Taking Root (Stardew Valley - Shane)

Chapter One

I could see grandpa in everything. In the sycamore seeds that tumbled to the ground like whirring helicopter fans, in the shadows that my hands cast on the dirt path as I batted my way through nettles that reached out to me from the undergrowth. I could especially see him in the silhouette of the wooden porch, where we used to sit cross-legged and play cards under the setting sun. I saw myself there now, a little ghost of a figure, with scraped knees and messy, haphazardly-plaited hair. I noticed my small cheeks that were flushed pink from running circles around squealing piglets, and my patched, corduroy pockets that were weighed down with pinecones and small pebbles still wet from the stream.

Maybe I was still that little girl. She was inside me always, anyway.

The harrowing squawk of a crow startled me from the dazed thoughts of my childhood, and my eyes followed a feeling of mild pain in my leg. One of the nettles had succeeded in it's attempt to bully me. The sharp thorn had latched onto the soft, grey fabric of my walking trousers and tore them open in a small, clean line straight across my mid-thigh. I was bleeding a little.

I guess these were the battles you had to fight when you take on the army of the Mean Plants. See, all of the flowers and shrubs that call this planet home have their own personality, just like us. There are the loud, extroverted ones that love to burst out into bright colours as if sharing their entire selves like an open book. There are even shy plants, that hide beneath the sheltering leaves of others, blooming in the night when it's quiet and calm. And then there are Mean Plants. They seem to derive great joy from scratching at the sides of your ankles, or smacking you like a catapult to the face when you aren't looking where you are going. My grip tightened on the heavy, rusted scythe that was in my left hand. Even though the nettles had won against me yet again, I smiled and allowed a few to stay creeping through the grass, albeit cut back from the path. Even though they were mean, they did offer their condolences with large, juicy blackberries in the autumn-time.

It was already getting dark when I finally decided to stop walking, letting a deep breath out from the bottom of my lungs and running a hand across my head to move the damp strands of hair glued to my skin. The warm glow of my phone was a stark contrast to the dull, grainy vision I had of the winding paths I was attempting to clear. 8PM. Well, as much as I didn't want to admit it, my back was starting to feel like a bent pipe cleaner and I could see the veins protruding along my hands and forearms.

I trudged back to the familiar sight of my grandpa's old, wooden cabin. The door would definitely need patching up with some spare planks soon, as I could feel a draft of air creeping into the small living room even after it had creaked to a close. As I sat on the sofa, needle and thread in hand to patch up the fresh rip in my clothing, I peered around. Even though it was small, and very much empty, there was an overwhelming feeling of safety in this place. I could almost feel grandpa's sturdy arms reaching around the tips of my shoulders. A warm light emitted from the candle I had lit near the window, and my mud-encrusted boots sat ready and waiting near the front door.

For the first time in such a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. My younger self was bright like a beam of sunshine under my ribs. Turning the trousers I was repairing on my knee, a pinecone and two small pebbles that I had subconsciously gathered earlier tumbled out from the pocket and hit the floor with a determined clatter. Oh, it was nice to be her again.