(Hopefully there will be a less tongue in cheek entry later.) The raccoon collective has sent their storm raccoons after me, and have left me stranded in Chicago O'Hare airport, but I will not be averted from my quest to find America's elusive raccoons. Soon, my travel plans will be back on track and I will be jetting my way to New Jersey and into shy_matsi's supportive paws. I will say this, however: cryoyank (formerly a raccoon before he discovered his dragonhood) was right. America can conjure up a cold that seeps into your very bones and cut right through my warmest clothes. But the cold is no match for the warmth of the reception I've received in this beautiful country, nor for their indomitable spirit when faced by the trials of snow and ice.
My search for wild raccoons began in earnest in Denver, where kit_mcgrath took me 'coon hunting. We found no raccoons, but we did find raccoon tracks. Acting on a tip off, I made my way to Wichita, having learnt that the name Wichita is derived from a local native American word "Kitikitish" which means raccoon eyelids. My search came up empty (except for rumours of raccoon furs, which I understandably didn't follow up), but I know I'm closing in on them by the efforts the storm raccoons are making to stop me.
Those tracking me may feel free to check the latest photos on Flickr.