“Reverie wasn’t just a retreat, it was a reminder. That queer joy is not a niche thing. It doesn’t have to exist on the margins, or in hiding. It can take up space in the woods. It can echo through fields during a sack race. It can float lazily down a river on a floatie. And maybe the question isn’t how do we find queer joy in the outdoors, but what happens when we stop making people search so hard for it? When we make it easier to arrive, to belong, to breathe deeply without fear.”
Dear Passenger,
It was the kind of afternoon you wish you could bottle. The low sun cast everything in gold as two teams huddled up, whispering tactics and rallying each other with playful determination. Plans were made, roles were assigned, and somewhere between the laughter and the scheming, a quiet competitiveness sparked.
Voices blended together in bursts of excitement. Skin glistened in the heat. A crowd of gleeful spectators fanning themselves on benches, and judges ready to hand out imaginary medals. I stood off to the side, megaphone in hand, already grinning.
We had sack races, relays, and yes—a full-on wheelbarrow race that sent us howling with laughter. It was chaotic, hilarious, and pure queer joy in the outdoors. The kind of joy that lives in movement, in play, in community. The kind that tells you, without words: you belong here.
"The kind of joy that lives in movement, in play, in community. The kind that tells you, without words: you belong here."
What made this retreat so special wasn’t just the joy, it was how that joy was held. We had partnered with Green & Away to create our very own queer utopia. They didn’t centre themselves, even though they were present. They offered support with gentleness. Loaned us river floats we spent hours with. Shared in our quiz night not as outsiders, but as curious, kind-hearted participants. They held the space without co-opting it.
This kind of thoughtful support made all the difference. And it wasn’t just from Green & Away. Passenger played a vital role in making Reverie as inclusive and accessible as possible. Thanks to their support, we were able to offer free spaces to those who were on low income, unemployed, or simply couldn’t afford the ticket.
"This is what true allyship in the outdoors looks like: not just saying everyone is welcome, but actively removing the barriers that keep people from coming.”
They also provided us with tents, helping remove another common barrier: equipment. For many, it was their first time camping, and knowing they’d have a warm, dry place to sleep made showing up feel possible. We shared patching sessions in the sun, and wore the cutest socks and beanies to keep the cold night air at bay. These little touches—these intentional acts of care—made Reverie all the more memorable.
This is what true allyship in the outdoors looks like: not just saying everyone is welcome, but actively removing the barriers that keep people from coming.
Reverie wasn’t just a retreat, it was a reminder. That queer joy is not a niche thing. It doesn’t have to exist on the margins, or in hiding. It can take up space in the woods. It can echo through fields during a sack race. It can float lazily down a river on a floatie. And maybe the question isn’t how do we find queer joy in the outdoors, but what happens when we stop making people search so hard for it? When we make it easier to arrive, to belong, to breathe deeply without fear.
"We had sack races, relays, and yes—a full-on wheelbarrow race that sent us howling with laughter. It was chaotic, hilarious, and pure queer joy in the outdoors."
Joy showed up in the in-between moments: in shared sunscreen, in helping someone zip up a tent, in learning someone’s name for the first time and dancing with them under the stars hours later.
I think that’s what we all carried home with us. That joy, that connection, that peace. And the quiet knowing that we’d built something rare, something worth returning to.
Reverie was just the beginning.
We're proud to have been able to support Touch Grass' Reverie Retreat earlier this summer, a joyful weekender of laughing and meaningful time spent outdoors. Queer joy at its finest, and the film snaps say it all really... Look out for more of their Camp Letters, seeing us through the rest of summer.
Touch Grass is a London-based outdoor community for queer women and non-binary people of colour, born from “a need for community, at a time when people felt lonely and isolated”. They bring people together through thoughtfully curated gatherings and retreats—acts of unity, creativity, and intention.
