Ethan centered himself and took a deep breath as he knelt over the garden bed. Days of work had led to this moment, and somehow it felt like a turning point for him. Scuppers picked up on his tension, and a comforting paw came to rest on his arm — puppy dog eyes looking up at him. Ethan smiled at the dog and lightly bonked heads affectionately.

  Joel was cradled tenderly in his hands, ready to be transplanted to his new home at long last. Ethan had prepared the puny plant per Henry’s instructions, cutting away at the smashed and matted clump of roots to grow new, deeper roots once he was replanted.

  Ethan held Joel in his hands, remembering the day he’d almost thrown him out. He had still been grieving the breakup with Samantha and was recklessly purging his tiny apartment of everything that reminded him of her. The memory was painfully vivid.

  He recklessly threw clothes onto the floor, gritting his teeth to stop from crying. This is the whole reason I broke up with her. So I wouldn’t have to feel this way, he thought. He found the I Love Beaver shirt she’d bought for him when they’d taken a road trip and stopped in Beaver, Utah for a pit stop.

  She’d teased him ceaselessly, and he’d loved every minute. He roughly shoved the shirt into a garbage bag, suppressing the happy memories that threatened to suffocate him. He continued around his apartment, throwing trinkets, notes, and other objects into the garbage bag, desperate to purge her memory.

  She’s not dead, a part of him whispered. She’s just a phone call away. Ethan shoved that thought down and continued his eradication of any signs she’d ever been there.

  Finally, he came to Joel, the small, lopsided plant sitting on his windowsill where it could get the most sun. He reached out his hand and hesitated. Joel was… what? A pet? A plant? Family? Joel was the only thing he cared about, but reminded him of Samantha every time he looked at him.

  It doesn’t fucking matter, Ethan thought bitterly, his mouth twisting into a nasty snarl as he violently snatched the plant by the stem and shoved it into the garbage bag. None of it matters.

  He went outside and heaved the garbage bag into the dumpster, and stomped up the stairs back to his apartment.

  Pacing back and forth restlessly, Ethan tried desperately to think of anything else — to force his mind into some semblance of peace. He went into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge. His eyes skimmed over the contents, not registering interest in anything there. He grunted in disgust and slammed the door, turning his back to the fridge and sliding down to sit on the floor.

  His eyes caught on his mother’s old apron with Mom’s Spaghetti emblazoned across the front.

  Just another thing to remind me of what I’ve lost, he thought bitterly. His thoughts were drawn inexorably to her final moments. Those final days were filled with terror and uncertainty as her death drew closer.

  Ethan had clutched her hand, desperately willing her to get better. To stay with him. She’d never raised a single word of complaint, even when she was delirious from the pain or meds. She was all smiles for him until the very end.

  “You keep growing, okay?” she’d whispered, fingers brushing his cheek tenderly. “Even when I’m gone. Especially then.”

  Alone in his kitchen, the words seemed to pierce his soul. Grow? Grow into what, Mom? I’m just another thing to be discarded, he thought bitterly. As soon as he thought the words, he felt ashamed. Mom wouldn’t have put up with this pity party, and she wouldn’t have let him sit moping on the floor. Juliet Thompson hadn’t raised him to act like this.

  He stood up abruptly, unsure of what to do, just knowing he had to do something — anything. Then it dawned on him — there was only one thing he could do immediately that Mom would be proud of. He raced out the door and down the stairs of his apartment, sprinting to the dumpster.

  Without hesitation, he vaulted into the dumpster, searching frantically for the garbage bag he’d tossed in moments ago. He gagged at the smell, but finally found what he was looking for buried within the detritus.

  Clambering out of the dumpster, he ripped open the bag, sorting through the contents until he found Joel. The tiny plant’s leaves were bent and broken in places, and its pot had completely spilled out.

  “I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry,” Ethan had said, voice full of emotion as he brushed the plant clean and did his best to reposition him in the pot. “I’m just...” But he didn’t know what he was or what he felt. He had repeated apologies as he took Joel back up to his apartment.

  The memory faded, seeming like another life. Now, holding Joel in his hands as he prepared to plant him not in a pot, but in the ground he’d prepared so carefully just for this purpose, he remembered the words of his mother, using her wisdom even now to guide his actions.

  “You keep growing, Joel,” he whispered, placing a kiss on one of Joel’s leaves before lowering him into the ground. He shifted the plant until he was well situated and began to push loose soil into the hole, lightly tamping the earth so it held Joel in place. Tears fell to the earth as he did this, adding themselves to the rich soil he’d toiled over.

  As he did this, a tiny white orb spiraled up from Joel. It didn't zip toward him aggressively the way the red orbs did — it traveled in a slow arc toward him before burying itself in his chest. Just like before, a sense of contentment and peace bloomed within him. It amplified the positive emotions and the feeling of accomplishment. The feeling built within him, and his eyes glistened as he looked down at Joel.

  The plant looked so tiny in the large planter, but as Ethan sank his fingers into the soil, there was a rightness that pulsed up from the earth. He instinctively pushed his awareness into the ground, feeling for the first time a wider and deeper connection than he’d ever felt before.

  Not only was the quality of the soil immediately apparent to him, but he also had an innate sense of the moisture and nutrients. Pushing his senses further, he swore he could identify sources of water. Maybe even the river running through the middle of the valley.

  He knew. The soil surrounding Joel pulsed a deep, rich gold as the knowledge entered his mind, and at the same time, a system message popped up in his vision.

  S-Tier Soil: Transcendent quality. Soil teeming with life. Rich, loamy, perfectly balanced in nutrients, pH, and structure. Water retention ideal. Multiple close-proximity water sources.

  Suitable Crops: Anything.

  Yield: Abundant. Crops grown here may exhibit enhanced traits.

  [SEEDER SYSTEM ALERT]

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Soil Enhancement: Emotional resonance. Infused with human emotion. Unknown variables introduced.

  WARNING: Unnatural vitality detected. Soil quality exceeds expected parameters.

  SYSTEM UPDATE: [Soil Quality Assessment Enhanced]

  Ethan blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of information from multiple sources. He read the message multiple times before mentally dismissing it.

  Did I… just level up? he thought, a slow smile spreading across his face. He heaved a shuddering sigh, processing the overwhelming emotions of the last few moments.

  Scuppers nuzzled his arm worriedly, sensing a change in his demeanor. Ethan reassured the dog with a few placating pats as he extracted his hands from the soil. Grabbing a metal watering can, he proceeded to water Joel per Henry's instructions and based on what he had intuitively sensed with his ability.

  Finally, Ethan stood back with his hands on his hips and beheld his first ever planting. A wide smile broke across his tanned face. The peace and joy he felt at seeing the tiny plant in a new home, with ample room to grow, seemed silly given everything he'd gone through to get here, but he relished it.

  “Alright, Scupps,” Ethan said, pushing up his sleeve. “Let’s get to plantin’.” Scuppers’ only reply was a happy bark that seemed to say, It’s about time.

  Ethan stretched his back, groaning as the tension in his muscles made itself known. He glanced over at Henry, who had come in from the fields to help with planting the garden planters, and envied the old man’s fortitude.

  He’s a freaking machine, he thought.

  Henry had pulled out a dusty record player and set it on the front porch before setting it to play. Let It Be by the Beatles now played in the background as they toiled on the planters.

  “The Beatles were Quynh’s favorite,” Henry had reminisced. “She made it very clear that if John Lennon ever came calling, I was gettin’ the boot.”

  Ethan grinned. “That’s fair,” he remarked. “But what was your hall pass?”

  “Hall… pass?” Henry asked, confusion etched on his face as he wiped his brow.

  “Ya know, like a hall pass!” Ethan said, gesticulating wildly as if that would help explain. “Your wife’s hall pass was John Lennon, so who was yours?”

  “I didn’t- don’t have one,” Henry said, turning back to the garden bed and digging in with a hand trowel. “Quynh was the only woman for me.”

  Ethan blew a loud raspberry, causing Henry’s head to whip around. “Boooring,” Ethan chimed in a sing-song voice. “Everyone’s gotta have a hall pass, Henry!” Henry only looked at Ethan with a quirked eyebrow and a flat gaze.

  “For example, mine is Ana De Armas and Samantha’s is-”

  Ethan cut off abruptly, his mouth still open mid-sentence. Bringing up Samantha had caused his mind to stutter to a halt as the swirl of emotions associated with her overwhelmed him. He cleared his throat, unsure what to say in the ensuing silence. Awkwardly, he turned back to the garden bed, cheeks burning.

  Samantha is gone, dummy, he chastised himself. She’s been gone even before she got erased by the apocalypse.

  Henry didn’t press him, and the two men continued to work in silence, each tending to small plants and seeds according to Ethan’s diagram. Scuppers hobbled back and forth around the garden, sniffing inquisitively at the fresh-tilled earth.

  “Stevie Nicks,” Henry said after several minutes had passed. Ethan was momentarily confused before realization dawned on him.

  “The lady from Fleetwood Mac?” Ethan asked, a slow grin spreading across his face.

  “That’s the one,” Henry replied. “Quynh would have been okay with her as my hall pass.” He mimed air quotes to illustrate his dislike of the term.

  Ethan grinned at the old farmer and kept working. The two of them fell into a rhythm, working harmoniously in tandem without having to say much. Ethan appreciated the comfortable silence and Henry’s attempt to push past his awkwardness.

  Henry provided guidance when asked, but quietly worked under Ethan’s direction, letting the younger man take the lead on this project. He hadn’t said it outright, but Ethan suspected the old farmer had deliberately let him take the lead on this project to learn about farming and build up his confidence.

  Or maybe he’s testing you… Ethan thought anxiously with a sidelong glance at Henry. He immediately dispelled the thought. Nah, that’s not his style.

  As the sun waned in the sky, the two of them took turns drinking from a canteen while they surveyed the freshly planted garden beds. It had taken hours, but they had filled out the planters following Ethan’s diagram.

  “Strawberries are an… interesting choice,” Henry said, peering at the small strawberry marker Ethan had placed in the dirt next to where he’d planted the strawberry seeds.

  “Do you think I should move it?” Ethan asked anxiously. “It just felt weird for Joel to be all alone in his own planter…”

  Henry was silent for a time. “Some lessons have to be learned by doin’,” he said placidly. Ethan wasn’t sure how to respond, so he stayed silent while he considered the old farmer’s words.

  Ethan’s thoughts were interrupted when Henry moved forward and drew a line across the middle of the planter with his hand and poured a small stream of water into the furrow. He bowed his head as if in prayer before gesturing Ethan forward and extending the canteen.

  “Le Tich Dien,” Henry said, fixing Ethan with his piercing gaze. He stared at Ethan until he began to fidget under his unwavering stare.

  “Wha-” Ethan began, accepting the extended canteen.

  “It’s the First Ploughing Festival,” Henry said, interrupting him. Ethan snorted, biting his lip to hide a smile.

  “Yeah, yeah, Trevor used to laugh at the name too,” he said dryly. “We started calling it The Ceremony of the First Furrow. But it was something my wife did in Vietnam, and we started doing here.”

  “Yer s’posed to do it before planting, but Quynh was always the one that knew the rules,” he continued. “She said the first furrow’s like a promise, ya know? You open the earth with good intentions, and it remembers.” He held his bamboo hat in his hands respectfully.

  Ethan picked up on the importance of the ritual to Henry and matched his serious demeanor. Like with everything Henry did, it was understated and intentional. It was clear he associated the ceremony with his wife’s memory, and Ethan wanted to be respectful of that.

  He knelt down and drew his own furrow in the soil that ran parallel to Henry’s. Scuppers sat next to him, head tilted in curiosity at the display. Ethan poured water into the furrow like he’d seen Henry do, but was unsure what to do next. He thought for a moment before he bent close to Joel and whispered, “Just do the job that’s in front of you, buddy.”

  Next to him, Scuppers bent down and pushed his nose into the dirt. Ethan laughed and ruffled the dog’s fur before pouring a bit of water into the impression his pup had made.

  As they walked back to the house, Henry reached over and punched Ethan lightly in the arm. Ethan yipped in surprise and pain, the old man’s strength once again surprising him.

  “What was that for?” Ethan whined as he rubbed his shoulder.

  “You did good, kid,” Henry replied with a subtle smirk, thumbing over his shoulder toward the planters. “I think you’re ready for the big leagues now.”

  Ethan rubbed his smarting shoulder but smiled at the endorsement. He was excited to keep learning. To keep growing. It was a feeling he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible. A wicked thought crossed his mind, and he drew closer to Henry.

  “Hey Henry,” he said with feigned nonchalance. “What did the excited farmer do when spring arrived?”

  Henry stopped and looked to the heavens as if he could summon patience from them. “I dunno, what?” he asked in a flat voice.

  “He wet his plants,” Ethan said with the biggest shit-eating grin.

  Henry heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes in exasperation. Suddenly, he lunged towards Ethan, swinging as if to punch him again, but Ethan skipped backward and sprinted toward the house, cackling maniacally.