the music and drawing the attention of every gnome, pixie, and squirrel nearby. Hank: *laughing* Feisty one, aren’t ya? I think I like you! Gertie: *glaring* Well, I don’t like you! And I’d like you even less if you keep squashing mushrooms under your clumsy feet. A Prank War Begins Hank, being the foolhardy gnome he was, saw this as a challenge. For the rest of the festival, he followed Gertie around, pulling every prank he could think of. He’d hide her basket, replace her mushroom samples with rocks, and even sprinkle itching powder on her hat. Gertie, far from backing down, retaliated in kind. She “accidentally” spilled mushroom stew on his boots, planted stinkweed in his path, and once even put a toad in his bedroll. By the end of the festival, both of them were exhausted, filthy, and still arguing. But there was something neither of them could ignore—beneath all the insults and pranks, they’d started to enjoy each other’s company. Somewhere between the mushroom stew mishap and the toad incident, a strange, grudging respect had blossomed. A Strange Proposal As the Festival of the Fungi wound down, Hank turned to Gertie, grinning his signature, lopsided grin. Hank: Tell ya what, Gertie. How ‘bout we keep this going? I could use a lady with a mean swing and a taste for mischief. Gertie: *scoffs* Only if you promise not to squash any more Glowcaps under those big, clumsy feet of yours. Hank: Deal. Long as you promise not to hit me with that basket again. Hard enough being a gnome without a concussion. And just like that, they struck a deal—a partnership in chaos, a truce between pranksters, and, perhaps, the beginning of something resembling love. They’d argue, prank, and torment each other for centuries to come, bound together by a shared love of mischief and a mutual refusal to act their age. And that’s how Hank and Gertie, the Cheeky Forest Dwellers, met—over a squashed Glowcap and a mutual willingness to annoy each other for the rest of their very long lives. Bring the Cheeky Forest Dwellers Home! If you’ve fallen for the mischievous charm of Hank and Gertie, why not invite a little of their cheeky spirit into your own space? Our Cheeky Forest Dwellers Collection captures all the humor, sass, and rustic whimsy of this unforgettable duo. Perfect for anyone who loves a good laugh and a touch of woodland magic! Tapestry – Add a bold touch of gnome mischief to any wall with our vibrant tapestry, perfect for bringing a slice of enchanted forest into your home. Framed Print – Capture Hank and Gertie’s timeless snark in a beautifully framed print, ideal for those who appreciate a bit of character in their decor Jigsaw Puzzle – Piece together the charm of this dynamic duo with a puzzle that’s as fun and quirky as they are. A perfect gift for gnome lovers and puzzle enthusiasts alike! Tote Bag – Carry a bit of cheeky charm wherever you go with this sturdy tote, featuring Hank and Gertie’s unforgettable expressions. Embrace the magic, humor, and pure cheekiness of the forest’s most famous gnome couple! Check out the full collection here.

by Bill Tiepelman

Splashing in Magic Waters

Deep in the heart of the enchanted autumn woods, where the leaves were ablaze in shades of red and gold, there lived a gnome named Gribble. Now, Gribble wasn’t your average, everyday garden-variety gnome. No, no. He was as mischievous as they came, with a snicker that could make the trees blush and a wit sharper than the blade he never actually used. Let’s be honest, Gribble was more about fun than work. And then there was Sprout. Ah, Sprout—his pint-sized dragon companion. Sprout was... well, "adorably chaotic" is a good way to put it. With wings too big for his body and a tendency to hiccup smoke rings, he was like a flying toddler with an attitude. Together, they were a walking (or flying) disaster, but in the most entertaining way possible. One crisp autumn afternoon, Gribble and Sprout were on a stroll through the forest, not looking for trouble (which meant trouble was definitely going to find them). They came upon a stream, the water clear and cold, reflecting the fiery canopy of leaves above. Gribble, always up for a bit of nonsense, decided this was the perfect time for a break from ‘important gnome business.’ And by that, he meant absolutely nothing productive. The Plan (or Lack Thereof) "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said, rubbing his hands together, eyes gleaming with glee. "Time for a bath!" Now, dragons don’t traditionally love water, but Sprout, with his unpredictable baby brain, decided today was the day he’d be an exception. With a high-pitched squeal that sounded like a kettle about to blow, he launched himself into the stream, flapping his tiny wings and spraying water everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean all over Gribble’s face. "Ah! You soggy little lizard!" Gribble sputtered, wiping his beard, which now looked more like a soaked mop than the dignified tangle it usually was. "I said you take a bath, not me!" Sprout, of course, was far too busy splashing and blowing little fire-bubbles to listen. Every few seconds, the dragon would hiccup, sending out a spark of flame that turned into harmless bubbles in the cool air. A bubble popped on Gribble’s nose, and he couldn’t help but snort in amusement. The little pest was too cute to stay mad at for long. The Splash War Begins "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said with a wicked grin, rolling up his sleeves. "If it’s a splash war you want, it’s a splash war you’ll get!" He leapt into the stream with all the grace of a rock tied to an anvil. Water exploded in all directions as the gnome belly-flopped into the shallow creek, sending waves cascading over the unsuspecting Sprout, who immediately retaliated with a gust of wing-flapping and shrill giggles. Gnomes weren’t exactly known for their swimming abilities, but Gribble didn’t care. He was having the time of his life. And so it went, back and forth, with Gribble laughing like a madman and Sprout trying his best to drown him in two inches of water. To any casual observer, it looked like a full-blown riot had broken out between a miniature dragon and an overgrown garden ornament. And to be fair, that’s not too far off the mark. "You call that a splash?" Gribble bellowed, swiping a wave toward Sprout, who ducked and responded with an expertly timed tail-flick that sent water straight into Gribble’s open mouth. "Gah! You slimy little..." Gribble sputtered again, but his laughter was louder than his complaints. He could’ve sworn Sprout was actually smirking at him. Cheeky lizard. Serenity, Interrupted As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm orange glow over the forest, Gribble and Sprout finally collapsed onto the shore, soaked and exhausted. The forest around them had returned to its usual serene self, the birds singing sweetly, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. It was almost... peaceful. Until Sprout hiccupped again. This time, instead of bubbles, a tiny jet of flame shot out, catching Gribble’s boot on fire. "Well, that’s just perfect," Gribble groaned, staring at the tiny flame that had decided to settle on his foot. He lazily dipped it into the stream to put it out. "Thanks, Sprout. Really. Just what I needed." Sprout gave an apologetic chirp and then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, splashed Gribble one last time. The gnome sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to the sky. "I don’t know why I keep you around," Gribble muttered. "But then again, who else would set my foot on fire just to get a laugh?" With a huff of mock indignation, Gribble stood up, his clothes still dripping. He looked down at the soaking wet dragon, who was now curled up in the shallows, tail flicking contentedly in the water. Gribble couldn't help but grin. For all their chaos, he wouldn’t have it any other way. "Alright, come on then, you soggy salamander," Gribble said with a smirk, offering Sprout his hand. "Let’s go find something else to ruin." And off they went, leaving a trail of wet footprints and charred leaves behind them, two mischievous companions bound to wreak havoc on whatever unsuspecting corner of the forest they found next. Because in the life of a gnome and his dragon, there's no such thing as a dull moment.     If you’ve fallen in love with Gribble and Sprout’s chaotic adventures, you can bring a piece of their whimsical world into your own! Prints, products, downloads, and licensing options for this delightful image are available in the My Gnomies Archive. Whether you’re looking for a splash of magic for your walls or unique gifts that capture the joy of these mischievous companions, explore the collection today!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Laughing Gnome and His Winged Friend

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the mushrooms grow larger than houses and the flowers sing you lullabies (usually to distract you before they spit pollen in your face), lived a gnome named Grubnuk. Grubnuk wasn't your average gnome. While most of his fellow gnomes were busy crafting tiny shoes for even tinier feet or meditating under dew-soaked leaves, Grubnuk preferred chaos. He was the kind of gnome that would superglue your shoes to the floor just for the laugh, then hand you a cup of tea afterward as if nothing had happened. The grin on his face told you everything you needed to know—Grubnuk was trouble. On this particularly sunny day, Grubnuk had one hand held up in a peace sign, the other balancing his trusty sidekick, a miniature dragon named Snort. Why “Snort”? Because this tiny creature had the irritating habit of sneezing fire every time it laughed, which happened to be often, thanks to Grubnuk’s pranks. Together, they made the perfect pair of mischief-makers—one with an endless supply of obnoxious humor, the other a living flamethrower with a sense of timing that could put any comedian to shame. "Alright, Snort, what’s the plan for today?" Grubnuk said, his legs dangling off a mushroom that was about as large as a coffee table, if said coffee table also happened to be made of fungus and poor life choices. Snort let out a squeaky roar, flapping his wings with all the grace of a wet towel being thrown at a wall. His tongue flopped out as he inhaled for another fire-laced sneeze, which, by the way, was precisely how the last gnome village ended up as nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble. Grubnuk, ever the enabler, laughed. He knew exactly what that meant. "Perfect. We'll start by messing with the elves. They're still mad about that whole ‘spiked hair-growth potion’ incident. Apparently, it wasn't as ‘temporary’ as I promised." The two set off through the forest, leaving behind their peaceful mushroom perch. They wove through a meadow of oversized daisies, which Grubnuk casually watered with a bottle of ‘magically enhanced fertilizer.’ The kind of enhancement that ensured the flowers would grow arms and start waving at confused passersby by noon. The Elf Ambush As they approached the elves’ domain—well-manicured treehouses and sparkling pathways—the gnome-dragon duo began to plot their next move. Grubnuk’s eyes gleamed with that special glint of a man... er, gnome… about to ruin someone's day. "Alright, Snort. Phase one: find the leader’s fancy cloak and… modify it." Snort puffed out his chest proudly, a bit of smoke escaping his nostrils as he fluttered off toward the elves' wardrobe line. A few moments later, he returned with a regal-looking cloak in his claws, as well as what looked suspiciously like the elf leader’s underwear (but that was just a bonus). Grubnuk cracked his knuckles and began to sew in a few 'enhancements.' Oh, it still looked as elegant as ever, but now it came with a surprise feature—tiny enchanted spiders that would scurry out from the hem and climb up the wearer’s legs, perfectly invisible to anyone else but the unfortunate soul wearing the cloak. The best part? The wearer would think they were going mad, and that's where the real fun began. Chaos Unleashed As the elf leader strode proudly into view, resplendent in his royal cloak, the mischief began. One by one, invisible spiders crept up his legs, making him swat at the air and twitch uncontrollably. It started with a light scratch, then a frantic shake of his foot, and finally, the cloak was flung off as he yelped, "By the Great Oak, I’m infested!" Elves scattered, some in sheer terror, others pointing and laughing. Grubnuk, sitting behind a bush with Snort, was in absolute stitches, practically falling over with laughter. "Priceless," he wheezed. "Oh, this is going in the prank hall of fame!" Snort, for his part, let out a satisfied snort—a mini fireball escaping his nose and singeing a nearby bush. The elves were too busy dealing with the cloak fiasco to notice. Lucky for them. Grubnuk, however, grinned even wider. “You know what, Snort? We should probably leave before they find out it was us. Again." But the fun wasn’t over. As they snuck away, Grubnuk noticed the elves’ prized ceremonial flowers, the kind that bloomed only once a decade. A wicked thought crossed his mind. "One more thing before we go," he whispered, pulling out a pouch of itching powder. With a devilish glint in his eye, he sprinkled the powder over the delicate petals. By the time the elves got back to their beloved flowers, they'd be scratching so hard they wouldn’t be able to sit still for a week. “Ah, the sweet scent of chaos,” Grubnuk said as they escaped back into the forest, the echo of elf curses chasing them into the trees. The Aftermath Back at their mushroom perch, Grubnuk and Snort settled in for the evening. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the forest, while somewhere far off, the elves were still undoubtedly dealing with the aftermath of the day’s pranks. “Another successful day of mischief, my friend,” Grubnuk said, kicking off his boots and leaning back on the soft mushroom cap. Snort curled up beside him, puffing out little smoke rings as if in agreement. “What should we do tomorrow?” Grubnuk mused aloud, already scheming. Snort responded with a tiny sneeze, igniting the edge of Grubnuk’s beard. Grubnuk slapped out the flames, laughing. “Good one, Snort. Always keeping me on my toes.” He patted the dragon’s head affectionately. “But just wait till tomorrow. We’re going after the dwarves next." And with that, the two fell asleep, their dreams filled with new pranks, singed beards, and just the right amount of chaos to keep things interesting in the Enchanted Forest.    Bring the Mischief Home! Love the playful, chaotic energy of Grubnuk and Snort? Why not bring a little of that magic into your own space? Check out this vibrant tapestry featuring the laughing gnome and his winged companion. Or, if you're a fan of something more interactive, challenge yourself with this whimsical puzzle. Add a touch of magic to your walls with a beautiful framed print, or cozy up with a throw pillow that’s perfect for your own whimsical naps. Don’t miss your chance to make a little mischief part of your home decor!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Enchanted Duo in Plaid

The Enchanted Duo in Plaid: A Gnome’s Tale In the depths of the forest where the leaves whispered secrets and the wind tasted like honey mead, lived Gornick the Gnome, an eccentric figure known for his extravagant plaid hats and quirky antics. But Gornick wasn’t just any woodland gnome; he was the self-proclaimed "Master of Mischief" in the Hidden Valley of Outlandish Oddities, where magic and absurdity coexisted in a strange, whimsical harmony. One evening, as Gornick sat by his moss-covered toadstool, a puff of smoke erupted from his hat—his largest plaid hat yet. This was no ordinary hat. No, this one had "spells gone wrong" woven into its very fabric. Adorned with dried lavender, pinecones, and suspiciously crunchy berries, it was more of a magical misfire waiting to happen than a fashion statement. But Gornick didn't mind. In fact, he welcomed chaos with open, stubby arms. Sitting atop his lap was Lilith, his tiny witch companion, a doll-sized magical being with a knack for sarcasm and a heart as dark as a cauldron full of bat soup. She wasn’t just his companion; she was his little devil on the shoulder, whispering wicked ideas in his ear like, “Turn those squirrels into sock puppets!” or “Let’s hex the mushrooms to sing bawdy tavern songs at midnight.” One evening, Gornick had grown bored with his usual tricks—floating fireflies, making the river flow backwards for a laugh—so he decided it was time for a bit of real fun. "Hey Lilith," he said, scratching his scraggly beard, "How about we spice things up tonight? I’ve got just the spell." Lilith rolled her tiny, beady eyes, sitting cross-legged on his knee. "If this is like the last time when you ‘accidentally’ set your pants on fire, count me out. My hair still smells like burnt gnome." "That was not my fault!" Gornick protested. "The incantation book was in gnome-ish, and I’m more fluent in... well, whatever this is." He wiggled his fingers, causing a puff of glittery smoke to erupt from under his fingernails. "Besides, this one’s foolproof. We’re going to summon the Great Spirits of the Forest. It'll be a riot!" Lilith looked skeptical, which was her natural expression. "Foolproof, you say? Your last spell turned half the forest into tap-dancing frogs." "Fine," Gornick admitted. "That was a little froggy mishap, but this is different! Trust me, this spell will make us kings of the woodland!" He opened his ancient spellbook, which, truth be told, looked more like a gnomey shopping catalog from several centuries ago, with sections torn out and replaced with random doodles of mustaches. He chanted the incantation, his voice rising to a crescendo: "By the shadows of the twilight tree, by the dew on the midnight pea—oh spirits of the forest, come unto me!" Suddenly, the air grew thick with the scent of pine and something… else. A foul odor, like overcooked cabbage. The ground trembled, and with a great whooshing noise, a figure emerged from the mist. But it wasn’t the majestic, ethereal forest spirit Gornick had hoped for. Instead, it was a squat, greasy creature that looked suspiciously like… a disgruntled hedgehog? The spirit was dressed in a tattered bathrobe, holding a cup of what smelled like day-old coffee. His eyes glowed with the rage of someone who had been awoken from a deep nap. "Who the hell are you?" the hedgehog grumbled. "I—uh, we… summoned you?" Gornick stammered. "Aren't you the Great Spirit of the Forest?" The hedgehog scoffed. "Great Spirit? I’m Frank. And this better be good, because I was in the middle of something important." He sipped his coffee with an expression that said he clearly wasn't buying any of Gornick's nonsense. Lilith snorted, "Well, looks like your foolproof spell just summoned Frank, the slightly cranky hedgehog." Gornick’s face turned a shade of beetroot. "Okay, okay, I admit this is not what I expected. But I can fix this!" He flipped furiously through his spellbook. "Aha! Here we go. This should give us something... bigger!" With a wave of his hand and a chant that sounded suspiciously like someone gargling rocks, Gornick cast another spell. This time, the ground split open, and from the fissure, out crawled a… giant turnip with eyes. It blinked slowly, then looked at Frank. "This… is my cousin," Frank said flatly. "Turny. You’ve summoned a turnip." The enormous vegetable let out a low groan, then belched, filling the air with the smell of compost and rotting leaves. Gornick waved his hands frantically. "Wait, wait, I can fix this!" Lilith was laughing hysterically at this point, nearly falling off Gornick’s lap. "Oh, please don’t. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in centuries!" As Gornick tried to conjure another spell, Turny the turnip had already started wreaking havoc, flattening trees with its massive root-like arms, while Frank the hedgehog looked on in complete disinterest. "I’m gonna need more coffee," Frank muttered before strolling off into the woods, completely unbothered by the chaos. Gornick finally gave up, tossing the spellbook aside. "Well, this is a fine mess," he sighed, watching as Turny knocked over an ancient oak tree with a loud thud. Lilith, wiping away tears of laughter, patted his arm. "You know what, Gornick? Never change. Life with you is like living in a bizarre fever dream." "Yeah, well, at least it's never boring," Gornick grinned. And so, as the turnip rampaged through the forest and Frank disappeared into the mist, Gornick and Lilith sat together, watching the absurdity unfold, content in their strange, magical world where nothing ever went quite as planned—and that’s exactly how they liked it.     If you enjoyed this whimsical tale and the enchanting image of Gornick the Gnome and Lilith, you can bring the magic home! Prints, merchandise, digital downloads, and licensing for the artwork are available at our gallery here. Explore a wide range of options to add a touch of woodland magic to your collection!

by Bill Tiepelman

A Gnome’s Day Off

There comes a time in every gnome’s life when he just needs to sit back, crack open a cold one, and say, “Screw it.” That’s where this little guy is today—tired of the endless nonsense of magical quests, potion brewing, and dealing with the fairy community’s constant drama (seriously, those winged little monsters never stop bickering). He’s been working overtime lately, mostly trying to fix the forest's plumbing after a particularly feisty group of trolls got into the enchanted springs and turned the water into root beer. Did you know trolls can down gallons of fizzy sugar water in minutes? Now you do. And it’s a real problem when your magical water source bubbles like it’s permanently on a sugar high. But today, no more of that. Today, our gnome friend is calling it quits. He’s swapped his staff for a Corona and his magical map for a dingy, old cooler he found in the back of a wizard's yard sale (don’t ask, it’s a long story that involves a drunken sorcerer and a very unfortunate rabbit). Look at him. Perched there in his ripped jeans, his hat so massive you could fit a family of squirrels under it. He’s the very picture of “don’t give a flying broomstick.” That beard? Pure wisdom. Or maybe just an excellent beer filter. And that cooler? That’s not just any cooler. It’s seen things. Dark, sticky, inexplicable things. But most importantly, it’s keeping his beer ice-cold, and that’s all that matters today. He stares out at the cracked wall in front of him, the perfect metaphor for his soul right now: a little broken, a little rugged, but still holding it together with a bit of duct tape and the occasional prayer to the gods of “just get me through the day.” A Magical Hangover? You might be wondering, “What’s a gnome doing with a Corona anyway? Shouldn’t he be drinking some mystical brew from the heart of the forest?” Nah. Our gnome’s not about that life anymore. He tried that once, and let’s just say the hangover from fairy mead is the kind of thing that makes you rethink all your life choices. Nothing like waking up in a unicorn’s stable, wearing nothing but a leaf crown and no memory of how you got there. That’s when he switched to the basics. Corona. None of that fancy enchanted crap that messes with your head. Just a regular beer for a regular day off. Simple. No frills. No magical hallucinations. And definitely no waking up under a bridge being yelled at by a troll who thinks you stole his favorite rock. Relaxation Level: Maximum So here he is, on the floor, leaning against the wall, a relaxed and slightly buzzed gnome, trying his best to forget about the absurdity of his life for a few hours. It’s not that he hates his job. I mean, who wouldn’t love turning invisible, speaking to animals, or using a wand to make pancakes float directly into your mouth? But even a wizard needs to chill out sometimes. And what better way to unwind than with a cold beer and the knowledge that somewhere, some fairy is probably losing their wings in a prank gone wrong, and it’s not your problem today. The wizard council can handle it. Or not. Whatever. Today, that’s their mess. As he takes another sip, he smiles—or at least we think he does. It’s hard to tell with all that beard. But one thing’s for sure: this gnome has mastered the art of magical laziness. Some say it’s a skill. Others call it a lifestyle choice. Our gnome just calls it “Tuesday.” The Aftermath Will he get back to his duties tomorrow? Probably. Will he face another nonsensical quest that involves saving the enchanted woods from some ridiculous creature no one’s ever heard of? Absolutely. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is this moment, this beer, and the fact that he’s not dealing with a single enchanted animal, talking mushroom, or overly emotional sprite. As the last bit of Corona slides down his throat, he lets out a contented sigh. The world can wait. After all, even magical beings deserve a break from the chaos. And if anyone asks where he is, just tell them the truth: The gnome’s taking a damn day off.     If you’re loving the vibe of this gnome’s well-deserved day off, you can bring him into your own home—or better yet, your own break room. This image is available on prints, art downloads, and for licensing. Just head over to our gallery to get your hands on a little slice of magical relaxation. After all, who wouldn’t want to kick back with a gnome that knows how to enjoy a cold one?  

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.  

by Bill Tiepelman

Pumpkin Grove Guardians: Gnomes Under the Harvest Moon

In a far corner of the enchanted forest, where the trees whispered secrets and the pumpkins grew a little too perfectly round, lived two gnomes. Their names were Hazel and Gourd, and while they were as mismatched as a Halloween costume found on discount, their love story had a certain quirky charm—much like them. Gourd, as his name suggested, was obsessed with pumpkins. Obsessed might even be an understatement. The gnome had an entire system for growing the roundest, orangest, most perfectly symmetrical pumpkins in the entire forest. His pumpkin patch was the talk of the woodland community, even drawing occasional admirers from passing fairies who couldn't resist snapping a photo (or painting, since fairies were old-school like that). Gourd loved his pumpkins almost as much as he loved Hazel. Hazel, on the other hand, was a bit more... unpredictable. If Gourd was a perfectly carved jack-o'-lantern, Hazel was the pumpkin that got dropped, bounced a few times, and then rolled off into the bushes. In the best way, of course. She was spontaneous, fun, and had a habit of creating the most bizarre Halloween concoctions. Pumpkin spice soup with a hint of ghost pepper? Sure. Candied bat wings? Why not? She even made gnome-sized witch hats out of leftover squash. For Hazel, life was too short not to embrace the chaos. The Great Pumpkin Proposal It was Halloween, naturally, the night when the enchanted forest came alive with glowing pumpkins, mischievous fairies, and a general sense that anything could happen. Gourd had spent weeks preparing his pumpkin patch for the occasion, perfecting each pumpkin with the dedication of a sculptor chiseling their masterpiece. Tonight wasn’t just any Halloween. Tonight, Gourd was going to propose to Hazel. Now, you might be thinking, “A pumpkin patch proposal? Isn’t that a little... basic?” And you’d be right. But Gourd was anything but basic when it came to his love of pumpkins. This proposal wasn’t going to be just some candle-lit dinner next to a jack-o'-lantern. Oh no. He had a plan. A grand one. Earlier that day, Gourd had spent hours carving the most impressive pumpkin in his patch. It was huge—so large, in fact, that Hazel had questioned whether or not it was legally a pumpkin anymore or some kind of squat orange monster. She didn't know that inside that pumpkin was the ring—nestled safely in a tiny compartment Gourd had carved himself. Tonight, as they strolled through the glowing patch, he was going to lead her to the special pumpkin and pop the question. But, as with all things involving Hazel, nothing ever went according to plan. A Spooky Twist “You know,” Hazel said with a playful grin as they walked hand-in-hand through the pumpkin patch that night, “you really should let some of these pumpkins have faces. They’re just sitting there, staring blankly into the night. It’s creepy.” Gourd chuckled. “These are serious pumpkins, Hazel. You can’t go carving faces on everything, you know.” “Oh, can’t I?” Hazel challenged, her eyes twinkling with mischief. That’s when Gourd knew he was in trouble. Before he could protest, Hazel darted ahead, plucking a small, harmless-looking pumpkin off the ground. She pulled a tiny carving knife from her belt—Hazel always carried around random tools for reasons Gourd could never quite understand—and began etching a face into the pumpkin’s surface. “Hazel, wait! That’s—” Gourd began, but it was too late. As soon as Hazel finished carving the pumpkin, its eyes began to glow a deep, eerie orange. The pumpkin trembled in her hands before letting out a long, raspy cackle. “Oh no,” Gourd muttered, rubbing his temples. “That was one of the cursed pumpkins, wasn’t it?” “Cursed?” Hazel asked, her face lighting up with excitement. “You didn’t tell me there were cursed pumpkins! This is amazing!” Before Gourd could explain, the cursed pumpkin hopped out of Hazel’s hands and began bouncing across the patch, cackling like a tiny maniac. It careened through rows of pumpkins, knocking them over like bowling pins as it went. “Stop that thing!” Gourd yelled, but it was too late. The cursed pumpkin slammed right into the giant, proposal-sized pumpkin. With a dramatic puff of smoke, the enormous pumpkin split in two, revealing the tiny carved compartment and, much to Gourd’s horror, the ring, now sitting in the middle of the chaos like the world’s most obvious clue. The Surprise Proposal Hazel gasped, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of the ring. “Is that—wait, are you—?” Gourd, seeing that the plan was well and truly ruined, sighed heavily and dropped to one knee in the pumpkin carnage. “Hazel,” he began, sounding more defeated than romantic, “will you marry me?” There was a long pause. Hazel blinked. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face. “Of course I will!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Gourd and knocking him backward into the pumpkin guts. For a moment, they lay there, tangled in vines and seeds, laughing at the absurdity of it all. The cursed pumpkin, seemingly pleased with itself, hopped away into the night, still cackling. Happily Ever After—Pumpkin Style Later that evening, as they sat together under the twinkling lights of the forest, Hazel admired the ring on her finger. “You know,” she said, smirking, “I think the cursed pumpkin really added something to the whole proposal. Gave it a little... spice.” Gourd, still picking pumpkin seeds out of his beard, rolled his eyes. “I swear, only you would find the silver lining in a cursed pumpkin ruining my big moment.” “Oh, come on,” Hazel teased, nudging him playfully. “It was perfect, and you know it. After all, who else can say they were proposed to by a gnome who grows the best pumpkins in the entire forest?” Gourd chuckled, pulling her close. “I suppose you’re right. But next time, let’s try to keep the cursed pumpkins out of it.” Hazel grinned. “No promises.” And so, under the glow of the pumpkin patch and the twinkling lights of the enchanted forest, Hazel and Gourd began their happily ever after—complete with pumpkins, curses, and all the quirks that made their love story one for the ages. Because really, what’s love without a little magic... and a few pumpkin-related disasters?    

by Bill Tiepelman

The Mush-room for Debate

There was peace in the forest. Well, there had been peace in the forest until Gilda and Bramble started up—again. “For the last time, Bramble,” Gilda huffed, arms crossed so tightly that even the wildflowers in her crown looked nervous, “you cannot put mushrooms in everything! This isn’t some foraged gourmet forest bistro. I don’t care what you heard from the squirrels!” Across from her, Bramble, ever the optimist (or so he called himself—Gilda had other words for it), grinned through his bushy beard. His oversized hat tilted to one side, festooned with more flowers and mushrooms than any self-respecting gnome should wear. “Now, now,” he said, holding up a finger like he was about to impart ancient wisdom. “You’re not giving these little beauties enough credit. Mushrooms are the foundation of all culinary genius. Why, without them—” “We’d be eating something that doesn’t taste like dirt,” Gilda cut in, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink. “You put mushrooms in the soup, mushrooms in the stew, you even tried to sneak them into my tea! If I wanted everything to taste like the bottom of my shoe, I’d—” “Wait, wait, wait!” Bramble interjected, eyes twinkling with mischief. “How do you know what the bottom of your shoe tastes like? Been nibbling on your boots again, eh? I told you, Gilda, there’s tastier snacks out here, and guess what? They’re mushrooms!” Gilda stared at him, deadpan. “You are going to be the death of me, Bramble. Or, at the very least, the death of my appetite.” She turned and motioned at the forest around them. “There are thousands of other ingredients in this entire forest. Berries, herbs, nuts… Why, I even saw a deer the other day—” “Oh-ho!” Bramble piped up, waggling his finger. “Look who’s thinking about eating Bambi now. And you called me the barbarian.” He stuck his tongue out, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “The deer is off the menu, obviously,” Gilda replied with a sigh. “But we have options, Bramble! You don’t need to make every meal a mushroom festival.” Bramble leaned in, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Tell me something, Gilda. Why the sudden anti-fungus agenda? What did mushrooms ever do to you? Did one offend you in your sleep? Did it—gasp—touch your flower crown?” Gilda threw her hands up in exasperation. “They don’t have to do anything! It’s just common sense not to base your entire diet on something that grows in the dark and smells like... decay!” She glanced at the mushrooms around them, their caps glistening with morning dew. They seemed to be taunting her now, all of them smugly rooted in place as Bramble’s best allies. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Bramble said, raising a finger in triumph. “Mushrooms are versatile, robust, and quite fashionable, if I do say so myself.” He adjusted the tiny mushroom growing out of his hat for emphasis. “They go with everything. Look at this beauty!” He gestured to the enormous mushroom behind him, its bright red cap looming over them both like an umbrella. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want this in your living room? Decorative and delicious!” “Bramble, if you put that in the house, I swear I will burn it down myself. And then where will we live? Under another mushroom?” Gilda shot back. Bramble scratched his beard, pretending to consider. “Hmm… I do hear they’re quite spacious if you hollow them out. Cozy, even. Could be the start of a trend—mushroom living, eco-friendly and efficient!” He raised his eyebrows as if he were a revolutionary genius. “Plus, think of the convenience—if you get hungry in the middle of the night, just nibble on the wall!” Gilda groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “The only thing I’ll be nibbling on is my last bit of sanity.” She turned away, mumbling to herself. “I should have married that wood sprite. He at least knew how to cook something besides fungus.” Bramble, undeterred, sidled up beside her, still grinning. “Come now, love. Don’t be such a sourberry. Mushrooms are good for you! Full of fiber, antioxidants, and a little earthy mystery. Besides, without them, what would you complain about? I’m doing you a favor, really.” Gilda shot him a look that could have frozen lava. “Oh, believe me, I would find something. You’re a never-ending source of complaints.” Bramble’s grin only widened. “That’s the spirit! See? This is why we make such a good team. You keep me grounded, and I keep you on your toes. Or at least, toe-deep in mushrooms.” Gilda rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smirk creeping up on her lips. “If you even think about adding mushrooms to dessert tonight, I will relocate you to the shed. Permanently.” “Fine, fine. No mushrooms in the dessert… this time,” Bramble relented, his expression still far too gleeful for her liking. As they walked back to their cozy home nestled in the woods, Bramble hummed a merry tune, while Gilda muttered under her breath, something about “one more mushroom and I’m moving into the berry patch.” The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the forest, and the mushrooms around them sparkled in the soft light. It would have been peaceful, serene even—if not for Bramble’s sudden outburst. “Oh! Wait! What if we made mushroom-flavored jam? It’d be revolutionary! Sweet, savory, a real fusion of—” “BRAMBLE!” And so, the great mushroom debate continued, as eternal as their love, and just as frustrating.