Rows and rows of blueberries sprout through the rich, dark soil, their fruits full almost to bursting in the summer sun. Interspersed are fields of wheat, a small ocean of sunflowers, tangled masses of melon vines, a thicket of red cabbage plants, and the telltale greens of rich red radishes. Corn stalks sway in the sun, heavy with their golden ears, and tomatoes and hot peppers climb their trellises. Even more flowers and the contented hum of bees surround a small house, just two bedrooms and a kitchen with an outcropping of small sheds by the back; off to the side a small orchard of oaks and maples and pine trees shine a brilliant verdant green. Through all of this walks an old man, grey with age but unbent.
He moves with purpose and a steady tread, his gnarled hands solid as the roots of those old trees and gentle as the wind, which rustles but never breaks the stalks. Here he pours some water from the old tin can, there he prunes an overgrown shoot with the knife at his belt, or picks one of the fruits of the field and places it in the full and heavy rucksack at his shoulders. His eyes are as blue as the wide expanse of the sky, his hair and beard as white as the clouds. He's a caretaker, a guardian, keeping the life here thriving in its endless cycle. But he is old, even in his strength, and what was once mere deliberate caution turns every day further into struggle to keep up with the expanse of this place.
Running through the plots, as sprightly as the other figure is stately, is a much smaller figure. Poking and peering at every shoot and stem, cautiously sampling the riper growths, dirt soaking into their feet, the smaller figure reaches the older one and looks up at him with the adoration of youth for the impossible exploits of their elders. With a gentle smile, the old man ruffles their hair and says in a voice as low and warm as the hot summer air, "Learn this place as well as you can, grandson. One day, it will welcome you as it welcomed me. But first you have to-"
"Wake up!" The gruff voice shook Gaius, Guy to his friends, awake. The rest of the bus was empty now, only the middle aged man in the drivers seat, and Guy all the way in the back. "End of the line, sir. Hop on out and collect your bags; I've got a long drive back to civilization."
Guy stood up, trying to stretch the life back into his limbs. He hadn't dreamed like that in a long while; he never really slept deep enough to get into dreamland these past few years. As he pulled his backpack and the lone trunk of everything he thought worth bringing out of the storage compartments, he wondered how much the real place would resemble his dream and the memories it drew from.
Stepping out of the bus the first thing that hit him was the air. After too many long years in the city, breathing in truly fresh air for the first time felt almost painful; too clean, too clear, ice rushing into his lungs. But something about it was familiar, like coming back to his parents after a semester away had been.
"Hello! You must be Guy." The voice snapped him out of his reverie and he looked out to see a woman with a shock of bright red hair in a high ponytail. A light spring jacket, stained with dirt and sap, told him "outdoorsman"; the hearty handshake given by impressively calloused hands said "for work, not leisure."
Guy gave his best first impression smile. "That I am, miss. And you are?"
"I'm Robin Carver, the local carpenter. The last name is my husband's before you make any jokes. Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He's there right now, tidying things up for your arrival." She turned and began walking towards a pickup truck, clearly old but well maintained. "Climb on in and I'll give you a ride. It's not too far outside of town, but you've got stuff to carry."
Guy followed suit, grateful for the kindness of strangers, and threw his things in the back of the truck. "Thank you, Mrs. Carver. I must say I wasn't expecting a welcome party for one newcomer. Especially not the mayor himself."
She smiled at that. "Mayor Lewis keeps himself pretty involved in the towns business. And it doesn't hurt that he thought very highly of your grandfather. I don't think he had a closer friend in town than old Lucky."
The mention of his grandfather, especially by his nickname, tugged a bit at the old scar of his passing. The man had been old, of course, but something about him had always made it seem like he'd live forever. When Guy was born, Grandpa Lucky had already been older than the forests as far as Guy was concerned. "He did tell me to say hi to the old guy for him in the letter he left me. Guess it saves me the trip into town."
"Happy to be of service, Guy." With that, Robin started the old truck and it began rumbling down the service road to his grandfather's old land and the place where Guys past and future were colliding. After only a few minutes they arrived, and pulled through the old high gate bearing the name: Comfort Farm.
He hadn't known quite what to expect but it certainly wasn't this. Weeds had overgrown huge tracts of the expansive property; wild saplings were sprouting everywhere, still young growth but already taller than he was; fallen branches and broken stone sprawled over the landscape. There was no sign of the neat and ordered little farm of Guy's childhood except for the small farmhouse, still studiously maintained. It looked sad; Guy couldn't put his finger on whether it was small compared to his memories, compared to the wilds surrounding it, or whether it had just always been this tiny.
Robin must have read the disappointment on his face because she looked at him with a bit of a sad smile. "I know it's a bit overgrown, but there's still some good soil under all that mess. With a little dedication you'll have it cleaned up in no time." Guy smiled back, ruefully, but nodded.
"Dedication is one thing I'm not lacking for, Mrs. Carver. It just stings a bit to see how much fell by the wayside when I was away." The house at least had been looked after, a tiny pocket of remembrance. Just as the thought crossed Guy's mind, the door opened and out stepped a figure from another time.
"Ah, our newest community member! I'm Lewis Cleveland, the mayor of Pelican Town. It's not everyday someone moves in, it's quite a big deal!" The old man's brown eyes, set in a face wrinkled by time and stress but still exuberant under it all, twinkled as he spoke, and his waxed mustache curled up in a smile. "It's especially exciting to welcome someone back again. I was good friends with your late grandfather, and I've done my best to keep his old cottage in workable shape. It's a good house despite its age. Very…rustic."
Robin snorted at the description. "Rustic? That's one way to put it. 'Rusting' might be a little more apt, though." The old gentleman bristled at that, but the anger quickly faded to sorrow.
"While I think your intentions are probably less than pure, Robin…you're not wrong. I've done my best but I'm not exactly spritely, nor do I have the free time to care for this old place as I would have liked to. Especially as none of us knew if you would ever actually move out here…"
Guy grimaced at that. "I was…indisposed, for a long while. My grandfather hadn't really let on what was in the letter he enclosed the deed in, just told me to open it 'when I was tired of the burden of modern life'."
Lewis smiled again, and brushed away a tear. "That does sound like Lucky, the curmudgeon. Made me look like a shining example of modernity."
"He did mention you, you know," Guy said. "Told me to say hi…if you were still alive."
Lewis actually laughed out loud at that one. "That snarky old crank. I've got decades left in me. Did you know he was twenty years my senior? Calling me old…the gall!"
"As fun as this story swapping is, boys," Robin interjected, "some of us do have jobs and families to get home to. Guy, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you around soon, and if you ever want some renovation work done on this old place do stop on by; the foundations are good but with a little elbow grease it could be phenomenal." Guy shook the redheads extended hand, and bid her goodbye as she climbed into her truck.
"I should be leaving soon as well, Guy," said Lewis, dusting off his own hands. "You must be tired from the long journey, Yoba knows I am after preparing for your arrival. You'll find a little welcome basket in the icebox there; you should eat up, and then get some rest. Maybe wander into town tomorrow and introduce yourself around. I'm sure your new neighbors would appreciate it."
"That sounds like a fine plan, your honor." The old man stiffened again, so slightly, then shook his head.
"It's the damndest thing, Guy. You sound exactly like him." And with that, Lewis climbed into his own truck and headed out down the dirt road to town.
Guy hefted the heavy trunk through the door of the cabin, flicking the old light switch on his right almost by reflex. A tidal wave of nostalgia flickered over him as he looked around the old cabin. Lewis really had maintained the place like a museum; even the old blankets looked to be the same ones Guy had slept on in his youth. They were an absolute patchwork, but like everything his grandfather had owned they were solidly made and worked exactly as they should, thick and heavy to keep out the biting cold nights that came in the fall and still hadn't fully died out at the beginning of spring.
There was the old bedroom he had stayed in as a child, just a small bed, an end table, and a bookcase. Here was the master bedroom, just one large bed and a dresser drawer. A battered old TV with its antennas reaching for the ceiling, a fireplace that Guy noted had a nice pile of logs stacked nearby, the old icebox, a few feet of counter and cabinets, a flat rug, a table with two chairs, and a Yoban holy symbol made up the entirety of the main room. It was small, and humble, and would barely fit in the apartment Guy had left behind but it was all familiar, and it was all warm, and it was all his; well and truly and irrevocably his.
As he packed away his clothes, Guy heard a scurrying in the darkness. Something had flashed by on the edge of sight; probably a mouse or a vole. He made a note to double-check all his provisions, and went about assembling dinner from the welcome basket; a heavy slice of good cheese on country brown bread was thrown in a skillet hanging by the fire and toasted up a treat. Guy watched the fire burn down, threw on the first pair of pajamas he could find, and nodded off.