The first morning in Stardew Valley came with birdsong.
Connie woke to sunlight filtering through thin curtains, the smell of dust and old wood heavy in the farmhouse air. For a few seconds, he forgot where he was. The room was so different from his city apartment—the walls bare except for a crooked picture frame, the floorboards creaking with every step. But then his gaze drifted to the worn satchel by the door, and it all came back to him. The letter. The bus ride. The farm.
He pushed the blanket aside and dressed quickly. The farmhouse was quiet, so quiet that he could hear the faint scratching of a mouse somewhere in the walls. Outside, the sound of life was louder: the call of crows, the whisper of wind through grass, the soft rush of the nearby river.
When he stepped onto the porch, he paused.
The land stretched out before him in the full light of day. Yesterday, he had seen only its edges, but now the whole picture was revealed. The weeds were everywhere, thick and unruly, taller than his knees in places. Stones littered the soil like the remnants of a collapsed wall. Stumps rose stubbornly from the earth, their roots clinging deep. It wasn't just untidy—it was wild.
Connie rubbed his neck and exhaled. "Well," he muttered to himself, "no point waiting."
He picked up the tools Robin had left by the porch. The axe was heavier than he expected, the handle worn smooth from years of use. He set his sights on a small patch of land near the house and swung. The blade bit into the first sapling, sending a shiver up his arms. The tree gave way on the second strike, collapsing into the grass with a sound louder than he thought possible.
By the time he had cleared a few more, sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt. His hands ached, and his shoulders already throbbed from muscles unaccustomed to work.
He sat down on a nearby rock, wiping his brow. The earth smelled sharp and damp where he had broken it open. For a fleeting moment, he thought of his old office desk, the endless clicking of keys and the stale taste of vending machine coffee. He had never once been this exhausted at nine in the morning there. But then again, he had never once felt this strangely… alive.
Near midday, the sound of footsteps drew his attention.
A woman approached along the dirt path from town. She carried a basket under one arm, her brown hair tied back in a loose bun. When she spotted him, she smiled, warm and kind in a way that softened Connie's nerves.
"Ah, you must be the new farmer," she said, adjusting the basket. "I'm Evelyn. Welcome to Pelican Town."
Connie stood quickly, brushing dirt from his hands. "That's right. Connie. It's… a bit of a mess right now, but I'm working on it."
Evelyn's gaze swept over the overgrown land, but there was no judgment in her eyes. Only a gentle patience. "It'll take time," she said. "Everything worthwhile does. If you need a little something to keep your strength up, I baked some cookies this morning."
From the basket, she handed him a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Connie accepted it with both hands, surprised at the kindness. The cookies were still faintly warm, smelling of cinnamon and butter.
"Thank you," he said, more earnest than he expected.
"Don't mention it. We look after each other here. You'll see." Evelyn gave him one last reassuring smile before heading back toward town.
Connie watched her go, the cookies cradled carefully in his hands. The valley still felt overwhelming, and the land still looked like more work than one person could ever manage, but the weight of it all felt lighter now.
As the sun sank low and the shadows of the trees stretched long across the farm, Connie set down his axe and looked at the small patch of cleared soil. It wasn't much. Just a corner of earth free from weeds and rocks, neat enough to breathe again. But it was something.
He thought of his grandfather then, of the letter and the promise of change. The farm wasn't a burden to inherit. It was an invitation.
And though his body ached with every movement, Connie felt the faintest spark of pride.
Tomorrow, he would plant.