Chapter 1: Quarter Life Crisis

March 1st (Spring)

I carried my bags off the bus and stepped onto the damp and slushy melted snow. Dirt and ice splashed with each tentative step, and I took care to not let my luggage become sullied by the spring melt.

My grandfather's letter was tucked away safely in my breast pocket, and I could feel the stiffness from the paper against my pounding heartbeat. I had read and re-read the letter plenty of times on the bus ride to the town that I could recite his words from memory.

It read:

If you are reading this, you must be in dire need of a change. The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life … real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belonged.

Attached to the letter was a copy of his will. The notary and the signatures on the document were dated for July of the previous year, and the will had a portion highlighted which pertained to me.

And to my only granddaughter, I leave my entire farm including its land, tools, and existing structures to live on. I hope you come to call Pelican Town your home as I did when I met your grandmother there.

According to the stories, my grandfather bought the land from a family who was looking to move to Zuzu City. Many families left their quaint hamlets and small towns in search for better job prospects or more excitement in their life. But my grandfather, after returning home from war, wanted a break from the chaos and regimented military life and settled down in Pelican Town. There he met my grandmother and it was love at first sight, or at least that's how he tells it. Sadly, I never got to meet her. She died of cancer before I was born.

When he passed away, my mother called me at work to tell me the news. Although the news wasn't unexpected, I still felt like someone had sucked the breath from my lungs. And to add insult to injury, my manager called me into his office soon afterwards to issue me a formal disciplinary citation for taking personal calls at work.

Prior to hearing about my grandfather's passing, my life hadn't exactly gone as I had planned. I was working a menial, minimum wage job that barely paid the bills. My manager was a tool. The company that I worked for, Joja Enterprises, was a soul-sucking cooperate conglomerate and soon after the disciplinary citation incident, I quit. I wish I could say that I quit in a spectacular fashion and told the entire cubical city to 'suck it', but I hate confrontation and I simply called my manager that next morning and quit over the phone.

My personal life wasn't all that stellar either. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend. I didn't end it over anything sensational; he never hurt me or abused me, nor did he cheat on me, but he was simply unmotivated. He was content to sit in the apartment while I was at work, smoke cigarettes, play video games, and pretend he was job searching. He had every excuse under the sun to explain why he had yet to find a job since we moved in together. So while he was out blowing my hard earned money on more cigarettes, frozen pizzas, and cheap beer, I packed my things and left.

So here I was. With three suitcases packed full of my clothes and personal belongings and with nothing more than my grandfather's final wishes, I set out into my new life.

"Welcome back, Morgan." An older man said as I walked towards the dirt road where a green truck was idling. It took me a moment to recognize him as the town's Mayor and my grandfather's best friend. Mayor Lewis was dressed in the same blue coveralls and orange floppy newsboy cap. His once brown hair was now mostly grey and although his mustache was just as thick, it was now neatly trimmed. "My you've grown up. I think the last time I saw you was …"

"… eight years ago." I finished for him with a guilty smile.

Truthfully, my absence was mostly the product of teenage rebellion and angst. As soon as I got my license, I stopped taking summer camping trips with my Mom and started caring more about going out to the movies, getting a summer job, going or to the mall with my friends.

"Ah yes, that's right." He replied. "It's a shame that something like your grandfather's passing had to get you to come all the way back to our town. I hope you'd be here under better circumstances."

Lewis took my bags and lifted them into the back of his pickup truck. For a man in his mid sixties, he was still as strong as ever.

"Did my grandpa do much on the farm in the last couple of years? I know that he had some cows, pigs, and chickens that he kept." I asked.

Lewis frowned as he slid into the warm truck cab. I followed suit and put my backpack and the tackle box that my grandfather had gifted me on my thirteenth birthday between my legs.

"Truthfully, your grandpa was in poor health in his last couple years. He sold all of the animals to slaughterhouses to pay for his medical care in Zuzu City. I know that he still has a coup still standing, but his pastures are pretty overgrown."

Lewis started up his truck and drove two miles down the rutted and slushy road that led to the old farmhouse. As we pulled in, I saw a red-haired woman who looked to be in her early forties inspecting the side of the house.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"That's Robin. She moved here with her family a few years ago. She has a daughter who is graduating high school and has a son who's around your age. She's our town carpenter and I asked her here to do an inspection on the house before you move in.

"Morning Robin." He called out as he hopped out of the truck.

I followed suit and gabbed my backpack and tackle box from the truck cab while Lewis grabbed my bags and set them on the wooden stoop.

"Morning!" She called out brightly and then turned to me. "Ah, you must be Morgan. Nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry to hear about your grandpa. I didn't know him well. We moved here just before he passed and I didn't get a chance to talk with him that much."

"Thanks for meeting us here Robin." Mayor Lewis replied. "I know the backroads to your place are probably a puddle of snow soup right now."

She grinned. The woman's face was youthful which contrasted with the callouses, wrinkles, and scars that marred her hands.

"It's not a problem." She replied and then turned to me. I've been inspecting the cabin for you to make sure that everything's up to code. The place is a little out-dated, but it's habitable."

I nodded mutely. The woman barely took a breath between sentences. She was like an excitable dog who was meeting a new person by jumping around at their feet. Interactions like this never happened in the city. Despite being more populated, people tended to keep to themselves. This change of pace was endearing but also overwhelming.

Robin opened the door and ushered us all inside. "You have a fireplace and a small kitchenette in the main room. The bathroom is through that far door, and your bedroom is through the nearest doorway to your right. You grandpa paid me to redo the kitchen floor as termites were beginning to make a meal out of it, but the rest has remained exactly as he had it. It's a bit small, but it will work for a bachelorette such as yourself. By the way, I'm available for hire if you need any upgrades, wood-working projects, or buildings constructed."

"Um thanks." I replied. I only half-listened to what she was saying. Instead, I was distracted by the warm, spicy odor of pipe tobacco. It was grandpa's brand and it was a smell that brought back so many memories.

Lewis chuckled, "Thanks Robin. I think we should let Morgan get unpacked and settled in. I left my telephone number on the spindle next to the microwave if you need to get ahold of me, Morgan.

"Of course," Robin replied and shook my hand. "It was nice to meet you."

Lewis put my bags next to the small, wooden kitchen table and tipped his hat to me. Robin followed behind him and shut the door.

Without them, the quietness in the cabin seemed to be deafening. I fixed my ears but heard nothing except the hum of the toilet cycling water through the reservoir and the steady dripping of the ice and snow as it melted off the roof.

I kicked my shoes off and walked around the cabin in my socks. An unseen force was pulling me towards the bedroom first. Grandpa's room didn't have a door to it. He told me that it was easier to keep the entire place warm if the heat from the fireplace didn't have to pass through a closed door.

His bedroom use to have taxadermied fish hanging from the walls. He even had an old beer sign that lit up. A thick quilt would lay across his bed and he'd wrap me up in it when the nights became unusually cold as summer ended. Now the room was bare, and aside for the smell of pipe tobacco, there was no sign that my grandfather ever lived here.

The bathroom was at the other end of the cabin. I never understood why since it forced you to walk through the living room to take care of business. Grandpa told me that the cabin use to have a second bedroom attached to the other side, adjacent to the bathroom, but a meteorite struck the place when he was a young man and destroyed it. Apparently, this was before he met grandma and they had my mother, so I always assumed he was pulling my leg. But it still made for a nice story, I suppose.

The bathroom was tiny. A large glass door shower took up the majority of the right side of the room while the toilet and the sink were across from each other on the left. I chuckled to myself as I remembered six year old me trying to stretch my hands out to reach the faucets so I could wash my hands while I went to the bathroom. I insisted that it saved time, but my mother scolded me for my unsanitary habits. Although now, as a grown adult, I could comfortably reach the faucets if I wanted to.

There were no decorations on any of the walls. The bathroom had a sun-bleached yellow wallpaper that had sunflowers growing up along the walls, but the kitchen and grandpa's … no, my bedroom had nothing but bare wooden slats. My mother would've loved this place with its utilitarian and no-frills decor, but the emptiness reminded me too much of what was missing: the taxidermied fish, the outdoorsman nature watercolors, the smell of bacon grease and beer batter from our Friday night fish dinners, and of course, it was missing grandpa.

Just then, my cell phone rang. The peppy ringtone sounded alien to me amid my nostalgia and melancholy, but I fished it out of my pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hey hon. Did you make it to the farm alright?" My mother asked.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat hoping to mask the whirlwind of emotions that swirled in my mind. "Lewis met me at the bus stop and brought me here in his truck. The roads are still sloppy from the winter thaw, but the cabin is in good shape."

"That's good." My mother replied, but she sounded uncertain. I already knew where this was going.

"You don't have to do this, you know." She said. "Just because grandpa left you this place in his will doesn't mean you have to stay there. You could sell it. You could use it for a summer cabin when you eventually have kids. You could —"

"Mom! Mom, stop. Okay?" I sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. "This is what I want."

"Are you sure?" She asked. "You don't need to do this for him, Morgan. Your grandpa would understand. You have a life and a home here. Don't treat this as a quarter-life crisis."

My mom chuckled at her own lame joke but I rolled my eyes. "What kind of life did I have, Mom? Working at Joja? Living with Brandon in that one bedroom apartment above that dive bar? I did this for me, not for anyone else."

My mother sighed. "Your grandpa was always stubborn too. I swear, you take after him more than you do me. I just want you to know that you can come home if you get into trouble. I can send you money if you need it. I don't want you to starve out there. Heck, it's not even fishing opener! What are you going to eat?"

"Mom. Would you stop worrying? I'm going to be fine."

She sighed again. "Fine. Just promise to call me later on this week to let me know how you are doing. Chuck is working doubles at the plant right now, but he has Friday off so we can come down there if you need us to."

I wrinkled my nose at the mention of my stepfather. The man did the best he could. He married my mom when I was fifteen and dealt with my teenage angst and mood swings with grace and patience, but he and I never did have a close relationship. I didn't need a dad — or want one — and he was perfectly happy with keeping an arm's distance. Still, he made my mom happy, so I couldn't complain too much.

"It's fine Mom. I'll call you on Friday to check in, but I'll probably be busy cleaning up grandpa's farm, so how 'bout you wait a few months before visiting." I replied quickly.

"Or how about you come home?" My mother tried again.

"I am home Mom." I replied with a conviction that startled even me. "Grandpa's watching out for me. I can feel it. So don't worry about me, okay? I love you both and I'll call you Friday, okay?"

"Okay." My mother resigned. "Love you too."

When I hung up my phone, I had half the mind to power the thing off. Aside for spotty cell coverage, my grandfather never had an internet connection and the thick forrest blocked any and all high speed data. Maybe shutting it off would be the last step I needed to fully embrace this new lifestyle.

"I am home." I said to myself as I surveyed the empty cabin.

"I am home."