When Grandpa passed away, I was eight- just old enough to be sad, but not old enough to really understand. I remember thinking how weird it was that we threw a party because Grandpa was dead. It wasn't really a party of course, but a funeral reception, and when most of the mourners had gone home, my mom and her brother awarded different family members their inheritance. But in my defence, there were presents and cake. All we were missing was the clown.

Uncle Mike and Aunt Sara had looked really confused. Uncle Mike received some sentimental items from his boyhood with his father, a shoebox full of baseball cards, a beaten-up old baseball glove, and a ball signed by his childhood hero. Aunt Sara got a few pieces of jewelry that my mom and sisters congratulated her on, but as a young boy, they were nothing to get excited about. The lawyer kept on reading the list, and Uncle Mike stopped her twice. "Wait, it just moves on to Carol then?"

The lawyer, Francine, looked over her reading glasses patiently, and slowly nodded. "Don't worry, Mike, it continues on like this."

Uncle Mike stood there scratching his head while my Mom accepted Grandma's engagement ring and recipe book and my two sisters received a small amount of money for college. Well, "small" for an inheritance, maybe, but we weren't a college-going family, so it was a very big deal. Aunt Sara crossed her arms, glaring at my older sister Dana, then ten, tall for her age with curly dark hair down to her waist. Dana was too happy to see, and thanked Francine. But my younger sister, Betty, stood quietly behind me with her envelope in her tiny hand, taking it all in as she often did. Betty stood on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, "Aunt Sara wants Dana's money."

I looked between her and our Aunt, her attention still fixed on the lovely firstborn. "I think Aunt Sara's kind of a witch," I whispered back, having heard Mom use the word similarly. Betty's giggle bubbled out of her. Then Francine turned to me. I knew it was bad news when she got down on my level, as adults sometimes do when your dog "runs away". But I only got nervous when Francine took her readers off. "Clark, do you still have that envelope your grandpa gave you?" I nodded, producing it from behind my back. "Good job. That was very important to your grandpa, and it was the one thing he wanted to leave to you."

Francine never mentioned the farm that day, or if she did, it wasn't when us kids were around. Mom and Uncle Mike knew that it wasn't in Grandpa's will, and so must have been sold or left to rot. It would have been a pretty easy question to answer, now that I think of it. But nobody ever checked on the farm for another seventeen years.

Mom took Dana and Betty's money and put it away in a general college fund that any of us could use, and she worked hard to add even five percent of her paycheck so that we'd have a prayer of higher education without a lifetime of loans. But college wasn't for Dana. She fell in love with a nice guy named Tom, married young and started a family with him. Tom made an okay salary, not a ton when you've got four kids to raise, but they were doing okay. Dana made a little extra money on side turning their house into a daycare when Tom was away. Their house was, for many hours a day, a barrage of energy, noise, and color, but more importantly, it made my sister very happy. Incidentally, college wasn't for me, either. That worked out nicely, since Betty always was the smart one in our family.

Betty was going to finish her bachelor's that spring, and I was her biggest fan. Mom and Dana loved and supported Betty, of course, but their eyes glazed over when Betty started talking about her one true love: space. My baby sister was getting a degree in physics. Yeah, she was crazy smart, but you'd never know just talking to her. I used to buy the local Sunday paper every term just to check for her name on the Dean's List, and I found it eight semesters in a row. My baby sister was going to graduate Magna Cum Laude, "with high praise." Maybe she would become a researcher, or an astronaut- who knew. Betty had got a world of potential beyond anything my family ever dreamed.

And then there was me. Just the day before, I quit my job of seven years. I don't really have any hobbies at the moment. My friends from high school were either married with children or making twice as much money as me because they had gone to college. Even my mom had moved on- she sold our family home and moved in with Dana when Betty left for college. When Betty came home on break, she stayed in Dana's finished basement. I didn't have a real need to move out when I did. I told my mom that it was because the new apartment would be a better commute, but really, I didn't want to hold my family back.

I looked around my little apartment. It was studio, about 400 square feet, or about thirty-seven square meters. It looked so bare just as I was about to move. At first, I thought I would box up my things and bring them with me when I moved. But then I really thought about it, and I knew that I didn't want to haul my junk-load of badly assembled Ikea furniture across the country. I found a number in Grandpa's letter and called it. The man who answered claimed to be the Lewis spoken of, and was able to answer a few questions for me, including what was already waiting for me. In the end, I left with what could fit in a backpack: my first aid kit, my address book, keys, wallet, a change of clothes and toiletries. I left that night, March nineteenth, and hoped to arrive in Stardew Valley by bus the next morning.

That night, it was too hard to sleep. I had texted my sisters and my mom to tell them that I was disconnecting my cell phone and gave them my new landline number. They had been confused at best. I told them that it was a matter of cost and that I was trying to save up for the future. But I couldn't stop worrying that one of them would need me before I would get to my new phone, like the time last year when my oldest nephew had been sick with scarlet fever, and I had stayed up with him all night until his fever broke, or the time Mom went on a date with a guy, only to discover through the Maître D' that he was a married man. She called me on my way to go out to drinks with coworkers, and I was secretly so glad because I don't really care for drinking. She apologized over and over again. She told me that she dumped him after leaving a note for his wife in his trouser pocket, because she had wanted to know when my dad strayed.

Thinking about my dad hurt. I tried to focus on other things. I had 500g in my wallet. It was going to have to stretch pretty far, but I was no stranger to that. I had already had my share of eating ramen for a week because I barely made rent. There might not be ramen in Stardew Valley, though; I might actually have to learn to cook. But there would be animals, I told myself, and crops. It didn't take a lot of cooking skill to pluck potatoes from the ground and eggs from the coop and fry up some breakfast. I would be okay. The land would provide.

When the bus pulled up to the stop, I got the sweats every city dweller gets in a rural area. I thought, this can't be right. There was no station, just a tilted sign reading "Stardew Valley." There was nothing there. There were trees and green mountains on the right, just as there had been for the past three hours, and on the left, there was a clearing, and a wind-softened wood fence. I stepped down from the bus, but I forgot to duck. Before I had time to grab my head, the bus was gone, the other weary passengers undisturbed. Someone asked me if I was alright. I moved my hand and blinked.

"Clark?" A small, older man called me. He extended a hand. "Are you alright? Looks like you really clocked yourself!"

"It was a long ride." In my head, I sound bemused, but I can tell from his face that I sound terse. "You must be Lewis."

"I am! I am. Follow me." He twisted an enviable silver mustache as he turned on his heels. I shifted the weight of my backpack on my shoulder and followed him as best I could. Lewis trotted along like the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, mysterious in what business he must be late for, to be moving at such a speed. I took in my surroundings. A compacted dirt path. Tall, undisturbed sycamore trees, their pale park spiraling off in scrolls of parchment. Leaf canopy. The smell of cool, damp earth.

Suddenly, we reached a clearing. I figured we were crossing part of the forest that had been struck by a tornado until I saw the cottage. My knees got weak. A red-haired woman waved from the steps and hurried over at the sight of us. "You must be the new farmer!" she laughed. "Lewis had me check out your Grandpa's old cottage to make sure it was safe to inhabit."

"Is it?" I asked. I didn't mean to so sound brief. She laughed uproariously.

"Well, yes, after a few changes!"

"Thanks for doing that."

"No problem. Robin, by the way, the carpenter."

I shook her hand because she offered it, but it was always an odd thing for me to shake women's hands. Between my mother and sisters and their combined friends, I had come to associate women with hugs, and only men with handshakes. As a result, I think my posture or my face suggested that I was uncomfortable in moments like these. Robin gripped my hand firmly and looked me in the eye with regained confidence. I nodded, reassured.

"I've got to go, Lewis, but call me back if you have any problems."

"Thanks, Robin!" He seemed relieved. He turned to me with an air of shared secrets as Robin hurried off, "She's a wonderful friend to have, Clark. She'll never tell you this, but your grandfather's cottage was in ruins when you first inquired after the farm a few months ago. She's worked her tail off to get it into its current condition."

I scratched my beard, which prickled in fear of debt. "What do I owe her?"

Lewis laughed, "All your future carpentry business!" I hoped against hope that what he said was true, that I didn't unwittingly take out a small mortgage just in moving here, at who knows what rate.

Together, we scouted grandpa's farm, an expanse of fallen and living trees, boulders, small ponds, waist-high grasses, and debris. There was a pile of ruins a few dozen meters away from the farmhouse, and the entrance to a small cave a few meters behind that. On the northern, southern, and eastern borders, there were exits that led into town. What an idiot I am, I thought. I wanted to smack myself from just a few hours ago on the bus, imagining hashbrowns and eggs from a farm that hadn't been maintained in seventeen years.

Lewis showed me where I could find Grandpa's old tools, lifting the grate that blocked off the crawlspace just left of the porch stairs. "Do you need to know how to use them?" He offered cheerfully. I shook my head and mumbled thanks. "Well- okay then! Best of luck!" He said, as if in doubt, and left through the east-facing exit. I waited until I was sure he was out of sight before I tried to use any of the tools.

For the last seven years, the majority of my day consisted of some kind of typing on a computer. My hands were large and without callouses; as soon as I picked up the scythe, I knew that was going to change. The wooden handle was already worn smooth for me. I braced my left hand against the heel and my right along the shaft, steadying the blade behind my head and eyeballing a thicket of weeds just beyond my porch. I swung with gusto and cleared them to stubble with a swoosh. There was a lot of satisfaction in seeing immediate results, no matter how small. I tried out every last tool in this way, clearing just a small patch of land right before the farmhouse by late afternoon.

By then, my hands were red, raw, and blistering in some places. My back hurt. I was hungry and thirsty without any food or water. I stopped to think. My money was too limited to spend on food. If I had to go a day or two without eating, I could do that without any real harm, so long as I didn't overexert myself in that time. Water was a simpler problem. I poked my head inside, unsure if I'd find running water or not in an area this rural; I did, but I decided that I would still boil it for the first several days, as it was most likely well water, which I wasn't used to.

I put the tools away and tried to figure out where I might find something I could eat. Betty had had a field guide when she was in middle school, and I had laughed at her for talking about edible roots and shoots that could be found around us. What had been on those pages? I racked my brain, but thought of nothing. I washed my hands and cleaned up as well as I could before heading off to town. If nothing else, I had to introduce myself to this new community, and if I was lucky, I might find somebody who would invite me over for dinner.

The community was small by any standards. I had grown up in a town of 20 thousand people and considered it small because it was a suburb of a city with 8.5 million. Stardew Valley had so few people that it couldn't be considered a town or a village, but instead had to be defined by its geography. A thousand stereotypes raced through my mind. Would everyone be related? Would they be racist? Would they be uneducated? I checked myself. They might have had unpleasant assumptions about me, too, but I hoped they wouldn't. I hoped against hope that my grandfather had been well-liked and respected here.

One by one, I knocked on different doors, introducing myself as the new farmer as the light started to fade. People were polite, if a little guarded. Many of them stared for a minute when they first opened the door. It seemed weird to me, because there were several men with facial hair, but already I felt tempted to cut my beard. No one said anything outright except for the little kids, and their guardians were quick to shush them, so quick that I couldn't catch the hint in the hope of changing.

No one invited me in for dinner, but almost everyone gave me a small welcoming gift without being asked. By the time I was done introducing myself, my backpack was practically full of little jars of jam, fresh baked bread, canned veggies, and homemade sweets. I let out a grateful sigh as I made my way eastward across town. Most of the buildings were reasonably well maintained, at least in structure, with faded and chipping paint, sure, but also well-patched roofs and thriving flower gardens. Lewis's house was especially unique- tall, dark, and grand. It also made the last house stand out.

The little mobile home was grounded on cinder blocks in a yard full of trash. Now twilight, the early spring breeze snuck into every opening of my jacket, and made me wonder how cold it got in there. The yard before it was mostly crabgrass, trash, and weeds. I walked up to the door half-expecting to get shot at, afraid somebody's daddy might have had too much moonshine that night, as my imagination ran away with my fears. I knocked and waited. A tiny voice answered. I paused.

The woman who answered the door would have looked less out of place in the neighborhood I grew up in. Her hair was neatly done up in a bun, her blouse fresh and wrinkle-free. She looked up at me with bright green eyes like I had never seen in real life. People write about eyes "like emeralds" or on-par cheesy metaphors, but you never actually see people with eyes so green as this. Her eyes were so bright that they had a faint glow in the moonlight. I instantly wanted to see them in sunlight.

"Hello?" She peeped. She seemed afraid, half-hidden still behind the door.

"Hi," I garbled. I felt like a dog tongue-deep in a jar of peanut butter. There was supposed to be more after that, but I just couldn't get the words out, and found myself standing there and gawking.

"You must be… the new farmer?"

"Yep." I scrambled for something small to give her. If I couldn't make a proper introduction, I could at least be as kind as people had been to me. I found the prettiest little jar of strawberry jam someone had given me, the one with a yellow-and-white polkadotted cloth under the cap. "Just a little something to say 'hi'," I finally managed, turning it into her palm. The jar looked so much bigger in her hands. It looked like the right size.

"Thank you so much." She smiled faintly. I couldn't help but smile, too. I hope it showed through the beard.

"No problem. See you soon. Oh, I'm Clark, by the way."

"I'm Penny. Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," I assured her. "Good night."

It took me an hour to walk home from the far end of town. Tired and sore, I left my shoes at the door and put some water on to boil in the weary old kettle. Robin had thought of everything right down to refilling the propane tank. I washed my hands and face and lit a few candles to eat by. I had eaten alone before, but somehow it was different now.

The darkness outside my window was complete. There were no visible windows or even buildings. If I were to open the storm windows and through the screen, the only sound I would hear would be the wind in the many trees that had reclaimed the land. I lit a fire to fend off the chill. While munching on jam and bread and drinking hot water, I looked around the tiny cottage, trying to imagine my mom and Uncle Mike running around as kids, Grandma going about her day. It seemed too small and sad a cottage to have ever had a family in it. The single room, so spartan, so bare, could only belong to a bachelor.

I looked at the red landline phone, mounted in bright contrast with the dark green wallpaper, looking so cartoonishly huge compared to the cellphone I had just discarded. I needed to call someone. First I dialed Mom, then Dana, then Betty, glad to recount the details of my trip over and over again, making it all real by saying it out loud. They all mentioned at some point that I sounded good and that they were glad I was okay. I wanted to tell them how much I missed them, but I couldn't make them worry. Small updates were exchanged. By the time all was said and done, it had gotten late, and I was beat. I hoped I was tired enough to fall asleep before I had too much time to think.