I have many regrets in my life, but one of the two biggest was the way I left my father, Barley. I had my reasons for leaving so quietly, every time I had asked him about living off of our ranch he shut me down and shut me up, but I was cruel and I knew it. I packed one night, wrote him a letter, and left it on the front counter where I knew he would see it as soon as the "store" portion of our home was open the next morning. I remember it only vaguely, but I know that I was too brief. I wrote that I needed to leave and something about being young, carefree, and stagnating. I couldn't stay around that old ranch any longer, couldn't wake up to cows every morning and couldn't greet the same faces of the same villagers around me in the same manner every single day for the rest of my life. Typical teenage "I'm running away" kinds of things. What I remember that I did not write was how much I love him, or that I appreciate him, or where I was going, or that I would write him when I was safely settled in. The letter ended with a cold "Sincerely, Joanna", and I was out the door and on my way. It's been years. I still clearly remember the dreamy whimper of my little puppy Hannah as I closed the door and slipped away.
I was on a small ship that was heading for Waffle Island. I had heard a lot about it before leaving. It seemed fantastic and, more importantly, it was a place that no one knew me and no one knew of my family. It was a place to start fresh. I don't remember what I was running from then, but I knew that it definitely wouldn't find me there. Oh no, Waffle Island was a place absolutely packed with potential. I would no longer tend to the cows and sheep of my father's ranch. Maybe I would live off the land and catch fish and harvest wild food like people used to do, or I get a job at an inn or a diner and get my own apartment, or I grow vegetables and fruits and become a farmer. I would even keep chickens! I was just so, so tired of cows. Sheep too, though they offended me less because I was not expected to wake up to milk them. I would change and become something fresh and free and wonderful and not join the ranks of the barefoot and uneducated but well-meaning villagers of Mineral Town. I stepped off the boat onto Waffle Pier and headed off with a wave to my sailor and without direction.
Six hours of walking later, I wished I had asked for directions. Some days after I learned that I had arrived during the Flower Festival, but on that first day I walked without meeting anyone and, though I could definitely hear that something interesting was going on nearby, I didn't want to intrude. "The best way to find your way around is just to wander until you wind up where you need to be." I told it to the trees, and they refused to answer my absurdities. My stomach, however, had no problems answering. The things I brought with me were limited to my fishing rod, a book of matches, a sleeping bag, and a few changes of clothes. I came to a lake with a small pier: exactly what I wanted to find. I only had to wait about an hour before catching something the right size for a meal. It was maybe another hour before I built a small fire, cleaned and cooked my fish and ate it all. The sun was setting so I doused my fire and crawled under the pier, close to the top of the slope of ground that led into the water. The water was low, so it was dry and sheltered enough for me to sleep here just fine. I had always been adventurous and was used to falling asleep on the ground around Mother's Hill in Mineral Town, so this wasn't very different. I stuffed my gear towards the top of the slope, unrolled my sleeping bag, and quickly fell asleep.