There are countless bunches of people who don't give a care in the world, and would love to spend a season in a quaint little village west of no-where and east of never-been. Getting up and moving along in life to have a fun vacation is the norm for these types of people. Life is good, life is stable—why not put it on hold for a while? Press the pause button. When I come back to it, everything will be right where I left it! They make it so simple, and yet to someone like myself, they sound so naïve.

You see, not everyone can just press the stop button, and freeze their life. To the rest of us, we have to surf through the waves of motion, and continue onward. Unlucky are we, to have to suffer through the bouts of loss and destruction, as life gives us the good and the bad times. We were unfortunate enough to open our eyes a little too wide, and find that everything around us was either good, or not so. We don't just call things a day when things don't work out right, which is a shame. Instead, we dwell on them until we can no longer find another emotion to help us deal with the wave. That is—until we do, and continue to roll through the motions.

So while I'll sit in my stubborn little coop and imagine what it would be like to be naïve, I remember that ignorance is a reluctant bliss for some, and a factor of life for others. Deep down, I regret not being so clueless, and enjoying life. Being pessimistic comes straight from the heart, and like that beating organ, never stops reminding you that it's there and present. But, like the heart, it has to have a reason for beating.

I didn't want to come to Pelican Town on my own accord. No, instead, some somethings and some someones told me that I needed to go; it didn't matter if I wanted to or not. Like so many other decisions and life events, I had no choice. So, like always, I went swimming through the motions.

My grandfather died when I was a young tot, maybe around the age of 10 or 11. While that was many years ago, I remember it didn't affect me as much as it did now. I was just a kid, I didn't really know what death was—as much as I insisted that at that time, I knew everything about anything there was to know about. But aren't all stubborn brats like that at some point in their life? Nevertheless, that great man gave me a letter—back then I didn't really know what it was supposed to be used for, nor when to open it. I was but a child, remember? "In a time of crises, when your life is bleak, and you need an escape," he must have said—or rather, something along the lines. "Open this letter." I opened the parcel 12 days ago.

Now I'm 25, more or less the same child, just a bit more stubborn-witted and realistic when it comes to what life gave me. I could understand the letter's contents now, and rather, when I found the letter tucked away in a far desk-drawer as I scrambled to find it, I knew that I needed to understand its contents.

My grandfather's death may affect me now more than ever, but that may be because of the fact of me wandering back to a place he once roamed. While I hate to admit it, the real reason as to my need for a place calm and quiet, was my mother's death. Both unexpected, unlike his, but all the more real, I needed to find an escape from all of the pain and suffering while I still had a chance. Working at a dead-end job, with no hope in sight, wasn't good for anyone's mental health. Even before the strain of her passing, I could feel my hair turn grey with the passing seasons, and my outer limbs developing arthritis. Things weren't looking good for me, right from the start.

This is why I came to Stardew Valley—to find my escape. Not a fairytale land of fun and adventure, but one that could take me back to a better time, or at least a better place. I knew not much of what I was going to find as I limped groggily off of the stingy bus, other than an old cabin and 20-acres of land. I was just hoping that it was all going to be worth it, and at least help me cope as I selfishly aimed to try and escape from the life I was presented.

So let us begin on that path.

A rather muddy one, being as the ground was wet from a combination of an evening shower, and a foggy morning. My mustard-tinted rain-boots squashed as they met with the muddy ground—internally forcing me to wince. A swift creeeak was heard as the plastic door to the bus closed behind me; I didn't even have to turn around to know that that was it. A plastic life's sounds always remains the same. However, every other sight and sound was brand new. Not exactly…as, er—well, as appealing as I'm sure nature looks in comparison to a sunny morning—but I was already starting to warm up to the joint. Even if my socks were already soaked.

Before I was engulfed in a cloud of gas, I quickened my pace away from the road as the mighty beast of a car shrieked. I looked back for a second, to find the black wave of debris brush out against the landscape, before retreating into the atmosphere. The bus's wheels scattered to catch their grip on the dirt path, mud spraying about, but this is where I stopped looking back. I had seen it all before, and I don't find mud that entertaining.

Heaving my only parcel of luggage, a duffel bag, onto my shoulder, I started down the damp path to the village. I had half-expected a bird to be chirping somewhere in the distance, seeing as it was early spring. However, I suppose the little pleasures such as these would have to wait for another day, as the afternoon seemed set on reflecting my mood. The sky was tinted slate, with hints of dampened violet off in the distance. A soft breeze would make its way through to me every now and again as I made my way, but other than my brunette hair being tugged at, all was still. Well, as still as it could be, considering that every step I took ended with a plop, plop.

Being impatient isn't one of my best qualities, which is why I was grateful that the pathway to the village was short, sweet, and to the point. It was only a matter of minutes before I found myself turning a corner, and gazing down another muddy mess of a trail. To my left, the fog covered whatever there was to be seen. I could have been for a loss at where to turn, if there hadn't been a crooked sign across the way. Etched out, no doubt with a sharp knife or hatchet, were the words 'Pelican Town' directing to my left. The other sign, pointing obviously to my right, displayed a phrase I felt like I would never get used to seeing. 'Beauchene Farm'. Since when did my surname belong somewhere so fresh and unpolluted? I felt like all it had ever known was the city sidewalk covered in slime, while ads for Joja Coke were plastered against every surface. Never did I think that my surname was meant to be somewhere like this. Maybe that's why Papa wrote it on a note, I wondered in a curious, and almost childlike, fashion. It doesn't sound right when you say it aloud.

I forced myself to stop my starring at the sign, and continue onward to my right. I wasn't in the mood to go wandering out into town in the late afternoon, especially when I couldn't see 10 feet in front of my face. While the atmosphere felt, for the most part, safe—there was a part of me that wasn't yet comfortable in meeting the townsfolk. Call me an introvert, or insist I must be some loner, but I just wasn't in the mood to open up my mouth and talk.

Instead, I wandered on to the plot of land that I would soon call 'home', if I decided it should be such a place. The idea of going back to the city wasn't appealing, but if things didn't work out…I would have no choice but to go back. But, who knows? Maybe there is a profit to be made on such a farm as this one ought to become.

This is where my habit of thinking too quickly comes into play.

Just before I entered the clearing, I was half-expecting a vast field filled to the brim with apple trees, and the sunset on the horizon. Maybe a rusty gate here and there, signifying the last of the crops my grandfather had reaped the many years beforehand. Instead, I felt like I had been cheated out of an astounding offer. Instead of a valley, I was introduced face to face with a thick forest as soon as the fog cleared around my form. Brambles and weeds covered the forest, not to mention overgrown grass that ran up and tickled my ankles. The ground may have been blessed with a pleasant mix of soil, but there wasn't an inch of it that was not crushed by boulders, stones, or pebbles. Amidst the thick wood lie a cabin that looked like it had gone to hell and back. Some windows were cracked, not to mention the outer layer of wood, while the deck looked as if it was too unstable to walk upon. The top of the chimney had corroded away to reveal a moss-covered brick, while cobwebs draped every corner of the shack.

For a split second, as my jaw lay agape at the scene before me, I thought about turning back. Leaving this all behind. What a waste of a trip this had been, only to find some land that hadn't been touched by human hands in more than decade, and a wrecked mess of a house that didn't seem suitable for even a lousy pig-sty! Didn't anyone give a damn in the world to clean this place up every once in a while after my grandfather had left it? Didn't anyone care at all? How could they be so selfish-

Oh. That's right. All of this was supposed to be my responsibility now. As much as I hated to think of the idea that, yes, this was it, I remembered how reality loved to hit me in the face as often as possible. This was one of those times. And just like every other, I had to power through it with a cup of coffee (or six), and with the help of a hoe or axe. I forced myself to let my anger and regret subside, just for a moment, before I took another couple of steps onto the plot. My hands were still clenched, but I didn't dare release them. One of my many odd coping methods for stress. I'm sure we'll discover more as soon as work is under way.

I tried my very best not to look further into the forest, in fear that I might become overwhelmed with a sense of dread. Instead, my eyes wandered to an open crate—the only object that looked brand new, or at least not as ruined as everything else. Curiosity guided me over to it, to find a batch of tools lying out in the open. I guess some people care…at least, now that there's someone actually living here.

Along with an axe, hoe, watering can, and plethora of other items, I found a note taped to the side of the box. It read:

Thought you might need these to get yourself started on out here—consider these as housewarming gifts from a dear friend.

-Lewis

Immediately I recognized the name, and for a split second a smile made its way to my face—as well as a hint of pity. Lewis was an old pal of my late grandfather, and in a sense, one of the only people left on this earth who knew a great lot about him. Shortly after I had decided to move to Stardew Valley, I had conversed with him by letter on the matter of making my way down to town. While I didn't know much of him, other than vaguely meeting him when I was a little tot, I knew he was someone I could lean on if I needed to. It's not everyday someone goes out of their way to buy you some tools that could have costed me all that I had left. At least I didn't have to worry too much about my expenses now.

Setting the note back into the crate, I planted my duffel bag on the top step to my new abode, and grasped out at the hoe I had been presented with. The grooved in the handle complimented my smooth hands, which were no doubt going to eventually turn rough and coarse with a healthy amount of tough labor. Taking a look at the stone edge of the tool, I found that it wasn't as sharp as I had been expecting. More on the blunt side, I knew that I could make do with it. With the ground being as moist as it was, there was a good chance that I could pull off an easy start right off the bat. Before the ground turned hard and dry, anyway.

With that, I went to work. My grip on the hoe tightened as I made my way back towards the entrance of the clearing, finding a small area that hadn't been littered with neglect. Picturing a short row in my mind, I nervously clawed my tool into the soil in an attempt to toil the dirt. As I had expected, it was soft to the touch of stone, and seemed to willingly move out of my way as I pleased. There, you just found something that went right in your day. In an attempt to fight back depression from what I often considered was from my bleak life, I made an effort to find something that was good about my day. No matter how small. Didn't fall when coming down the stairs? Good. Didn't get into an argument with someone on a bus terminal? Fantastic. Had a delicious salad for lunch? Outstanding. If I could start with the little things, maybe I could make some grand memories out of the big events in my life. I hope it works.

Maybe things won't be so bad from here on out, my short spurt of optimism rang out from my conscious, and I couldn't help but think that maybe I was right for once.

That is, until it started to pour with the strength of a weeping infant 15 minutes into plowing at the land.

I cursed up a storm, as did the sky above me, as I put on a poor effort to shield my form from the torrent of wind and water as they bit at my form. Spring rain wasn't as cold as it was back in the city, and I found myself unimpressed in my choice of outfit for the day. Jean-shorts, red flannel with a black tank underneath. Just wonderful. At least my rain boots were in order, if you didn't count the fact that mud had already found its way inside far before the weather turned hostile.

With my lack of proper attire, my body pleaded that I make do with what I had accomplished in the short span of time, and head indoors. However, I had different plans. Tucked away in my back shorts pocket, was a bag containing a lot of parsnip seeds. My going-away-gift from my father, as he insisted that they would come in handy, and I suppose that he was right. I fought at the icy droplets that clouded my vision, and forced myself to plant each individual seed where I had disturbed the soil. Just get this over with, and I promise that you can sleep in tomorrow, I compromised with my body. There wasn't much I could do to reject the offer, so I limped on with my task of placing each seed where I may. I'm sure the chore could have taken mere moments in pleasant weather—but tonight, it took me more than 5 minutes.

Twenty-one minutes after I had originally started plowing at the ground, I found myself soaking wet inside the stingy cabin. At that point in time, I didn't think of it as a creepy, unorderly, dirty, or even unwelcoming as I had originally judged it to be. Whether that was due to false judgement, or the fact that my body was practically begging for a sheltered bed, I could not tell. Probably both.

Without a care in the world, I tossed the filthy hoe onto the doormat besides the entrance, and gazed at my surroundings. An entire room was all that the cabin was made up of—not that I was expecting three floors and a basement or any luxury such as this. A mini-stove and fridge lined the back wall, along with a small dining table with four matching chairs adorning the center of the room. Off to the opposite side of the 'kitchen', rested a television (approximately the size of my head) on a wooden stool. My brow clenched at the unexpected item, but I shrugged it off, allowing myself to be grateful for whomever it had been who had installed the piece of technology. At the very least, I would be able to know about what was going on in the world as I rested out in the middle of nowhere.

The pièce de résistance of the entire room, was a small bed adorned with an auburn set of blankets. Quickly making my way to this piece of furniture after I stripped myself free of my boots, I observed that most of the blankets looked to have been sewn by hand. Had they been Papa's pieces? I wasn't aware that he was able to create such a fine piece of cloth, but I suppose anything was possible. If I had a chance, maybe I should write to my father with this proposal.

But for now, all I wanted to do was rest. Not bothering to change out of any clothing, I tore apart the peaceful display that was a made bed, and covered myself in the warm blankets that had been left for me. My—literally speaking—cold feet, were immediately reintroduced with warmth's embrace once they left the clutches of open air, and disappeared under the cotton. I sighed in disbelief; I hadn't experienced such comfort in ages. Much better than those cheap, 10-gold a piece bargain mattresses, that's for sure, I thought with slight glee.

It was then, as I started to drift off into what I would vaguely remember as the most wonderful sleep I would have had in many years' time, when I noticed the sound of dripping rain and howling wind outdoors. Instead of sounding like the harsh beckoning of something ominous as they had felt like outdoors—inside, they sounded like a lullaby. Nature's little bed-time story for the tired young-adult. I let the thoughts of each individual grouping of raindrops clatter about in my sleepy consciousness, instead of letting something downcast take its hold. Mom's departure. Quitting work. Traveling afar. Leaving it all behind for something new.

I just hoped that at the end of this road, I would believe that it had all been worth it.