A Home From Home
We joined the New Horizons island dwellers relatively late in 2020, by comparison to some. Our 11 year old, a fanatic gamer, had embarked on a new and uncertain real-world adventure into secondary school in the September and had applied himself so studiously that we decided a new Switch game would be a fitting treat as we approached October half term. When asked what he’d like he responded with: Animal Crossing. “Really?” I replied, “Are you sure?”
In my naivety I believed the game to be childish and have very little play value for a boy who loves the rich and complex world of Zelda, the fast paced competition of Mariokart and the problem-solving challenges of many other classic titles. Nevertheless, he insisted, not least because he felt it was a game his 6 year old sister would really enjoy too. Since it was his treat I conceded and the decision was made.
Over the course of a few days he and his game-loving father set up their tents, introduced themselves to Teddy and Reneigh and proceeded to make themselves at home on the island.
I watched from the doorway, fascinated that anyone could be happy just mooching about in a game, chopping virtual trees, catching cybernetic fish and bowing to the financial demands of a tanuki dressed like an embarrassing uncle.
I don’t remember whether it was simply the regular recommendation of “You should join us Mum!” that eventually swayed me; or perhaps I’d just convinced myself that I ought to get my head around this if I was going to support our youngest to play too, but about a week later I joined the Island Getaway.
Day one: I was hooked; and for four straight months there wasn’t a single day that I didn’t escape to the peace, relaxation and covid-free zone of our little piece of virtual paradise. There are 18 different households on our island, including the shops, museum and Resident Services; masks are banned and nobody is expected to social distance. If you asked Dora, Jacques, Opal, Merengue or any of the others, I’m not sure you’d find ‘pandemic’ in their vocabulary.
Our son, Resident Rep, has managed the infrastructure, my husband has ridden the stalk market rollercoaster and been gracious enough to share his wealth, our daughter has custom designed every Disney princess dress she can think of as well as Christmas jumpers, and a whole host of signs to direct everyone around the island.
She has also spent endless hours on Harv’s Island treating his studio like her own virtual dolls’ house: one day a school classroom with Miss Reneigh in charge, the next day a toy shop where uniformed assistants Opal and Merengue are on hand to help, after that a formal dance with a magical backdrop of the Aurora Borealis.
I, meanwhile, have lost myself in terraforming our island home. As a frustrated creative trapped inside an office manager’s body this unexpected outlet has been a welcome refuge for my sanity.
Whilst real-world worries have swirled around me, as chaotic and uncertain as a tornado, I have found a place where I can build a calming slice of joy.
My family choose to spend their bells on turnips, Able Fashions, home upgrades or Nooks Cranny’s luxury items; I on the other hand spend the vast majority of my ABD savings on relocating island structures, sometimes – when Opal’s house needed moving two squares back and three to the left – more than once! By the time we reached December and the anticipation of Toy Day, our island residents had become like extended family to us. We hadn’t experienced any of our villager’s birthdays at this point so when my daughter’s birthday came around it was a thrill to see how much our little community cared.
Whilst her real-life 7th birthday could not be the usual celebration of squealing children and too much cake, her island party felt like a really special moment. Teddy invited her to his place which was exploding with dancing, colour and piñata-based fun, and KK’s birthday concert made her feel so special and important since she was the only one of us who now had the birthday song (which by the way she insists on blasting out alongside copious decorations and food-laden tables for everybody else’s birthday on the island).
The end of that month brought us New Year – a time when real-world tradition would have us pack the kids off to the grandparents. Without that option this year we chose to celebrate together – taking advantage of the ability to skip the clock slightly so that the countdown could occur as our kids went to bed.
We rarely party play with all four of us but this moment had a beautiful yet surreal togetherness about it.
That night I put the kids to bed and returned to the island later that evening, which was still running 6 hours ahead, to find Tom and Isabelle still standing resolutely in the plaza at 2am. I found myself reflecting how things may have been if our real world leaders gave that much dedication to their communities.
As 2021 began and another home-school lockdown overtook our lives I found less and less time to visit the island – my Nook stop streak was broken and my money tree cycle fell right out of whack. But despite this, the joy is still there when I return. New bugs, a complete-bar-one fossil collection, and a flower hybridisation programme draw me back. The island landscape gets a little messier – some corners now populated by Festivale floats, monster statues, Thwomps and giant mushrooms.
We installed a number of warp pipes – something my son now cannot live without as he plays island hide-and-seek when his online friends fly in; but I find myself avoiding their use – choosing instead the scenic routes around our piece of paradise. In a real world that feels increasingly unbearable, I’m proud of the beauty we have built together in this virtual world. It has been a true sanctuary for my sanity and ironically this artificial world has reminded me daily of the things that make me come alive inside. It has revived me countless times and our happy band of villagers have cheered me with their weird ways on many occasions.
It truly is like nowhere else, I wish you could come and visit…
An Island Tour
The museum resides in an elevated position to the north-west corner of the island punctuating the art gallery with (imaginary) glimpsed views across the ocean. The grand doors of the museum open out down stone steps to a formal garden presided over by a magnificent (and long time coming) duplicate triceratops. Leaving the southern edge of the gardens a visitor may head up the incline to the tranquil horseshoe falls and from there, across the log bridge into the orchard; or they may take the stone bridge towards the town. Following this route, passing Stoney’s place they might cast a jealous eye over his prolific pumpkin patch, wondrous flower displays, smoker on the fishing deck, and neat little greenhouse – all perfectly laid out in his sweeping grounds that take up much of the western coast.
Follow the road east into town and you will pass by the pond, where the decoy ducks seek quiet solitude on their own private island. As you head between Teddy and Jacques’ houses to your left and Angus and Reneigh’s to your right you will reach ‘The Cranny’ and find yourself in the bustling heart of our island home. An extended plaza centres around a modest fountain surrounded by red and orange blooms to match the ‘Cranny’ branding. The perfectly symmetrical hedges give no hint that this area has been redesigned three times because it took that many attempts to get the proportions right.
Squeezed between the extended plaza and a southern private beach is Tinytinx house – an unassuming plot with a garden just big enough for the smallest of waterfalls, a beehive and a cyclical succession of money trees. On the far side of the central fountain: a charming little riverside café, operated on an honesty box system and serving fruit-infused water (at least until the Nooks have a coffee maker back in stock).
Standing in the main plaza you are greeted by the familiar frontage of the Resident Services and just beyond the bulletin board: the cheery window of the tailor’s shop. A destinations signpost outside Isabelle’s window would direct a visitor across the upgraded brick bridge to the riverside residences of Dora, Merengue, Marcie and Alfonso and thence up a short climb to reach the southern edge of the orchard, its laden trees concealing a narrow downward track to a small beach, occasionally frequented by a shady looking trawler.
The plaza signpost may also direct an inquisitive visitor east across the river, passing a curious outcrop at the top of which sits the home of LinkP- a slightly overly grand affair with wooden ramp and zen bridge that spans a double waterfall, to the gold rose flanked front door. Continuing east from the bridge and up the stone steps you come the ‘posh’ part of town. Here Lolly and Opal keep immaculate communal gardens brimming with lilies and roses that stand proudly around a small formal pond and tranquil seating area, perfect for highbrow reflective thinking.
Between the houses, a narrow gap in the trees reveals a rustic woodland trail that leads much of the way along the eastern cliffs until it reaches the campsite on the most northern edge – a secluded spot, lit at night by the lighthouse that stands resolute on the rocks below. The campsite waterfall flows back inland under a small wooden bridge, cross this and you’ll find you’re in another world. A custom-designed rainbow bricked floor, a self-built shop and sweet little house surrounded by a rainbow swathe of flowers can only mean one thing – Daiseedoo, the most creative 7 year old you’ve ever met lives here.
Behind Daiseedoo’s place, nestled between the campsite and the orchard on an elevated ridge, sits a tranquil bamboo grove.
A truly restful spot surrounded by tall green bamboos and filled with the sounds of an outdoor pond and the breeze rustling through the pure white flowers. A simple bamboo bench and nearby tourist telescope give unprecedented views of the ocean – a spot where falling stars bring twinkling wishes and the peace is almost real. Sounds like paradise? Then please do join us for only one small down-payment…